	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE	(KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE	(DUKE:)

BERTRAM	Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU	an old lord.

PAROLLES	a follower of Bertram.


Steward	|
	|  servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
Clown	|


	A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON	mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA	a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

	An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA	daughter to the Widow.


VIOLENTA	|
	|  neighbours and friends to the Widow.
MARIANA	|


	Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Fourth Lord:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Gentleman:)



SCENE	Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
	and LAFEU, 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.

LAFEU	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?

LAFEU	He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
	practises 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 stretched 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.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
	lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
	was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
	could be set up against mortality.

BERTRAM	What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?

LAFEU	A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM	I heard not of it before.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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 have it.

HELENA	I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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 cheque'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.

LAFEU	          He cannot want the best
	That shall attend his love.

COUNTESS	Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

	[Exit]

BERTRAM	[To HELENA]  The best wishes that can be forged in
	your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
	to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

LAFEU	Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
	your father.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

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.
	The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
	The hind that would be mated by the lion
	Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though 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 reliques. Who comes here?

	[Enter PAROLLES]

	[Aside]

	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 fixed evils sit so fit in him,
	That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
	Look bleak i' the 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, sitting 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 't!

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 loose
	by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
	itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
	principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

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 tooth-pick, 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
	withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
	'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
	marry, yet 'tis a withered 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
	Return us thanks.

	[Enter Page]

Page	Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

	[Exit]

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 have 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 businesses, 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
	So 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE II	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,
	with letters, and divers Attendants]

KING	The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
	Have fought with equal fortune and continue
	A braving war.

First Lord	                  So 'tis reported, sir.

KING	Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received 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,
	Approved 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, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

First Lord	It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
	Young Bertram.

KING	                  Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
	Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
	Hath well composed 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
	To-day 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 awaked 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 used 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, follow'd 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 are loved, 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 famed.

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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's 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 o' 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 o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
	friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS	Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown	You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
	knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary 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 severed 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-mouthed 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	     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'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
	if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
	might have a good woman born but one every blazing
	star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
	well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' 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 bequeathed 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 wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
	to herself her own words to her own ears; she
	thought, I dare vow for her, they touched 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; Dian no queen of virgins, that
	would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
	rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
	This she delivered 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 discharged this honestly; keep it to
	yourself: many likelihoods informed 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 distemper'd 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 Rousillon cannot be my brother:
	I am from humble, he from honour'd 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 ashamed,
	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, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
	See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
	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,
	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 loved 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 intenible 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 proved 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, approved, 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 left off
	The danger to itself?

HELENA	There's something in't,
	More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
	Of his profession, that his good receipt
	Shall for my legacy be sanctified
	By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
	But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
	The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
	By such a day and 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 to-morrow; and be sure of this,
	What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE I	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended
	with divers young Lords taking leave for the
	Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES]

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 received,
	And is enough for both.

First Lord	'Tis our hope, sir,
	After well enter'd 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.

	[Exit, attended]

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 tortured 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
	entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his
	reports for me.

First Lord	We shall, noble captain.

	[Exeunt Lords]

PAROLLES	Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

BERTRAM	Stay: the king.

	[Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES	[To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the
	noble lords; you have restrained 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 received 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 LAFEU]

LAFEU	[Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.

KING	I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus;
	Will you be cured of your infirmity?

KING	No.

LAFEU	O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
	Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an 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 spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,
	Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
	To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,
	And write to her a love-line.

KING	What 'her' is this?

LAFEU	Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,
	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 amazed 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 Lafeu,
	Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
	May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
	By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU	Nay, I'll fit you,
	And not be all day neither.

	[Exit]

KING	Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

	[Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU	Nay, come your ways.

KING	This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU	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's bed of death
	Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.
	Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,
	And of his old experience the oily 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 inaidible 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 a 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 greatest 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 used 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	Are thou so confident? within what space
	Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA	The great'st 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 his 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 darest thou venture?

HELENA	Tax of impudence,
	A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
	Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name
	Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--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 deserved: 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 observed,
	Thy will by my performance shall be served:
	So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
	Thy resolved 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 camest, how tended on: but rest
	Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
	Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
	As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT'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 taffeta 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 queen
	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 whipped, 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't 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE III	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	To be relinquish'd of the artists,--

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES	Right; so I say.

LAFEU	That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES	Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU	Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES	Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU	Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES	Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU	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?

LAFEU	A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES	That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU	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--

LAFEU	Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES	Ay, so I say.

LAFEU	In a most weak--

	[pausing]

	and debile minister, great power, great
	transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a
	further use to be made than alone the recovery of
	the king, as to be--

	[pausing]

	generally thankful.

PAROLLES	I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

	[Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and
	PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU	Lustig, 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	Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU	'Fore God, I think so.

KING	Go, call before me all the lords in court.
	Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
	And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
	Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
	The confirmation of my promised gift,
	Which but attends thy naming.

	[Enter three or four 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!

LAFEU	I'ld 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.

HELENA	Gentlemen,
	Heaven hath through me restored 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. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord	And grant it.

HELENA	                  Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU	I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace
	for my life.

HELENA	The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
	Before I speak, too threateningly 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.

LAFEU	Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,
	I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the
	Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HELENA	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!

LAFEU	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	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.

LAFEU	There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
	wine: but if thou be'st 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 raised 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 stand off
	In differences so mighty. If she be
	All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
	A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
	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 foregoers: the mere word's a slave
	Debosh'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 restored, my lord, I'm 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. Cheque 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 to-night: the solemn feast
	Shall more attend upon the coming space,
	Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
	Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

	[Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	[Advancing]  Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

PAROLLES	Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU	Your lord and master did well to make his
	recantation.

PAROLLES	Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU	Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES	A most harsh one, and not to be understood without
	bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU	Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES	To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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 burthen. 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't scarce worth.

PAROLLES	Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES	I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU	Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not
	bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES	Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU	Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at
	a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 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.

LAFEU	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 of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

	[Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	Who? God?

PAROLLES	Ay, sir.

LAFEU	The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
	garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
	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'ld beat
	thee: methinks, 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.

LAFEU	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'ld call you knave. I leave you.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;
	let it be concealed awhile.

	[Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM	Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES	What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM	Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
	I will not bed her.

PAROLLES	What, what, sweet-heart?

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 the import is,
	I know not yet.

PAROLLES	Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the 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 the 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 capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM	Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
	I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



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 fortunes.

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'rt a knave.

Clown	You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a
	knave; that's, before me thou'rt 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 to-night;
	A very serious business calls on him.
	The great prerogative and rite 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 every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES	I shall report it so.

HELENA	I pray you.

	[Exit PAROLLES]

	Come, sirrah.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE V	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

LAFEU	But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM	Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU	You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM	And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES	Sir?

LAFEU	O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good
	workman, a very good tailor.

BERTRAM	[Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES	She is.

BERTRAM	Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES	As you'll have her.

BERTRAM	I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
	Given order for our horses; and to-night,
	When I should take possession of the bride,
	End ere I do begin.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs
	and all, like him that leaped 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.

LAFEU	And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's
	prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this
	of me, there can be no kernel 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 procured 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 our 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.

BERTRAM	Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

	[Exit HELENA]

	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE I	Florence. The DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;
	the two Frenchmen, with a troop of 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:
	To-morrow to the field.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS	It hath happened 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 ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
	like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
	the brains of my Cupid's knocked 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 misprising of a maid too virtuous
	For the contempt of empire.

	[Re-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 killed so soon as I
	thought he would.

COUNTESS	Why should he be killed?

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 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 dispatch in hand at court,
	Thither we bend again.

HELENA	Look on his 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 pain.

COUNTESS	I prithee, 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	You're 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, Rousillon, 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, Rousillon,
	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 officed 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE III	Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,
	PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]

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 the 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE IV	Rousillon. The COUNT'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 fervor 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 dogs 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!
	Rinaldo, 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, Rinaldo,
	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE V	Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off.


	[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,
	and MARIANA, with 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 greatest
	commander; and that with his own hand he slew the
	duke's brother.

	[Tucket]

	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.

Widow	I hope so.

	[Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

	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 you 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?

Widow	Ay, marry, is't.

	[A march afar]

	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 lodged;
	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 Rousillon: 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 examined.

DIANA	Alas, poor lady!
	'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
	Of a detesting lord.

Widow	I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is,
	Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
	A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

HELENA	How do you mean?
	May be 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.

MARIANA	The gods forbid else!

Widow	So, now they come:

	[Drum and Colours]

	[Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

	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 loved 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 vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Widow	Marry, hang you!

MARIANA	And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

	[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

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 to-night, 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VI	Camp before Florence.


	[Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

Second Lord	Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his
	way.

First Lord	If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no
	more in your respect.

Second Lord	On my life, my lord, a bubble.

BERTRAM	Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

Second 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.

First 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.

First Lord	None better than to let him fetch off his drum,
	which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

Second 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 any thing.

First 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]

Second Lord	[Aside to BERTRAM]  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.

First 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!

First Lord	That was not to be blamed 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 thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of
	thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

PAROLLES	I love not many words.

	[Exit]

Second 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
	damned than to do't?

First 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?

Second 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
	to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

First Lord	We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case
	him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu:
	when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a
	sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this
	very night.

Second Lord	I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.

BERTRAM	Your brother he shall go along with me.

Second 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.

First 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?

First Lord	With all my heart, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VII	Florence. 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 fallen, 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
	You're 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 wooes your daughter,
	Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
	Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,
	As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
	Now his important blood will nought 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 this,
	To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
	To what is passed 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 composed
	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 to-night
	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE I	Without the Florentine camp.


	[Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other
	Soldiers in ambush]

Second 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 some one among us whom we
	must produce for an interpreter.

First Soldier	Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

Second Lord	Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

First Soldier	No, sir, I warrant you.

Second Lord	But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?

First Soldier	E'en such as you speak to me.

Second 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 knocked 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.

Second Lord	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.

Second Lord	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.

Second Lord	We cannot afford you so.

PAROLLES	Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in
	stratagem.

Second Lord	'Twould not do.

PAROLLES	Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

Second Lord	Hardly serve.

PAROLLES	Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel.

Second Lord	How deep?

PAROLLES	Thirty fathom.

Second Lord	Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

PAROLLES	I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear
	I recovered it.

Second Lord	You shall hear one anon.

PAROLLES	A drum now of the enemy's,--

	[Alarum within]

Second Lord	Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All	Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.

PAROLLES	O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes.

	[They seize and blindfold him]

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. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy
	faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES	O!

First Soldier	O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.

Second 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]

Second Lord	Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
	We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
	Till we do hear from them.

Second Soldier	Captain, I will.

Second Lord	A' will betray us all unto ourselves:
	Inform on that.

Second Soldier	                  So I will, sir.

Second Lord	Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE II	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter BERTRAM and DIANA]

BERTRAM	They told me that your name was Fontibell.

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 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 stem;
	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 o' that;
	I prithee, 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 High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
	If I should swear by God's great attributes,
	I loved 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 recover: say thou art mine, and ever
	My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA	I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE III	The Florentine camp.


	[Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers]

First Lord	You have not given him his mother's letter?

Second Lord	I have delivered it an hour since: there is
	something in't that stings his nature; for on the
	reading it he changed 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 tuned 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 abhorred 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 to-night?

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 mean time, 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 Rousillon 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 confirmed by
	the rector of the place.

Second Lord	Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord	Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
	point, so 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 acquired 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 cherished by our virtues.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	How now! where's your master?

Servant	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.

First Lord	They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness.
	Here's his lordship now.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

	How now, my lord! is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM	I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a
	month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success:
	I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
	nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my
	lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;
	and between these main parcels of dispatch 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, he has deceived
	me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

Second Lord	Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night,
	poor gallant knave.

BERTRAM	No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping
	his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

Second 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 a'?

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 PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier]

BERTRAM	A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of
	me: hush, hush!

First Lord	Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa

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	[Reads]  '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're 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 practise 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 every thing 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	[Reads]  '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 and fifty each; mine own
	company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
	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 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.

	[Reads]

	'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
	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 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 Dumain?

PAROLLES	I know him: a' 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.

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
	Rousillon, 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 vowed 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 any thing before but a cat, and now
	he's a cat to me.

First Soldier	I perceive, sir, by the 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 any where, so I may live.

First Soldier	We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
	therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you
	have answered 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 'em 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 bed-clothes 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
	every thing 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, he 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-villained villany 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 Dumain?

Second Lord	Why does be 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 Rousillon.

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 Lord	That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends.

	[Unblinding 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 Lafeu?
	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 Rousillon?
	an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you:
	but fare you well.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords]

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.

	[Exit with Soldiers]

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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Florence. 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 wagon is prepared, 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE V	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown]

LAFEU	No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
	fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
	made all the unbaked 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 advanced
	by the king than by that red-tailed 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.

LAFEU	'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.

LAFEU	They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.

Clown	I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much
	skill in grass.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	Your distinction?

Clown	I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.

LAFEU	So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

Clown	And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.

LAFEU	I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.

Clown	At your service.

LAFEU	No, no, no.

Clown	Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
	great a prince as you are.

LAFEU	Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clown	Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy
	is more hotter in France than there.

LAFEU	What prince is that?

Clown	The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of
	darkness; alias, the devil.

LAFEU	Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this
	to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest 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 flowery way that
	leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

LAFEU	Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I
	tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
	with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well
	looked 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]

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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 promised 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.

LAFEU	His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
	body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
	to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
	intelligence hath seldom failed.

COUNTESS	It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
	die. I have letters that my son will be here
	to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
	with me till they meet together.

LAFEU	Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
	safely be admitted.

COUNTESS	You need but plead your honourable privilege.

LAFEU	Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I
	thank my God it holds yet.

	[Re-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.

LAFEU	A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery
	of honour; so belike is that.

Clown	But it is your carbonadoed face.

LAFEU	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


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;
	An 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 removed 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 Rousillon;
	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE II	Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace.


	[Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]

PAROLLES	Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu 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 speakest of: I will
	henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
	Prithee, 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. Prithee, get
	thee further.

PAROLLES	Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clown	Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's
	close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he
	comes himself.

	[Enter LAFEU]

	Here is a purr 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
	scratched.

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't;
	save your word.

PAROLLES	My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU	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!

LAFEU	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.

LAFEU	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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two
	French Lords, with Attendants]

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.

LAFEU	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 reconciled, 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 we do bury
	The 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]

KING	What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

LAFEU	All that he is hath reference to your highness.

KING	Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
	That set him high in fame.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

LAFEU	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
	The 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 a 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 praised and whom myself,
	Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
	The dust that did offend it.

KING	Well excused:
	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 shame full late 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!

LAFEU	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]

		     By my old beard,
	And every 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 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't.
	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.

LAFEU	I am sure I saw her wear it.

BERTRAM	You are deceived, 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 engaged: but when I had subscribed
	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 ceased
	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 makest 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 yet she 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 Rousillon 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.

LAFEU	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 Lafeu,
	To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
	Go speedily and bring again the count.
	I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
	Was foully snatch'd.

COUNTESS	Now, justice on the doers!

	[Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded]

KING	I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
	And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
	Yet you desire to marry.

	[Enter Widow and DIANA]

		   What woman's that?

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.

LAFEU	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 the 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.

LAFEU	I saw the man to-day, 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 debosh'd;
	Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
	Am I or that or this for what he'll utter,
	That will speak any thing?

KING	She hath that ring of yours.

BERTRAM	I think she has: certain it is I liked 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,
	Subdued 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 PAROLLES]

BERTRAM	My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

KING	You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars 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 loved her, sir, and loved 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.

LAFEU	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 knowest?

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.

LAFEU	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 aught 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 accused 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.

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 abused me, as he knows himself,
	Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
	He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
	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.

	[Re-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 are 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?

LAFEU	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 be'st 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 keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
	Of that and all the progress, more or 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]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

	EPILOGUE


KING	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]
	AS YOU LIKE IT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR	living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK	his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


AMIENS	|
	|  lords attending on the banished duke.
JAQUES	|


LE BEAU	a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES	wrestler to Frederick.


OLIVER		|
		|
JAQUES (JAQUES DE BOYS:)  	|  sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
		|
ORLANDO		|


ADAM	|
	|  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS	|


TOUCHSTONE	a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	a vicar.


CORIN	|
	|  shepherds.
SILVIUS	|


WILLIAM	a country fellow in love with Audrey.

	A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND	daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA	daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE	a shepherdess.

AUDREY	a country wench.

	Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.
	(Forester:)
	(A Lord:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(First Page:)
	(Second Page:)


SCENE	Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the
	Forest of Arden.




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I	Orchard of Oliver's house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ORLANDO	As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
	bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
	and, as thou sayest, 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.

ADAM	Yonder comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO	Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
	shake me up.

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Now, sir! what make you here?

ORLANDO	Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

OLIVER	What mar you then, sir?

ORLANDO	Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
	made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

OLIVER	Marry, sir, be better employed, and be 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 your 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 hast railed on thyself.

ADAM	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 will 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 to-morrow the wrestling is.

	[Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES	Good morrow to your worship.

OLIVER	Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
	new court?

CHARLES	There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
	that is, the old duke is banished by his younger
	brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords
	have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
	whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
	therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

OLIVER	Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
	banished with her father?

CHARLES	O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
	her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
	that she would have followed her exile, or have died
	to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no
	less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
	never two ladies loved as they do.

OLIVER	Where will the old duke live?

CHARLES	They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
	a many merry men with him; and there they live like
	the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
	gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time
	carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

OLIVER	What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

CHARLES	Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
	matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
	that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
	to come in disguised against me to try a fall.
	To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
	escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him
	well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,
	for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
	must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
	out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
	withal, that either you might stay him from his
	intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
	run into, in that it is 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 villanous 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 villanous this
	day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
	should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
	blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.

CHARLES	I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
	to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
	alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
	so God keep your worship!

OLIVER	Farewell, good Charles.

	[Exit 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
	misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
	wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
	I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II	Lawn before the Duke's palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

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 lovest 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 dulness 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 pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA	Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

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.

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.

	[Enter LE BEAU]

	Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

LE BEAU	Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

CELIA	Sport! of what colour?

LE BEAU	What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

ROSALIND	As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE	Or as the Destinies decree.

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	You 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.

LE BEAU	Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call 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 judgment, the fear of your
	adventure would counsel you to a more equal
	enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
	embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.

ROSALIND	Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
	be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
	that the wrestling might not go forward.

ORLANDO	I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
	thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
	so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let
	your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
	trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
	shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one
	dead that was 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	An 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.

	[They wrestle]

ROSALIND	O excellent young man!

CELIA	If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
	should down.

	[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

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. 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 esteem'd 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, train, and LE BEAU]

CELIA	Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

ORLANDO	I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
	His youngest son; and would not change that calling,
	To be adopted heir to Frederick.

ROSALIND	My father 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 all promise,
	Your mistress shall be happy.

ROSALIND	Gentleman,

	[Giving him a chain from her neck]

	Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
	That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
	Shall we go, coz?

CELIA	                  Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

ORLANDO	Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
	Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
	Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.

ROSALIND	He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
	I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
	Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
	More than your enemies.

CELIA	Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND	Have with you. Fare you well.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

ORLANDO	What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
	I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
	O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
	Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.

	[Re-enter LE BEAU]

LE BEAU	Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
	To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
	High commendation, true applause and love,
	Yet such is now the duke's condition
	That he misconstrues all that you have done.
	The duke is humorous; what he is indeed,
	More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.

ORLANDO	I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
	Which of the two was daughter of the duke
	That here was at the wrestling?

LE BEAU	Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
	But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter
	The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
	And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
	To keep his daughter company; whose loves
	Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
	But I can tell you that of late this duke
	Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
	Grounded upon no other argument
	But that the people praise her for her virtues
	And pity her for her good father's sake;
	And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
	Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
	Hereafter, in a better world than this,
	I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

ORLANDO	I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.

	[Exit LE BEAU]

	Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
	From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
	But heavenly Rosalind!

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



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?

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.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

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 banish'd him:
	Treason is not inherited, my lord;
	Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
	What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
	Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
	To think my poverty is treacherous.

CELIA	Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

DUKE FREDERICK	Ay, Celia; we stay'd 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, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
	And wheresoever 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 pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

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 banish'd me, his daughter?

ROSALIND	That he hath not.

CELIA	No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
	Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
	Shall we be sunder'd? 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 curtle-axe upon my thigh,
	A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart
	Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will--
	We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
	As many other mannish cowards have
	That do outface it with their semblances.

CELIA	What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

ROSALIND	I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
	And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
	But what will you be call'd?

CELIA	Something that hath a reference to my state
	No longer Celia, but Aliena.

ROSALIND	But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
	The clownish fool out of your father's court?
	Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

CELIA	He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
	Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
	And get our jewels and our wealth together,
	Devise the fittest time and safest way
	To hide us from pursuit that will be made
	After my flight. Now go we in content
	To liberty and not to banishment.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE I	The Forest of Arden.


	[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords,
	like foresters]

DUKE SENIOR	Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
	Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
	Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
	More free from peril than the envious court?
	Here feel we but 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 every thing.
	I would not change it.

AMIENS	Happy is your grace,
	That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
	Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE SENIOR	Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
	And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
	Being native burghers of this desert city,
	Should in their own confines with forked heads
	Have their round haunches 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 banish'd you.
	To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
	Did steal behind him as he lay along
	Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
	Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
	To the which place a poor sequester'd 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 the 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 makest a testament
	As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
	To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
	Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
	''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
	The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
	Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
	And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
	'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
	'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
	Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
	Thus most invectively he pierceth through
	The body of the country, city, court,
	Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
	Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
	To fright the animals and to kill them up
	In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR	And did you leave him in this contemplation?

Second Lord	We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
	Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR	Show me the place:
	I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
	For then he's full of matter.

First Lord	I'll bring you to him straight.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



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.
	Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
	Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
	Your daughter and her cousin much commend
	The parts and graces of the wrestler
	That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
	And she believes, wherever they are gone,
	That youth is surely in their company.

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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



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 priser 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 practises.
	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;
	And 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 prunest a rotten tree,
	That cannot so much as a blossom yield
	In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
	But come thy ways; well 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE IV	The Forest of Arden.


	[Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for 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.

ROSALIND	Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

	[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

	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 sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
	But if thy love were ever like to mine--
	As sure I think did never man love so--
	How many actions most ridiculous
	Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN	Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS	O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
	If thou remember'st 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,
	Wearying 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 Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

	[Exit]

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 chopt 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 speakest 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 oppress'd
	And faints for succor.

CORIN	Fair sir, I pity her
	And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
	My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
	But I am shepherd to another man
	And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
	My master is of churlish disposition
	And little recks to find the way to heaven
	By doing deeds of hospitality:
	Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
	Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
	By reason of his absence, there is nothing
	That you will feed on; but what is, come see.
	And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND	What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN	That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
	That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND	I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
	Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
	And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA	And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
	And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN	Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
	Go with me: if you like upon report
	The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
	I will your very faithful feeder be
	And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE V	The Forest.


	[Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
	
	SONG.
AMIENS	Under the greenwood tree
	Who loves to lie with me,
	And turn his merry note
	Unto the sweet bird's throat,
	Come hither, come hither, come hither:
	Here shall he see No enemy
	But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES	More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
	melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
	More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES	I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to
	sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos?

AMIENS	What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
	nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS	More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES	Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
	but that they call compliment is like the 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.
	
	SONG.
	Who doth ambition shun

	[All together here]

	And loves to live i' the 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VI	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ADAM	Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
	Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
	kind master.

ORLANDO	Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
	a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
	If this uncouth forest yield any thing 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 will
	give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I
	come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
	thou lookest 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 any thing in this
	desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VII	The forest.


	[A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and
	Lords like outlaws]

DUKE SENIOR	I think he be transform'd into a beast;
	For I can no where 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' the forest,
	A motley fool; a miserable world!
	As I do live by food, I met a fool
	Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
	And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
	In good set terms and yet a motley fool.
	'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
	'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
	And then he drew a dial from his poke,
	And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
	Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
	Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
	'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
	And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
	And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
	And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
	And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
	The motley fool thus moral on the time,
	My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
	That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
	And I did laugh sans intermission
	An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
	A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR	What fool is this?

JAQUES	O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
	And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
	They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
	Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
	After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
	With observation, the which he vents
	In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
	I am ambitious for a motley coat.

DUKE SENIOR	Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES	It is my only suit;
	Provided that you weed your better judgments
	Of all opinion that grows rank in them
	That I am wise. I must have liberty
	Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
	To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
	And they that are most galled with my folly,
	They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
	The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
	He that a fool doth very wisely hit
	Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
	Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
	The wise man's folly is 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 the 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 the embossed sores and headed evils,
	That thou with licence 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 of my cost,
	Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
	His folly to the mettle of my speech?
	There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
	My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
	Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
	Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
	Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

	[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO	Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES	Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO	Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES	Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR	Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
	Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
	That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

ORLANDO	You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
	Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
	Of smooth civility: yet 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 look'd on better days,
	If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
	If ever sat at any good man's feast,
	If ever from your eyelids 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 knoll'd to church
	And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
	Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
	And therefore sit you down in gentleness
	And take upon command what help we have
	That to your wanting may be minister'd.

ORLANDO	Then but forbear your food a little while,
	Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
	And give it food. There is an old poor man,
	Who after me hath many a weary step
	Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
	Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
	I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR	Go find him out,
	And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO	I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

	[Exit]

DUKE SENIOR	Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
	This wide and universal theatre
	Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
	Wherein we play in.

JAQUES	All the world's a stage,
	And all the men and women merely players:
	They have their exits and their entrances;
	And one man in his time plays many parts,
	His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
	Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
	And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
	And shining morning face, creeping like snail
	Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
	Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
	Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
	Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
	Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
	Seeking the bubble reputation
	Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
	In fair round belly with good capon 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 slipper'd 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.

	[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
	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	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 remember'd not.
	Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR	If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
	As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
	And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
	Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
	Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
	That 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. Give me your hand,
	And let me all your fortunes understand.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


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 brothers 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

ORLANDO	Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
	And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
	With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
	Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
	O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
	And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
	That every eye which in this forest looks
	Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
	Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
	The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CORIN	And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
	life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
	it is 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
	is it 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 sawest
	good manners; if thou never sawest 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
	behavior 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 worms-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 a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
	out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
	damned for this, the devil himself will have no
	shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
	'scape.

CORIN	Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

	[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND	     From the east to western Ind,
	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 fair 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 graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
	with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
	i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
	ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE	You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
	forest judge.

	[Enter CELIA, with a writing]

ROSALIND	Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA	[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 stretching 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 fill'd
	With all graces wide-enlarged:
	Nature presently distill'd
	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 pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
	have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
	cried 'Have patience, good people!'

CELIA	How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
	Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE	Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
	though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

	[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA	Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND	O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
	them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA	That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND	Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
	themselves without the verse and therefore stood
	lamely in the verse.

CELIA	But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
	should be 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 be-rhymed 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, and most wonderful
	wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
	out of all hooping!

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 a narrow-
	mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
	all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
	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 sawest him? What said
	he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
	him 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 bringest
	me out of tune.

ROSALIND	Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
	speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA	You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

	[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

ROSALIND	'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES	I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
	as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO	And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
	too for your society.

JAQUES	God 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]

ROSALIND	[Aside to CELIA]  I will speak to him, like a saucy
	lackey and under that habit play the knave with him.
	Do you hear, forester?

ORLANDO	Very well: what would you?

ROSALIND	I pray you, what is't o'clock?

ORLANDO	You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
	in the forest.

ROSALIND	Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
	sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
	detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.

ORLANDO	And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
	been as proper?

ROSALIND	By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
	divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
	withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
	withal and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO	I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND	Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
	contract of her marriage and the day it is
	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 cony 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 half-pence 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 every thing about you demonstrating a
	careless desolation; but you are no such man; you
	are rather point-device in your accoutrements as
	loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

ORLANDO	Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

ROSALIND	Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you
	love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to
	do than to confess she does: that is one of the
	points in the which women still give the lie to
	their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
	that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
	is so admired?

ORLANDO	I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
	Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND	But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

ORLANDO	Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND	Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
	as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
	the reason why they are not so 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 any
	thing, 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]

TOUCHSTONE	Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
	goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
	doth my simple feature content you?

AUDREY	Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

TOUCHSTONE	I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
	capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES	[Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
	in a 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 swearest 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 a horn more precious than to
	want. Here comes Sir Oliver.

	[Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]

	Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
	dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go
	with you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE	I will not take her on gift of any man.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES	[Advancing]

	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 JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
	all shall flout me out of my calling.

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND	Never talk to me; I will weep.

CELIA	Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
	that tears do not become a man.

ROSALIND	But have I not cause to weep?

CELIA	As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

ROSALIND	His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

CELIA	Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
	Judas's own children.

ROSALIND	I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

CELIA	An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

ROSALIND	And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
	of holy bread.

CELIA	He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
	of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
	the very ice of chastity is in them.

ROSALIND	But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
	comes not?

CELIA	Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

ROSALIND	Do you think so?

CELIA	Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
	horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do
	think him as concave as 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 puisny 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 inquired
	After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
	Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
	Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
	That was his mistress.

CELIA	Well, and what of him?

CORIN	If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
	Between the pale complexion of true love
	And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
	Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
	If you will mark it.

ROSALIND	O, come, let us remove:
	The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
	Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
	I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE V	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
	Say that you love me not, but say not so
	In bitterness. The common executioner,
	Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
	Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
	But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
	Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

PHEBE	I would not be thy executioner:
	I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
	Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
	'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
	That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
	Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
	Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
	Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
	And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
	Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
	Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
	Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
	Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
	Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
	Some scar of it; lean but 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 no force in eyes
	That can do hurt.

SILVIUS	                  O dear Phebe,
	If ever,--as that ever may be near,--
	You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
	Then shall you know the wounds invisible
	That love's keen arrows make.

PHEBE	But till that time
	Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
	Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
	As till that time I shall not pity thee.

ROSALIND	And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
	That you insult, exult, and all at once,
	Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
	As, by my faith, I see no more in you
	Than without candle may go dark to bed--
	Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
	Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
	I see no more in you than in the ordinary
	Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
	I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
	No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
	'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
	Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
	That can entame my spirits to your worship.
	You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
	Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
	You are a thousand times a properer man
	Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you
	That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
	'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
	And out of you she sees herself more proper
	Than any of her lineaments can show her.
	But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
	And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
	For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
	Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
	Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
	Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
	So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

PHEBE	Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
	I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

ROSALIND	He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
	fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
	she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
	with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?

PHEBE	For no ill will I bear you.

ROSALIND	I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
	For I am falser than vows made in wine:
	Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
	'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
	Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
	Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
	And be not proud: though all the world could see,
	None could be so abused in sight as he.
	Come, to our flock.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]

PHEBE	Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
	'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE	                  Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHEBE	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.

PHEBE	Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS	I would have you.

PHEBE	                  Why, that were covetousness.
	Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
	And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
	But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
	Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
	I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:
	But do not look for further recompense
	Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

SILVIUS	So holy and so perfect is my love,
	And I in such a poverty of grace,
	That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
	To glean the broken ears after the man
	That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
	A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

PHEBE	Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

SILVIUS	Not very well, but I have met him oft;
	And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
	That the old carlot once was master of.

PHEBE	Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
	'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
	But what care I for words? yet words do well
	When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
	It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
	But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
	He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
	Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
	Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
	He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
	His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
	There was a pretty redness in his lip,
	A little riper and more lusty red
	Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
	Between the constant red and mingled damask.
	There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
	In parcels as I did, would have gone near
	To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
	I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
	I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
	For what had he to do to chide at me?
	He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
	And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
	I marvel why I answer'd not again:
	But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
	I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
	And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Phebe, with all my heart.

PHEBE	I'll write it straight;
	The matter's in my head and in my heart:
	I will be bitter with him and passing short.
	Go with me, Silvius.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]

JAQUES	I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
	with thee.

ROSALIND	They say you are a melancholy fellow.

JAQUES	I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

ROSALIND	Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
	fellows and betray themselves to every modern
	censure worse than drunkards.

JAQUES	Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

ROSALIND	Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

JAQUES	I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
	emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
	nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the
	soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
	which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
	the lover's, which is all these: but it is a
	melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
	extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
	contemplation of my travels, in which my often
	rumination wraps me m 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.

	[Exit]

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. 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 thousandth 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,
	videlicit, 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
	coroners 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 hyen, and
	that when thou art 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 key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
	with the smoke out at the chimney.

ORLANDO	A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
	'Wit, whither wilt?'

ROSALIND	Nay, you might keep that cheque 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 every one's eyes
	because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
	am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
	of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
	sigh till he come.

CELIA	And I'll sleep.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES	Which is he that killed the deer?

A 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?

Forester	Yes, sir.

JAQUES	Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
	make noise enough.
	
	SONG.
Forester	What shall he have that kill'd 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND	How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
	here much Orlando!

CELIA	I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
	hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
	sleep. Look, who comes here.

	[Enter SILVIUS]

SILVIUS	My errand is to you, fair youth;
	My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
	I know not the contents; but, as I guess
	By the stern brow and waspish action
	Which she did use as she was writing of it,
	It bears an angry 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:
	Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND	Come, come, you are a fool
	And turn'd into the extremity of love.
	I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.
	A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
	That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
	She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
	I say she never did invent this letter;
	This is a man's invention and his hand.

SILVIUS	Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND	Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
	A style for-challengers; why, she defies me,
	Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain
	Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention
	Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
	Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

SILVIUS	So please you, for I never heard it yet;
	Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND	She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

	[Reads]

	Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
	That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
	Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS	Call you this railing?

ROSALIND	[Reads]

	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 sheep-cote 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 ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER	Orlando doth commend him to you both,
	And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
	He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

ROSALIND	I am: what must we understand by this?

OLIVER	Some of my shame; if you will know of me
	What man I am, and how, and why, and where
	This handkercher was stain'd.

CELIA	I pray you, tell it.

OLIVER	When last the young Orlando parted from you
	He left a promise to return again
	Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
	Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
	Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,
	And mark what object did present itself:
	Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
	And high top bald with dry antiquity,
	A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
	Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
	A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
	Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
	The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
	Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
	And with indented glides did slip away
	Into a bush: under which bush's shade
	A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
	Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
	When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
	The royal disposition of that beast
	To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
	This seen, Orlando did approach the man
	And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

CELIA	O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
	And he did render him the most unnatural
	That 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 suck'd 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	Wast 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 stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
	The lioness had torn some flesh away,
	Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
	And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
	Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound;
	And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
	He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
	To tell this story, that you might excuse
	His broken promise, and to give this napkin
	Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth
	That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

	[ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA	Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER	Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA	There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER	Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND	I would I were at home.

CELIA	We'll lead you thither.
	I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

OLIVER	Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
	man's heart.

ROSALIND	I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
	think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell
	your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!

OLIVER	This was not counterfeit: there is too great
	testimony in your complexion that it was a passion
	of earnest.

ROSALIND	Counterfeit, I assure you.

OLIVER	Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

ROSALIND	So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

CELIA	Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
	homewards. Good sir, go with us.

OLIVER	That will I, for I must bear answer back
	How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

ROSALIND	I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
	my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE	We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

AUDREY	Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
	gentleman's saying.

TOUCHSTONE	A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
	Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the
	forest lays claim to you.

AUDREY	Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in
	the world: here comes the man you mean.

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.

	[Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM	Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY	God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM	And good even to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Good even, 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' the 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 sayest 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 a 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; I 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 seeks you; come, away, away!

TOUCHSTONE	Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]

ORLANDO	Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you
	should like her? that but seeing you should love
	her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should
	grant? and will you persever to enjoy her?

OLIVER	Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
	poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
	wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
	I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
	consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it
	shall be to your good; for my father's house and all
	the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
	estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

ORLANDO	You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
	thither will I invite the duke and all's contented
	followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
	you, here comes my Rosalind.

	[Enter ROSALIND]

ROSALIND	God save you, brother.

OLIVER	And you, fair sister.

	[Exit]

ROSALIND	O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
	wear thy heart in a scarf!

ORLANDO	It is my arm.

ROSALIND	I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
	of a lion.

ORLANDO	Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

ROSALIND	Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
	swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

ORLANDO	Ay, and greater wonders than that.

ROSALIND	O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
	never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
	and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
	overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner
	met but they 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 a pair of stairs
	to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
	else be incontinent before marriage: they are in
	the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
	cannot part them.

ORLANDO	They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
	duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
	is to look into happiness through another man's
	eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
	the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
	think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.

ROSALIND	Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I can live no longer by thinking.

ROSALIND	I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
	Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose,
	that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
	speak not this that you should bear a good opinion
	of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
	neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in
	some little measure draw a belief from you, to do
	yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
	you please, that I can do strange things: I have,
	since I was three year old, 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	Speakest thou in sober meanings?

ROSALIND	By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
	say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your
	best array: bid your friends; for if you will be
	married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.

	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

	Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

PHEBE	Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
	To show the letter that I writ to you.

ROSALIND	I care not if I have: it is my study
	To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
	You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
	Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

PHEBE	Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of faith and service;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of fantasy,
	All made of passion and all made of wishes,
	All adoration, duty, and observance,
	All humbleness, all patience and impatience,
	All purity, all trial, all observance;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And so am I for no woman.

PHEBE	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

SILVIUS	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ORLANDO	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ROSALIND	Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'

ORLANDO	To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

ROSALIND	Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
	of Irish wolves against the moon.

	[To SILVIUS]

	I will help you, if I can:

	[To PHEBE]

	I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.

	[To PHEBE]

	I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
	married to-morrow:

	[To ORLANDO]

	I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
	shall be married to-morrow:

	[To SILVIUS]

	I will content you, if what pleases you contents
	you, and you shall be married to-morrow.

	[To ORLANDO]

	As you love Rosalind, meet:

	[To SILVIUS]

	as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
	I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands.

SILVIUS	I'll not fail, if I live.

PHEBE	Nor I.

ORLANDO	Nor I.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE	To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
	we be married.

AUDREY	I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
	no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
	world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.

	[Enter two Pages]

First Page	Well met, honest gentleman.

TOUCHSTONE	By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

Second Page	We are for you: sit i' the middle.

First Page	Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
	spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
	prologues to a bad voice?

Second Page	I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
	gipsies on a horse.
	
	SONG.
	It was a lover and his lass,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	That o'er the green corn-field did pass
	In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
	When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
	Sweet lovers love the spring.

	Between the acres of the rye,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
	These pretty country folks would lie,
	In spring time, &c.

	This carol they began that hour,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	How that a life was but a flower
	In spring time, &c.

	And therefore take the present time,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
	For love is crowned with the prime
	In spring time, &c.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
	matter in the ditty, yet the note was very
	untuneable.

First Page	You are 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]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER,
	and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
	Can do all this that he hath promised?

ORLANDO	I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
	As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

	[Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]

ROSALIND	Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
	You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
	You will bestow her on Orlando here?

DUKE SENIOR	That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

ROSALIND	And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

ORLANDO	That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

ROSALIND	You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

PHEBE	That will I, should I die the hour after.

ROSALIND	But if you do refuse to marry me,
	You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

PHEBE	So is the bargain.

ROSALIND	You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

SILVIUS	Though to have her and death were both one thing.

ROSALIND	I have 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, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
	Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
	Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
	If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
	To make these doubts all even.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	I do remember in this shepherd boy
	Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

ORLANDO	My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
	Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
	But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
	And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
	Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
	Whom he reports to be a great magician,
	Obscured in the circle of this forest.

	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

JAQUES	There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
	couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
	very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 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 judgment: 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 lied: this is called the
	Counter-cheque 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
	Countercheque 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
	any thing and yet a fool.

DUKE SENIOR	He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
	the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

	[Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]

	[Still Music]

HYMEN	        Then is there mirth in heaven,
	When earthly things made even
	Atone together.
	Good duke, receive thy daughter
	Hymen from heaven brought her,
	Yea, brought her hither,
	That thou mightst join her hand with his
	Whose heart within his bosom is.

ROSALIND	[To DUKE 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.

PHEBE	If sight and shape be true,
	Why then, my love adieu!

ROSALIND	I'll have no father, if you be not he:
	I'll have no husband, if you be not he:
	Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.

HYMEN	        Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
	'Tis I must make conclusion
	Of these most strange events:
	Here's eight that must take hands
	To join in Hymen's bands,
	If truth holds true contents.
	You and you no cross shall part:
	You and you are heart in heart
	You to his love must accord,
	Or have a woman to your lord:
	You and you are sure together,
	As the winter to foul weather.
	Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
	Feed yourselves with questioning;
	That reason wonder may diminish,
	How thus we met, and these things finish.
	
	SONG.
	Wedding is great Juno's crown:
	O blessed bond of board and bed!
	'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
	High wedlock then be honoured:
	Honour, high honour and renown,
	To Hymen, god of every town!

DUKE SENIOR	O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
	Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

PHEBE	I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
	Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

	[Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]

JAQUES DE BOYS	Let me have audience for a word or two:
	I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
	That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
	Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
	Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
	Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
	In his own conduct, purposely to take
	His brother here and put him to the sword:
	And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
	Where meeting with an old religious man,
	After some question with him, was converted
	Both from his enterprise and from the world,
	His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
	And all their lands 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 brothers' wedding:
	To one his lands withheld, and to the other
	A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
	First, in this forest, let us do those ends
	That here were well begun and well begot:
	And after, every of this happy number
	That have 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 heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

JAQUES	Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
	The duke hath put on a religious life
	And thrown into neglect the pompous court?

JAQUES DE BOYS	He hath.

JAQUES	To him will I : out of these convertites
	There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.

	[To DUKE 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 victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
	I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR	Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQUES	To see no pastime I	what you would have
	I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.

	[Exit]

DUKE SENIOR	Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
	As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

	[A dance]




	AS YOU LIKE IT

	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.

	[Exeunt]
	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SOLINUS	Duke of Ephesus. (DUKE SOLINUS:)

AEGEON	a merchant of Syracuse.


ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and sons to AEgeon and AEmilia.
ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF SYRACUSE	|


DROMIO OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and attendants on the two Antipholuses.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	|


BALTHAZAR	a merchant

ANGELO	a goldsmith.

First Merchant	friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.

Second Merchant	to whom Angelo is a debtor.

PINCH	a schoolmaster.

AEMILIA	wife to AEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus.

ADRIANA	wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.

LUCIANA	her sister.

LUCE	servant to Adriana.

	A Courtezan.

	Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
	(Gaoler:)
	(Officer:)
	(Servant:)

SCENE	Ephesus.




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE I	A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.


	[Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other
	Attendants]

AEGEON	Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
	And by the doom of death end woes and all.

DUKE SOLINUS	Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die.

AEGEON	Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
	My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

DUKE SOLINUS	Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
	Why thou departed'st from thy native home
	And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

AEGEON	A heavier task could not have been imposed
	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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased
	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 meaner 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 embraced,
	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,
	Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
	Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I,
	Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
	Fasten'd 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,
	Dispersed 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 SOLINUS	Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
	For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

AEGEON	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 encounterd 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 seized on us;
	And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
	Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS	And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
	Do me the favour to dilate at full
	What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.

AEGEON	My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
	At eighteen years became inquisitive
	After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see,
	I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
	Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS	Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can.
	Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
	To seek thy life 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.
	Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaoler	I will, my lord.

AEGEON	Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,
	But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE II	The Mart.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse,
	and First Merchant]

First 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 dinner-time:
	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]

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?

First 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 bed-time:
	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.

First Merchant	Sir, I commend you to your own content.

	[Exit]

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, falling 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 to-day.

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 darest thou trust
	So great a charge from thine own custody?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	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 undisposed:
	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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

	[Exit]

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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT II



SCENE I	The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

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:
	Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
	Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,
	Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
	Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause;
	They can be meek that have no other cause.
	A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
	We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
	But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
	As much or more would we ourselves complain:
	So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
	With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad.
	When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain;
	Would that alone, alone 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, and 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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT II



SCENE II	A public place.


	[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 received 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 displeased.

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.

	[Beating him]

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 demeanor 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: an 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
	trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste,
	Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee.
	How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
	That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall
	A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
	And take unmingled that same drop again,
	Without addition or diminishing,
	As take from me thyself and not me too.
	How dearly would it touch me to the quick,
	Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false,
	I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
	Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
	Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed;
	I live unstain'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,
	Want wit in all one word to understand.

LUCIANA	Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn.
	Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
	Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day
	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-advised?
	Known unto these, and to myself disguised!
	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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT III



SCENE I	Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus,
	ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR]

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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer
	May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

BALTHAZAR	I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your
	welcome dear.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
	A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish.

BALTHAZAR	Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

BALTHAZAR	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, Cicel, 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	[Within]  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	[Within]  Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell
	me wherefore.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Nor to-day here you must not; come again
	when you may.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  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 to-day in my place,
	Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy
	name for an ass.

LUCE	[Within]  What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those
	at the gate?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Let my master in, Luce.

LUCE	[Within]  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	[Within]  Have at you with another; that's--When?
	can you tell?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast
	answered him well.

ANTIPHOLUS	Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?
OF EPHESUS

LUCE	[Within]  I thought to have asked you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  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	[Within]  Can you tell for whose sake?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Master, knock the door hard.

LUCE	[Within]  Let him knock till it ache.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

LUCE	[Within]  What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

ADRIANA	[Within]  Who is that at the door that keeps all
	this noise?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  By my troth, your town is troubled with
	unruly boys.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

ADRIANA	[Within]  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.

BALTHAZAR	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 there 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	[Within]  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	[Within]  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	[Within]  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.

BALTHAZAR	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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You have prevailed: 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.

	[To Angelo]

		    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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT III



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter LUCIANA and 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, be 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 are 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 of 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 them 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 am 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, air! hold you still:
	I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

	[Exit]

	[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	What woman's man? and how besides thyself? 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 half so
	clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over
	shoes 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, 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 heir.

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	Oh, 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 caracks to be ballast at her nose.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this
	drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd 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 transform'd me to a curtal dog and made
	me turn i' the wheel.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Go hie thee presently, post to the road:
	An if the wind blow any way from shore,
	I will not harbour in this town to-night:
	If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
	Where I will walk till thou return to me.
	If every one 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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE I	A public place.


	[Enter Second Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer]

Second Merchant	You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
	And since I have not much importuned 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 courtezan'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]

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 discharged,
	For he is bound to sea and stays but for it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I am not furnish'd 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	An 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.

Second 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 me by some token.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Fie, now you run this humour out of breath,
	where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Second Merchant	My business cannot brook this dalliance.
	Good sir, say whether 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.

Second 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 darest.

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 will have law in Ephesus,
	To your notorious shame; I doubt it not.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, from the bay]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum
	That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
	And then, sir, she 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 Second Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and
	Antipholus of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	To Adriana! that is where we dined,
	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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE II	The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

ADRIANA	Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
	Mightst 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 madest 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	Didst 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-faced, 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 fury, 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.

	[Exit Luciana]

		This I wonder at,
	That 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 Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
	Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

	[Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse]

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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE III	A public place.


	[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 every one 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 meanest 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

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the
	bark Expedition put forth to-night; 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 Courtezan]

Courtezan	Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
	I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
	Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

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.

Courtezan	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.

Courtezan	Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
	Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
	And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Some devils ask but the parings 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: an if you give it her,
	The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.

Courtezan	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]

Courtezan	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 promised 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 to-day 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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and the 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 to-day,
	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 returned.

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	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.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and PINCH]

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or
	rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the
	rope's-end.'

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Wilt thou still talk?

	[Beating him]

Courtezan	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!

Courtezan	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.

	[Striking him]

PINCH	I charge thee, Satan, housed 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 to-day,
	Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut
	And I denied to enter in my house?

ADRIANA	O husband, God doth know you dined at home;
	Where would you had remain'd until this time,
	Free from these slanders and this open shame!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dined 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	Perdie, 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 reviled 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 to-day?
	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 received 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 gaoler, 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.

	[They offer to bind Dromio of Ephesus]

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 required 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 entered 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 all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and
	Courtezan]

	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.

Courtezan	When as your husband all in rage to-day
	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, gaoler, 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 all but Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio
	of Syracuse]

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 to-night for all the town;
	Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT V



SCENE I	A street before a Priory.


	[Enter Second 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.

Second Merchant	How is the man esteemed here in the city?

ANGELO	Of very reverend reputation, sir,
	Of credit infinite, highly beloved,
	Second to none that lives here in the city:
	His word might bear my wealth at any time.

Second 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 to-day:
	This chain you had of me; can you deny it?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think I had; I never did deny it.

Second Merchant	Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?

Second Merchant	These ears of mine, thou know'st did hear thee.
	Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou livest
	To walk where any honest man 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 darest stand.

Second Merchant	I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.

	[They draw]

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, 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 the Lady Abbess, AEMILIA]

AEMELIA	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.

Second Merchant	I am sorry now that I did draw on him.

AEMELIA	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.

AEMELIA	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.

AEMELIA	You should for that have reprehended him.

ADRIANA	Why, so I did.

AEMELIA	                  Ay, but not rough enough.

ADRIANA	As roughly as my modesty would let me.

AEMELIA	Haply, in private.

ADRIANA	And in assemblies too.

AEMELIA	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.

AEMELIA	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 hinder'd by thy railing,
	And therefore comes it that his head is light.
	Thou say'st his meat was sauced 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 hinderd 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
	Have scared thy husband from the use of 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.

AEMELIA	No, not a creature enters in my house.

ADRIANA	Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

AEMELIA	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.

AEMELIA	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.

AEMELIA	Be quiet and depart: thou shalt not have him.

	[Exit]

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.

Second 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?

Second 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 DUKE SOLINUS, attended; AEGEON bareheaded; with the
	Headsman and other Officers]

DUKE SOLINUS	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 SOLINUS	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,
	Whom 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 desperately 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, any thing 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 SOLINUS	Long since thy husband served me in my wars,
	And I to thee engaged 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 Servant]

Servant	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.

Servant	Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
	I have not breathed 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 SOLINUS	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 housed him in the abbey here;
	And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus 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.

AEGEON	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 gavest 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 SOLINUS	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 SOLINUS	A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so?

ADRIANA	No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister
	To-day 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 perjured woman! They are both forsworn:
	In this the madman justly chargeth them.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	My liege, I am advised what I say,
	Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
	Nor heady-rash, provoked 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 Balthazar 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 perjured goldsmith swear me down
	That I this day of him received 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 the 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-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
	A dead-looking 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 all together
	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 dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

DUKE SOLINUS	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.

Second 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 SOLINUS	Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
	I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
	If here you housed him, here he would have been;
	If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
	You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here
	Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.

Courtezan	He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.

DUKE SOLINUS	Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Courtezan	As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.
	I think you are all mated or stark mad.

	[Exit one to Abbess]

AEGEON	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 SOLINUS	Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

AEGEON	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.

AEGEON	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?

AEGEON	Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

ANTIPHOLUS	I never saw you in my life till now.

AEGEON	O, grief hath changed 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.

AEGEON	Dromio, nor thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	                  No, trust me, sir, nor I.

AEGEON	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.

AEGEON	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 untuned 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.

AEGEON	But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
	Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son,
	Thou shamest 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 SOLINUS	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.

	[Re-enter AEMILIA, with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and
	DROMIO of Syracuse]

AEMELIA	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 SOLINUS	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	AEgeon art thou not? or else his ghost?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, my old master! who hath bound him here?

AEMELIA	Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds
	And gain a husband by his liberty.
	Speak, old AEgeon, if thou be'st the man
	That hadst a wife once call'd AEmilia
	That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:
	O, if thou be'st the same AEgeon, speak,
	And speak unto the same AEmilia!

AEGEON	If I dream not, thou art AEmilia:
	If thou art she, tell me where is that son
	That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

AEMELIA	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 SOLINUS	Why, here begins his morning story right;
	These two Antipholuses, 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.
	Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.

DUKE SOLINUS	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 to-day?

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.

	[To Luciana]

		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 received 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 SOLINUS	It shall not need; thy father hath his life.

Courtezan	Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.

AEMELIA	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 sympathized 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 festivity!

DUKE SOLINUS	With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.

	[Exeunt all but Antipholus of Syracuse, Antipholus
	of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse and Dromio of Ephesus]

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 to-day 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]
	CYMBELINE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


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	|  sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names
	|  of Polydote and Cadwal, supposed sons to
ARVIRAGUS	|  Morgan.


PHILARIO	friend to Posthumus,	|
			|  Italians.
IACHIMO	friend to Philario, 	|


CAIUS LUCIUS	general of the Roman forces.

PISANIO	servant to Posthumus.

CORNELIUS	a physician.

	A Roman Captain. (Captain:)

	Two British Captains.
	(First Captain:)
	(Second Captain:)

	A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
	(Frenchman:)

	Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)

	Two Gentlemen of the same.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)

	Two Gaolers.
	(First Gaoler:)
	(Second Gaoler:)

QUEEN	wife to Cymbeline.

IMOGEN	daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.

HELEN	a lady attending on Imogen.

	Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes,
	a Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians,
	Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers,
	and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(Lady:)
	(First Lady:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(First Tribune:)
	(Soothsayer:)
	(Messenger:)

	Apparitions.
	(Sicilius Leonatus:)
	(Mother:)
	(First Brother:)
	(Second Brother:)
	(Jupiter:)

SCENE	Britain; Rome.




	CYMBELINE


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.

Second Gentleman	But what's the matter?

First Gentleman	His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
	He purposed 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 desired the match; but not a courtier,
	Although they wear their faces to the bent
	Of the king's look's, 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 served with glory and admired success,
	So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
	And had, besides this gentleman in question,
	Two other sons, who in the wars o' the 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, deceased
	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 minister'd,
	And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
	Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
	A sample to the youngest, to the 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 the 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' the 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]

	[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]

QUEEN	No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
	After the slander of most stepmothers,
	Evil-eyed 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 the 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 LEONATUS	Please your highness,
	I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN	You know the peril.
	I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
	The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
	Hath charged 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 reserved 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 LEONATUS	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.

	[Re-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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	How, how! another?
	You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
	And sear up my embracements from a next
	With bonds of death!

	[Putting on the ring]

		Remain, remain thou here
	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.

	[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]

IMOGEN	O the gods!
	When shall we see again?

	[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 blest, 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 loved 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!

CYMBELINE	Thou foolish thing!

	[Re-enter 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!

	[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]

QUEEN	                  Fie! you must give way.

	[Enter PISANIO]

	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 pleased 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,
	I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
	Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. 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 thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

Second Lord	[Aside]  His steel was in debt; it went o' the
	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 measured 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 damned.

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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO]

IMOGEN	I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
	And question'dst every sail: if he should write
	And 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 waved 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 this 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 eye-strings; crack'd them, but
	To look upon him, till the diminution
	Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
	Nay, follow'd 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 assured, 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 charged him,
	At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
	To 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE IV	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 looked 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 furnished 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 judgment,
	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.
	Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
	amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
	knowing, to a stranger of his quality.

	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

	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 LEONATUS	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'er-rate 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 LEONATUS	By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
	rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
	my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
	but upon my mended judgment--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 fallen 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 LEONATUS	She holds her virtue still and I my mind.

IACHIMO	You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Being so far provoked 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 LEONATUS	I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.

IACHIMO	What do you esteem it at?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	More than the world enjoys.

IACHIMO	Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's
	outprized by a trifle.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
	estimations; the one is but frail and the other
	casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
	courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your Italy contains none so accomplished 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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	You are a great deal abused in too bold a
	persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
	worthy of by your attempt.

IACHIMO	What's that?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 the
	approbation of what I have spoke!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 reserved.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring
	I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.

IACHIMO	You are afraid, 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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 enjoyed 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 LEONATUS	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 prevailed, I am no further
	your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
	remain unseduced, you not making it appear
	otherwise, for your ill opinion and the 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 LEONATUS	Agreed.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO]

Frenchman	Will this hold, think you?

PHILARIO	Signior Iachimo will not from it.
	Pray, let us follow 'em.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE V	Britain. A room in 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?

First 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 small box]

	But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
	My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
	Commanded of me those 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 judgment 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 practise 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 lingering 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 takest 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 prethee, 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 shaked; 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 assured
	To taste of too.

	[Re-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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE VI	The same. Another room in the palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN]

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: blest 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 the 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 the 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' the eye, for apes and monkeys
	'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
	Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
	For idiots in this case of favour would
	Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
	Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
	Should make desire vomit emptiness,
	Not so allured 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.

	[To PISANIO]

		 Beseech you, sir, desire
	My man's abode where I did leave him: he
	Is 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 disposed 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 his 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 used 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' the 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 doubling 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 the 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 unlustrous 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,
	Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
	The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
	That from pay 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 hired with that self-exhibition
	Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
	That play with all infirmities for gold
	Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
	As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
	Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
	Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN	Revenged!
	How should I be revenged? 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 revenged?

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
	Solicit'st 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 assured 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 adventured
	To try your taking a false report; which hath
	Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
	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 power i' the court
	for yours.

IACHIMO	My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
	To entreat your grace but in a small request,
	And yet of moment to, 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 to-morrow.

IMOGEN	O, no, no.

IACHIMO	Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
	By lengthening 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 to-morrow!

IACHIMO	O, I must, madam:
	Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
	To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
	I have outstood my time; which is material
	To the 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE I	Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

CLOTEN	Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
	jack, upon an up-cast 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 disposed 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 give him satisfaction?
	Would he had been one of my rank!

Second Lord	[Aside]  To have smelt like a fool.

CLOTEN	I am not vexed more at any thing in the 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 Jack-slave 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 to-night?

CLOTEN	A stranger, and I not know 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 banished 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
	to-day at bowls I'll win to-night 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 endurest,
	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'ld make! The heavens hold firm
	The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
	That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
	To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE II	Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:
	a trunk in one corner of it.


	[IMOGEN in bed, reading; 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' the clock,
	I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized 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 becomest 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' the taper
	Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
	To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
	Under these windows, white and azure laced
	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
	The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
	Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
	Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
	Above ten thousand meaner moveables
	Would testify, to 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 the madding of her lord. On her left breast
	A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
	I' the 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 the 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!

	[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE III	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 turned 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 o' 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 Phoebus 'gins arise,
	His steeds to water at those springs
	On chaliced flowers that lies;
	And winking Mary-buds begin
	To ope their golden eyes:
	With every thing 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 horse-hairs and
	calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
	boot, can never amend.

	[Exeunt Musicians]

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.

	[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]

	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 assailed her with music, 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 out,
	And then she's yours.

QUEEN	You are most bound to the king,
	Who lets go by no vantages that may
	Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
	To orderly soliciting, and be friended
	With aptness of the season; make denials
	Increase your services; so seem as if
	You were inspired 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
	To 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.

	[Knocks]

		       By your leave, ho!
	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 the stand o' the 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.

	[Knocks]

	By your leave.

	[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 the 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' the court, it is no contract, none:
	And though it be allow'd 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-figured knot;
	Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
	The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
	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 styled
	The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
	For being preferred so well.

CLOTEN	The south-fog rot him!

IMOGEN	He never can meet more mischance than come
	To be but named of thee. His meanest 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 anger'd 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 abused 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 the worst of discontent.

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	I'll be revenged:
	'His meanest garment!' Well.

	[Exit]



CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE IV	Rome. Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	Not any, but abide the change of time,
	Quake in the present winter's state and wish
	That warmer days would come: in these sear'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 the arrearages,
	Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
	Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 Caesar
	Smiled 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 LEONATUS	The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
	And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
	To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO	Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	Their tenor 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 LEONATUS	All is well yet.
	Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
	Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO	If I had lost it,
	I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
	I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
	A second night of such sweet shortness which
	Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The stone's too hard to come by.

IACHIMO	Not a whit,
	Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 further: 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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	                  Proceed.

IACHIMO	First, her bedchamber,--
	Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
	Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
	With tapesty 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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	So they must,
	Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO	The chimney
	Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
	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 LEONATUS	This is a thing
	Which you might from relation likewise reap,
	Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO	The roof o' the 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 LEONATUS	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,

	[Showing 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 LEONATUS	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 prized it once.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	May be she pluck'd it off
	To send it me.

IACHIMO	She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 of her women, being corrupted,
	Hath stol'n it from her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 stolen.

IACHIMO	By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 induced to steal it!
	And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed 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 believed
	Of one persuaded well of--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;
	Once, and a million!

IACHIMO	I'll be sworn--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
	I will go there and do't, i' the 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 an my heart.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE V	Another room in Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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,--wast 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 may be named, 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]




	CYMBELINE


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 Caesar with us?

CAIUS LUCIUS	When Julius Caesar, 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 Caesar'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 Caesars,
	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, ribbed and paled in
	With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
	With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
	But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
	Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
	Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
	That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
	From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
	Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
	Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
	As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
	The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
	O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar'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 Caesars: 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
	Caesar 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:
	Caesar's ambition,
	Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
	The sides o' the 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.
Lords	|

CYMBELINE	Say, then, to Caesar,
	Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
	Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
	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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  I am sorry, Cymbeline,
	That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
	Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
	Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
	Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
	In Caesar'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 Caesar 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 Caesar shall not find them.

CAIUS 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	So, sir.

CYMBELINE	I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
	All the remain is 'Welcome!'

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE II	Another room in the palace.


	[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]

PISANIO	How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
	What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
	O master! what a strange infection
	Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
	As poisonous-tongued 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?

	[Reading]

		'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 feodary for this act, and look'st
	So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
	I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

	[Enter IMOGEN]

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'ld 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,--
	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 the smothering of the sense--how far it is
	To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
	Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
	To 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 e'er begot?
	We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
	How many score of miles may we well ride
	'Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO	One score 'twixt sun and sun,
	Madam, 's enough for you:

	[Aside]

		     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' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
	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 housewife.

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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE III	Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.


	[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS,
	and ARVIRAGUS following]

BELARIUS	A goodly day not to keep house, with such
	Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
	Instructs you how to 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' the 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 cheque,
	Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
	Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
	Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
	Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS	Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
	Have never wing'd from view o' the 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 a-bed;
	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 quire, 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' the court
	As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
	Is certain falling, or so slippery that
	The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
	A pain that only seems to seek out danger
	I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
	the search,
	And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
	As record of fair act; nay, many times,
	Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
	Must court'sy 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 loved 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 lived at honest freedom, paid
	More pious debts to heaven than in all
	The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
	This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
	The venison first shall be the lord o' the 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 the king;
	Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
	They think they are mine; and though train'd
	up thus meanly
	I' the 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 roused!
	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 reft'st 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Country 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 the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
	Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
	Beyond self-explication: put thyself
	Into a havior 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 countenance 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 played 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 the 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 villany; not born where't grows,
	But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO	Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN	True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
	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 perjured
	From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
	Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st 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, thou 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 disedged 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 received command to do this business
	I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN	Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO	I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

IMOGEN	Wherefore then
	Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
	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,
	The 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 abused:
	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 where? where bide? how live?
	Or in my life what comfort, when I am
	Dead to my husband?

PISANIO	If you'll back to the 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' the 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. The ambassador,
	Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
	To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
	Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
	That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
	But by self-danger, you should tread a course
	Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, 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 its 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 you'll 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE V	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS,
	Lords, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  So, sir: I desire of you
	A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
	Madam, all joy befal your grace!

QUEEN	And you!

CYMBELINE	My lords, you are appointed for that office;
	The due of honour in no point omit.
	So farewell, noble Lucius.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Your hand, my lord.

CLOTEN	Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
	I wear it as your enemy.

CAIUS 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 powers 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 retired
	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.

	[Re-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 the loudest 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,
	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 seized her,
	Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
	To her desired 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.

	[Re-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	[Aside]            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 judgment
	That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
	I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
	To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--

	[Enter PISANIO]

	Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
	Come hither: ah, you precious pander! 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 missed?
	He is in Rome.

CLOTEN	                  Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
	No further 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	Hum!

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 villany 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 lint 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
	praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
	her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
	and I'll be merry in my revenge.

	[Re-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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VI	Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]

IMOGEN	I see a man's life is a tedious one:
	I have tired 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 relieved. 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' the 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 to 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 any thing 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, to the cave]

	[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	You, Polydote, have proved 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' the 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!

	[Re-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' the 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 prayers 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. God's!

BELARIUS	Hark, boys.

	[Whispering]

IMOGEN	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's 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 the owl and morn to the lark
	less welcome.

IMOGEN	Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS	I pray, draw near.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VII	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter two Senators and Tribunes]

First Senator	This is the tenor 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 preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
	For this immediate levy, he commends
	His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!

First Tribune	Is Lucius general of the forces?

Second Senator	Ay.

First 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.

First Tribune	                  We will discharge our duty.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Wales: near the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	I am near to the place where they should meet, if
	Pisanio have mapped 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
	thy 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]



	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE II	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, 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, loved before me.
	'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS	Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN	I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS	                  You health. 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 disprovest report!
	The 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 the field, to the 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 housewife.

IMOGEN	Well or ill,
	I am bound to you.

BELARIUS	And shalt be ever.

	[Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]

	This youth, how'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 sauced 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' the 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 the queen.

GUIDERIUS	I am 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]

	[Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	No companies 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
	Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
	Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.

	[Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head]

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'ld 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 raved
	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'ld 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 revenged:
	Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
	Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS	Would I had done't
	So the revenge alone pursued 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 to-day, 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 Polydote return, and bring him
	To dinner presently.

ARVIRAGUS	Poor sick Fidele!
	I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
	I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
	And praise myself for charity.

	[Exit]

BELARIUS	O thou goddess,
	Thou divine Nature, how 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 enchafed, as the rudest wind,
	That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
	And make him stoop to the 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.

	[Re-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?

BELARIUS	                  Look, here he comes,
	And brings the dire occasion in his arms
	Of what we blame him for.

	[Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead,
	bearing her in his arms]

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 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 hid tickled slumber,
	Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
	right cheek
	Reposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS	Where?

ARVIRAGUS	O' the floor;
	His arms thus leagued: 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 azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
	The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
	Out-sweeten'd 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 flowers 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 the 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 the ground,
	As once 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, medicine 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 the 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' the 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' the 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 the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS	     Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS	        Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  All lovers young, all lovers must
ARVIRAGUS	|   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!


GUIDERIUS	|
	|   Quiet consummation have;
ARVIRAGUS	|    And renowned be thy grave!


	[Re-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' the night
	Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
	You were as flowers, 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 BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

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 of CLOTEN]

	These flowers 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 judgments, blind. Good faith,
	I tremble stiff 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 imagined, 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,
	Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
	Hast 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
	Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
	This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: 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 on the body]

	[Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers,
	and a Soothsayer]

Captain	To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
	After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
	You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
	They are in readiness.

CAIUS 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,
	Syenna's brother.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  When expect you them?

Captain	With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS 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 the Roman host.

CAIUS 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.

CAIUS 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 makest 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 it? Who is it?
	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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	'Lack, good youth!
	Thou movest 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?

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thy name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.

CAIUS 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 beloved. 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.

CAIUS 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in 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.

First 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.

First 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 amazed with matter.

First 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 powers 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' the 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



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 lived, 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 deserved 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 promised,
	But to be still hot summer's tamings and
	The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS	Than be so
	Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
	I and my brother are not known; yourself
	So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
	Cannot be question'd.

ARVIRAGUS	By this sun that shines,
	I'll thither: what thing is it 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 ashamed
	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, an 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]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE I	Britain. The Roman camp.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 lived 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 the 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 Briton 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' the Leonati in me!
	To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
	The fashion, less without and more within.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE II	Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.


	[Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and
	the Roman Army: from the other side, the
	British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following,
	like a poor soldier. They march over and go
	out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO
	and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 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 subdued 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 the advantage of the ground;
	The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
	The villany of our fears.


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  Stand, stand, and fight!
ARVIRAGUS	|


	[Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the
	Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
	re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN]

CAIUS 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
	Let's reinforce, or fly.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]

Lord	Camest thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I did.
	Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord	I did.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
	Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
	More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
	Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
	Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
	With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
	To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord	Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;
	Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
	An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
	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 cased, 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' the hunters. Then began
	A stop i' the 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' the need: having found the backdoor open
	Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
	Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
	O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
	Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
	Those that would die or ere resist are grown
	The mortal bugs o' the field.

Lord	This was strange chance
	A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 mockery? Here is one:
	'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
	Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'

Lord	Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	'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.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Still going?

	[Exit Lord]

	This is a lord! O noble misery,
	To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
	To-day how many would have given their honours
	To have saved 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 more ministers than we
	That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him
	For being now a favourer to the Briton,
	No more a Briton, I have resumed 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 the 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 praised! 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 the affront with them.

First Captain	So 'tis reported:
	But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 the king.

	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
	PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives.
	The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to
	CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler:
	then exeunt omnes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE IV	A British prison.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 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 LEONATUS	Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
	think, to liberty: yet am I better
	Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
	Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
	By the sure physician, death, who is the key
	To 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,
	Desired 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 powers,
	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 Leonatus,
	an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in
	his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother
	to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them:
	then, after other music, follow the two young
	Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with
	wounds as they died in the wars. They circle
	Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]

Sicilius Leonatus	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 ript,
	Came crying 'mongst his foes,
	A thing of pity!

Sicilius Leonatus	Great nature, like his ancestry,
	Moulded the stuff so fair,
	That he deserved the praise o' the 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 exiled, and thrown
	From Leonati seat, and cast
	From her his dearest one,
	Sweet Imogen?

Sicilius Leonatus	Why did you suffer Iachimo,
	Slight thing of Italy,
	To taint his nobler heart and brain
	With needless jealosy;
	And to become the geck and scorn
	O' th' other's villany?

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 Leonatus	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 Leonatus	Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
	Or we poor ghosts will cry
	To the shining synod of the rest
	Against thy deity.


First Brother	|   Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
	|   And from thy justice fly.
Second Brother	|


	[Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
	upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The
	Apparitions 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 flowers:
	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 further with your din
	Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
	Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

	[Ascends]

Sicilius Leonatus	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 pleased.

All	Thanks, Jupiter!

Sicilius Leonatus	The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
	His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,
	Let us with care perform his great behest.

	[The Apparitions vanish]

Posthumus Leonatus	[Waking]  Sleep, thou hast 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 embraced by a piece of
	tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
	lopped 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.

	[Re-enter First Gaoler]

First Gaoler	Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

First Gaoler	Hanging is the word, sir: if
	you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So, if I prove a good repast to the
	spectators, the dish pays the shot.

First 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
	flint 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: 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 LEONATUS	I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

First Gaoler	Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
	tooth-ache: 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 LEONATUS	Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

First Gaoler	Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
	him so pictured: you must either be directed by
	some that take upon them to know, or do 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 LEONATUS	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.

First 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 LEONATUS	Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.

First Gaoler	I'll be hang'd then.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]

First 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.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE V	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 shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
	Stepp'd before larges 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 promises 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' the 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' the 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 medicine 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 loved 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 lingering
	By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
	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 the 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?

First Lady	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 LEONATUS
	behind, and IMOGEN]

	Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
	The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
	Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
	That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
	Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
	So think of your estate.

CAIUS 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 make bold your highness
	Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
	Though he have served 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.

CAIUS 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.

CAIUS 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 eyest 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 revived 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 saw 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 come forward]

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 LEONATUS	[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 villany
	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 lived
	'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!--it was in Rome,--accursed
	The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
	Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
	Those which I heaved 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 rarest 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 praised,--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-trolls, or his description
	Proved us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE	Nay, nay, to the 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 villanous. 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 practise 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; averting 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 LEONATUS	[Advancing]             Ay, so thou dost,
	Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
	Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
	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 the abhorred things o' the earth amend
	By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
	That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
	That caused 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' the street to bay me: every villain
	Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
	Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
	My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
	Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN	                  Peace, my lord; hear, hear--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
	There lie thy part.

	[Striking her: she falls]

PISANIO	O, gentlemen, help!
	Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
	You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help!
	Mine honour'd lady!

CYMBELINE	Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How come 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 thy mistress?

IMOGEN	O, get thee from my sight;
	Thou gavest 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 served
	As I would serve a rat.'

CYMBELINE	What's this, Comelius?

CORNELIUS	The queen, sir, very oft importuned 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 power 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 LEONATUS	Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
	Till the tree die!

CYMBELINE	                  How now, my flesh, my child!
	What, makest 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 nought; 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,
	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 enforced 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 bard 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
	Assumed 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 received 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 moved her to't,
	Having received 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 shaped
	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 pleased 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 the 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
	Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
	That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
	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 ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE	Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS	Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS	                  And at first meeting loved;
	Continued 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 lived 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-dependencies,
	From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
	Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
	Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
	And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
	On him, her brother, 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Happy be you!

CYMBELINE	The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
	He would have well becomed this place, and graced
	The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 LEONATUS	Kneel not to me:
	The power 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 LEONATUS	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 waked, 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Philarmonus!

Soothsayer	Here, my good lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer	[Reads]  'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
	unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
	piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
	shall be lopped 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 Leonatus, 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 revived,
	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 Caesar,
	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 powers above do tune
	The harmony of this peace. The vision
	Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
	Of this yet 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' the sun
	So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
	The imperial Caesar, 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 blest 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]
	LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE

FERDINAND	king of Navarre.


BIRON	|
	|
LONGAVILLE	|  lords attending on the King.
	|
DUMAIN	|


BOYET	|
	|  lords attending on the Princess of France.
MERCADE	|


DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	a fantastical Spaniard.

SIR NATHANIEL	a curate.

HOLOFERNES	a schoolmaster.

DULL	a constable.

COSTARD	a clown.

MOTH	page to Armado.

	A Forester.

	The PRINCESS of France: (PRINCESS:)


ROSALINE	|
	|
MARIA	|  ladies attending on the Princess.
	|
KATHARINE	|


JAQUENETTA	a country wench.

	Lords, Attendants, &c.
	(First Lord:)


SCENE	Navarre.




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE I	The king of Navarre's park.


	[Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE
	and DUMAIN]

FERDINAND	Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
	Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
	And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
	When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
	The endeavor of this present breath may buy
	That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
	And make us heirs of all eternity.
	Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,
	That war against your own affections
	And the huge army of the world's desires,--
	Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
	Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
	Our court shall be a little Academe,
	Still and contemplative in living art.
	You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
	Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
	My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
	That are recorded in this schedule here:
	Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
	That his own hand may strike his honour down
	That violates the smallest branch herein:
	If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
	Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

LONGAVILLE	I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
	The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
	Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
	Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

DUMAIN	My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
	The grosser manner of these world's delights
	He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
	To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
	With all these living in philosophy.

BIRON	I can but say their protestation over;
	So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
	That is, to live and study here three years.
	But there are other strict observances;
	As, not to see a woman in that term,
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
	And one day in a week to touch no food
	And but one meal on every day beside,
	The which I hope is not enrolled there;
	And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
	And not be seen to wink of all the day--
	When I was wont to think no harm all night
	And make a dark night too of half the day--
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
	O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
	Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

FERDINAND	Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

BIRON	Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
	I only swore to study with your grace
	And stay here in your court for three years' space.

LONGAVILLE	You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

BIRON	By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
	What is the end of study? let me know.

FERDINAND	Why, that to know, which else we should not know.

BIRON	Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?

FERDINAND	Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.

BIRON	Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
	To know the thing I am forbid to know:
	As thus,--to study where I well may dine,
	When I to feast expressly am forbid;
	Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
	When mistresses from common sense are hid;
	Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
	Study to break it and not break my troth.
	If study's gain be thus and this be so,
	Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
	Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

FERDINAND	These be the stops that hinder study quite
	And train our intellects to vain delight.

BIRON	Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
	Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
	As, painfully to pore upon a book
	To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
	Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
	Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
	So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
	Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
	Study me how to please the eye indeed
	By fixing it upon a fairer eye,
	Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed
	And give him light that it was blinded by.
	Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
	That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:
	Small have continual plodders ever won
	Save base authority from others' books
	These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
	That give a name to every fixed star
	Have no more profit of their shining nights
	Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
	Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
	And every godfather can give a name.

FERDINAND	How well he's read, to reason against reading!

DUMAIN	Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

LONGAVILLE	He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.

BIRON	The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.

DUMAIN	How follows that?

BIRON	                  Fit in his place and time.

DUMAIN	In reason nothing.

BIRON	                  Something then in rhyme.

FERDINAND	Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
	That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

BIRON	Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
	Before the birds have any cause to sing?
	Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
	At Christmas I no more desire a rose
	Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
	But like of each thing that in season grows.
	So you, to study now it is too late,
	Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.

FERDINAND	Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.

BIRON	No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
	And though I have for barbarism spoke more
	Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
	Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
	And bide the penance of each three years' day.
	Give me the paper; let me read the same;
	And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.

FERDINAND	How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

BIRON	[Reads]  'Item, That no woman shall come within a
	mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed?

LONGAVILLE	Four days ago.

BIRON	Let's see the penalty.

	[Reads]

	'On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty?

LONGAVILLE	Marry, that did I.

BIRON	Sweet lord, and why?

LONGAVILLE	To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

BIRON	A dangerous law against gentility!

	[Reads]

	'Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman
	within the term of three years, he shall endure such
	public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.'
	This article, my liege, yourself must break;
	For well you know here comes in embassy
	The French king's daughter with yourself to speak--
	A maid of grace and complete majesty--
	About surrender up of Aquitaine
	To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father:
	Therefore this article is made in vain,
	Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

FERDINAND	What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.

BIRON	So study evermore is overshot:
	While it doth study to have what it would
	It doth forget to do the thing it should,
	And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
	'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

FERDINAND	We must of force dispense with this decree;
	She must lie here on mere necessity.

BIRON	Necessity will make us all forsworn
	Three thousand times within this three years' space;
	For every man with his affects is born,
	Not by might master'd but by special grace:
	If I break faith, this word shall speak for me;
	I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.'
	So to the laws at large I write my name:

	[Subscribes]

	And he that breaks them in the least degree
	Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
	Suggestions are to other as to me;
	But I believe, although I seem so loath,
	I am the last that will last keep his oath.
	But is there no quick recreation granted?

FERDINAND	Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
	With a refined traveller of Spain;
	A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
	That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
	One whom the music of his own vain tongue
	Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
	A man of complements, whom right and wrong
	Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
	This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
	For interim to our studies shall relate
	In high-born words the worth of many a knight
	From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
	How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
	But, I protest, I love to hear him lie
	And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

BIRON	Armado is a most illustrious wight,
	A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.

LONGAVILLE	Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
	And so to study, three years is but short.

	[Enter DULL with a letter, and COSTARD]

DULL	Which is the duke's own person?

BIRON	This, fellow: what wouldst?

DULL	I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his
	grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person
	in flesh and blood.

BIRON	This is he.

DULL	Signior Arme--Arme--commends you. There's villany
	abroad: this letter will tell you more.

COSTARD	Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.

FERDINAND	A letter from the magnificent Armado.

BIRON	How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.

LONGAVILLE	A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

BIRON	To hear? or forbear laughing?

LONGAVILLE	To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to
	forbear both.

BIRON	Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to
	climb in the merriness.

COSTARD	The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
	The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

BIRON	In what manner?

COSTARD	In manner and form following, sir; all those three:
	I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with
	her upon the form, and taken following her into the
	park; which, put together, is in manner and form
	following. Now, sir, for the manner,--it is the
	manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the form,--
	in some form.

BIRON	For the following, sir?

COSTARD	As it shall follow in my correction: and God defend
	the right!

FERDINAND	Will you hear this letter with attention?

BIRON	As we would hear an oracle.

COSTARD	Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent and
	sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god,
	and body's fostering patron.'

COSTARD	Not a word of Costard yet.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'So it is,'--

COSTARD	It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, in
	telling true, but so.

FERDINAND	Peace!

COSTARD	Be to me and every man that dares not fight!

FERDINAND	No words!

COSTARD	Of other men's secrets, I beseech you.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured
	melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour
	to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving
	air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to
	walk. The time when. About the sixth hour; when
	beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down
	to that nourishment which is called supper: so much
	for the time when. Now for the ground which; which,
	I mean, I walked upon: it is y-cleped thy park. Then
	for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter
	that obscene and preposterous event, that draweth
	from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which
	here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest;
	but to the place where; it standeth north-north-east
	and by east from the west corner of thy curious-
	knotted garden: there did I see that low-spirited
	swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,'--

COSTARD	Me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'that unlettered small-knowing soul,'--

COSTARD	Me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'that shallow vassal,'--

COSTARD	Still me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'which, as I remember, hight Costard,'--

COSTARD	O, me!

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy
	established proclaimed edict and continent canon,
	which with,--O, with--but with this I passion to say
	wherewith,--

COSTARD	With a wench.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a
	female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a
	woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on,
	have sent to thee, to receive the meed of
	punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Anthony
	Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and
	estimation.'

DULL	'Me, an't shall please you; I am Anthony Dull.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'For Jaquenetta,--so is the weaker vessel
	called which I apprehended with the aforesaid
	swain,--I keep her as a vessel of the law's fury;
	and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring
	her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted
	and heart-burning heat of duty.
		        DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'

BIRON	This is not so well as I looked for, but the best
	that ever I heard.

FERDINAND	Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say
	you to this?

COSTARD	Sir, I confess the wench.

FERDINAND	Did you hear the proclamation?

COSTARD	I do confess much of the hearing it but little of
	the marking of it.

FERDINAND	It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, to be taken
	with a wench.

COSTARD	I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a damsel.

FERDINAND	Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.'

COSTARD	This was no damsel, neither, sir; she was a virgin.

FERDINAND	It is so varied, too; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.'

COSTARD	If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

FERDINAND	This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

COSTARD	This maid will serve my turn, sir.

FERDINAND	Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast
	a week with bran and water.

COSTARD	I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

FERDINAND	And Don Armado shall be your keeper.
	My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er:
	And go we, lords, to put in practise that
	Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.

	[Exeunt FERDINAND, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN]

BIRON	I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
	These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
	Sirrah, come on.

COSTARD	I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is, I was
	taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true
	girl; and therefore welcome the sour cup of
	prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again; and
	till then, sit thee down, sorrow!

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit
	grows melancholy?

MOTH	A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.

MOTH	No, no; O Lord, sir, no.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my
	tender juvenal?

MOTH	By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Why tough senior? why tough senior?

MOTH	Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton
	appertaining to thy young days, which we may
	nominate tender.

MOTH	And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your
	old time, which we may name tough.

DON ADRIANO DE
ARMADO	Pretty and apt.

MOTH	How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or
	I apt, and my saying pretty?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Thou pretty, because little.

MOTH	Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	And therefore apt, because quick.

MOTH	Speak you this in my praise, master?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	In thy condign praise.

MOTH	I will praise an eel with the same praise.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What, that an eel is ingenious?

MOTH	That an eel is quick.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do say thou art quick in answers: thou heatest my blood.

MOTH	I am answered, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I love not to be crossed.

MOTH	[Aside]  He speaks the mere contrary; crosses love not him.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I have promised to study three years with the duke.

MOTH	You may do it in an hour, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Impossible.

MOTH	How many is one thrice told?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

MOTH	You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I confess both: they are both the varnish of a
	complete man.

MOTH	Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of
	deuce-ace amounts to.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	It doth amount to one more than two.

MOTH	Which the base vulgar do call three.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	True.

MOTH	Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here
	is three studied, ere ye'll thrice wink: and how
	easy it is to put 'years' to the word 'three,' and
	study three years in two words, the dancing horse
	will tell you.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	A most fine figure!

MOTH	To prove you a cipher.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it is
	base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
	base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour
	of affection would deliver me from the reprobate
	thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and
	ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised
	courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should
	outswear Cupid. Comfort, me, boy: what great men
	have been in love?

MOTH	Hercules, master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name
	more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good
	repute and carriage.

MOTH	Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great
	carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his back
	like a porter: and he was in love.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do
	excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in
	carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's
	love, my dear Moth?

MOTH	A woman, master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Of what complexion?

MOTH	Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Tell me precisely of what complexion.

MOTH	Of the sea-water green, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Is that one of the four complexions?

MOTH	As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Green indeed is the colour of lovers; but to have a
	love of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason
	for it. He surely affected her for her wit.

MOTH	It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.
DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	My love is most immaculate white and red.

MOTH	Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under
	such colours.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Define, define, well-educated infant.

MOTH	My father's wit and my mother's tongue, assist me!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty and
	pathetical!

MOTH	     If she be made of white and red,
	Her faults will ne'er be known,
	For blushing cheeks by faults are bred
	And fears by pale white shown:
	Then if she fear, or be to blame,
	By this you shall not know,
	For still her cheeks possess the same
	Which native she doth owe.
	A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
	white and red.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

MOTH	The world was very guilty of such a ballad some
	three ages since: but I think now 'tis not to be
	found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for
	the writing nor the tune.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may
	example my digression by some mighty precedent.
	Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the
	park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

MOTH	[Aside]  To be whipped; and yet a better love than
	my master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

MOTH	And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I say, sing.

MOTH	Forbear till this company be past.

	[Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA]

DULL	Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard
	safe: and you must suffer him to take no delight
	nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a week.
	For this damsel, I must keep her at the park: she
	is allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!

JAQUENETTA	Man?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will visit thee at the lodge.

JAQUENETTA	That's hereby.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I know where it is situate.

JAQUENETTA	Lord, how wise you are!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will tell thee wonders.

JAQUENETTA	With that face?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I love thee.

JAQUENETTA	So I heard you say.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	And so, farewell.

JAQUENETTA	Fair weather after you!

DULL	Come, Jaquenetta, away!

	[Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou
	be pardoned.

COSTARD	Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a
	full stomach.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Thou shalt be heavily punished.

COSTARD	I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they
	are but lightly rewarded.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Take away this villain; shut him up.

MOTH	Come, you transgressing slave; away!

COSTARD	Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose.

MOTH	No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.

COSTARD	Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation
	that I have seen, some shall see.

MOTH	What shall some see?

COSTARD	Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon.
	It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their
	words; and therefore I will say nothing: I thank
	God I have as little patience as another man; and
	therefore I can be quiet.

	[Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do affect the very ground, which is base, where
	her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which
	is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which
	is a great argument of falsehood, if I love. And
	how can that be true love which is falsely
	attempted? Love is a familiar; Love is a devil:
	there is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Samson so
	tempted, and he had an excellent strength; yet was
	Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit.
	Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club;
	and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier.
	The first and second cause will not serve my turn;
	the passado he respects not, the duello he regards
	not: his disgrace is to be called boy; but his
	glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust rapier!
	be still, drum! for your manager is in love; yea,
	he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme,
	for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit;
	write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.

	[Exit]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT II



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA,
	KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants]

BOYET	Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
	Consider who the king your father sends,
	To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:
	Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
	To parley with the sole inheritor
	Of all perfections that a man may owe,
	Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
	Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
	Be now as prodigal of all dear grace
	As Nature was in making graces dear
	When she did starve the general world beside
	And prodigally gave them all to you.

PRINCESS	Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
	Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
	Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye,
	Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues:
	I am less proud to hear you tell my worth
	Than you much willing to be counted wise
	In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
	But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,
	You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
	Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
	Till painful study shall outwear three years,
	No woman may approach his silent court:
	Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course,
	Before we enter his forbidden gates,
	To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
	Bold of your worthiness, we single you
	As our best-moving fair solicitor.
	Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
	On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
	Importunes personal conference with his grace:
	Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
	Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will.

BOYET	Proud of employment, willingly I go.

PRINCESS	All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.

	[Exit BOYET]

	Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
	That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?

First Lord	Lord Longaville is one.

PRINCESS	Know you the man?

MARIA	I know him, madam: at a marriage-feast,
	Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
	Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized
	In Normandy, saw I this Longaville:
	A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
	Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:
	Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
	The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
	If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,
	Is a sharp wit matched with too blunt a will;
	Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
	It should none spare that come within his power.

PRINCESS	Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?

MARIA	They say so most that most his humours know.

PRINCESS	Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow.
	Who are the rest?

KATHARINE	The young Dumain, a well-accomplished youth,
	Of all that virtue love for virtue loved:
	Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
	For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
	And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
	I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once;
	And much too little of that good I saw
	Is my report to his great worthiness.

ROSALINE	Another of these students at that time
	Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.
	Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
	Within the limit of becoming mirth,
	I never spent an hour's talk withal:
	His eye begets occasion for his wit;
	For every object that the one doth catch
	The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
	Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
	Delivers in such apt and gracious words
	That aged ears play truant at his tales
	And younger hearings are quite ravished;
	So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

PRINCESS	God bless my ladies! are they all in love,
	That every one her own hath garnished
	With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

First Lord	Here comes Boyet.

	[Re-enter BOYET]

PRINCESS	Now, what admittance, lord?

BOYET	Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
	And he and his competitors in oath
	Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
	Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:
	He rather means to lodge you in the field,
	Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
	Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
	To let you enter his unpeopled house.
	Here comes Navarre.

	[Enter FERDINAND, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, and
	Attendants]

FERDINAND	Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

PRINCESS	'Fair' I give you back again; and 'welcome' I have
	not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be
	yours; and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.

FERDINAND	You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

PRINCESS	I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.

FERDINAND	Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.

PRINCESS	Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.

FERDINAND	Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

PRINCESS	Why, will shall break it; will and nothing else.

FERDINAND	Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

PRINCESS	Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
	Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
	I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
	Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
	And sin to break it.
	But pardon me. I am too sudden-bold:
	To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
	Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
	And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

FERDINAND	Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

PRINCESS	You will the sooner, that I were away;
	For you'll prove perjured if you make me stay.

BIRON	Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

ROSALINE	Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

BIRON	I know you did.

ROSALINE	How needless was it then to ask the question!

BIRON	You must not be so quick.

ROSALINE	'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions.

BIRON	Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.

ROSALINE	Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

BIRON	What time o' day?

ROSALINE	The hour that fools should ask.

BIRON	Now fair befall your mask!

ROSALINE	Fair fall the face it covers!

BIRON	And send you many lovers!

ROSALINE	Amen, so you be none.

BIRON	Nay, then will I be gone.

FERDINAND	Madam, your father here doth intimate
	The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
	Being but the one half of an entire sum
	Disbursed by my father in his wars.
	But say that he or we, as neither have,
	Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid
	A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
	One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,
	Although not valued to the money's worth.
	If then the king your father will restore
	But that one half which is unsatisfied,
	We will give up our right in Aquitaine,
	And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
	But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
	For here he doth demand to have repaid
	A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
	On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
	To have his title live in Aquitaine;
	Which we much rather had depart withal
	And have the money by our father lent
	Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.
	Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
	From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
	A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast
	And go well satisfied to France again.

PRINCESS	You do the king my father too much wrong
	And wrong the reputation of your name,
	In so unseeming to confess receipt
	Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

FERDINAND	I do protest I never heard of it;
	And if you prove it, I'll repay it back
	Or yield up Aquitaine.

PRINCESS	We arrest your word.
	Boyet, you can produce acquittances
	For such a sum from special officers
	Of Charles his father.

FERDINAND	Satisfy me so.

BOYET	So please your grace, the packet is not come
	Where that and other specialties are bound:
	To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

FERDINAND	It shall suffice me: at which interview
	All liberal reason I will yield unto.
	Meantime receive such welcome at my hand
	As honour without breach of honour may
	Make tender of to thy true worthiness:
	You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
	But here without you shall be so received
	As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart,
	Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
	Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:
	To-morrow shall we visit you again.

PRINCESS	Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!

FERDINAND	Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!

	[Exit]

BIRON	Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

ROSALINE	Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

BIRON	I would you heard it groan.

ROSALINE	Is the fool sick?

BIRON	Sick at the heart.

ROSALINE	Alack, let it blood.

BIRON	Would that do it good?

ROSALINE	My physic says 'ay.'

BIRON	Will you prick't with your eye?

ROSALINE	No point, with my knife.

BIRON	Now, God save thy life!

ROSALINE	And yours from long living!

BIRON	I cannot stay thanksgiving.

	[Retiring]

DUMAIN	Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

BOYET	The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.

DUMAIN	A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.

	[Exit]

LONGAVILLE	I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

BOYET	A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

LONGAVILLE	Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

BOYET	She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.

LONGAVILLE	Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

BOYET	Her mother's, I have heard.

LONGAVILLE	God's blessing on your beard!

BOYET	Good sir, be not offended.
	She is an heir of Falconbridge.

LONGAVILLE	Nay, my choler is ended.
	She is a most sweet lady.

BOYET	Not unlike, sir, that may be.

	[Exit LONGAVILLE]

BIRON	What's her name in the cap?

BOYET	Rosaline, by good hap.

BIRON	Is she wedded or no?

BOYET	To her will, sir, or so.

BIRON	You are welcome, sir: adieu.

BOYET	Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

	[Exit BIRON]

MARIA	That last is Biron, the merry madcap lord:
	Not a word with him but a jest.

BOYET	And every jest but a word.

PRINCESS	It was well done of you to take him at his word.

BOYET	I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

MARIA	Two hot sheeps, marry.

BOYET	And wherefore not ships?
	No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

MARIA	You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?

BOYET	So you grant pasture for me.

	[Offering to kiss her]

MARIA	Not so, gentle beast:
	My lips are no common, though several they be.

BOYET	Belonging to whom?

MARIA	                  To my fortunes and me.

PRINCESS	Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:
	This civil war of wits were much better used
	On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.

BOYET	If my observation, which very seldom lies,
	By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,
	Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

PRINCESS	With what?

BOYET	With that which we lovers entitle affected.

PRINCESS	Your reason?

BOYET	Why, all his behaviors did make their retire
	To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
	His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd,
	Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd:
	His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
	Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
	All senses to that sense did make their repair,
	To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
	Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
	As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
	Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass'd,
	Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd:
	His face's own margent did quote such amazes
	That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
	I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
	An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

PRINCESS	Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.

BOYET	But to speak that in words which his eye hath
	disclosed.
	I only have made a mouth of his eye,
	By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

ROSALINE	Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skilfully.

MARIA	He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him.

ROSALINE	Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

BOYET	Do you hear, my mad wenches?

MARIA	No.

BOYET	What then, do you see?

ROSALINE	Ay, our way to be gone.

BOYET	You are too hard for me.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT III



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

MOTH	Concolinel.

	[Singing]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key,
	give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately
	hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

MOTH	Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How meanest thou? brawling in French?

MOTH	No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at
	the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour
	it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and
	sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you
	swallowed love with singing love, sometime through
	the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling
	love; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of
	your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly
	doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in
	your pocket like a man after the old painting; and
	keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.
	These are complements, these are humours; these
	betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without
	these; and make them men of note--do you note
	me?--that most are affected to these.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How hast thou purchased this experience?

MOTH	By my penny of observation.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	But O,--but O,--

MOTH	'The hobby-horse is forgot.'

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Callest thou my love 'hobby-horse'?

MOTH	No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your
	love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Almost I had.

MOTH	Negligent student! learn her by heart.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By heart and in heart, boy.

MOTH	And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What wilt thou prove?

MOTH	A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon
	the instant: by heart you love her, because your
	heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her,
	because your heart is in love with her; and out of
	heart you love her, being out of heart that you
	cannot enjoy her.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I am all these three.

MOTH	And three times as much more, and yet nothing at
	all.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.

MOTH	A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador
	for an ass.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

MOTH	Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse,
	for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The way is but short: away!

MOTH	As swift as lead, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The meaning, pretty ingenious?
	Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

MOTH	Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I say lead is slow.

MOTH	You are too swift, sir, to say so:
	Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
	He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
	I shoot thee at the swain.

MOTH	Thump then and I flee.

	[Exit]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace!
	By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
	Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
	My herald is return'd.

	[Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD]

MOTH	A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin.

COSTARD	No enigma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the
	mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no
	l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly
	thought my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes
	me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars!
	Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and
	the word l'envoy for a salve?

MOTH	Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
	Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
	I will example it:
	The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.
	There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.

MOTH	I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	          The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.

MOTH	          Until the goose came out of door,
	And stay'd the odds by adding four.
	Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with
	my l'envoy.
	The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.
DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	          Until the goose came out of door,
	Staying the odds by adding four.

MOTH	A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: would you
	desire more?

COSTARD	The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat.
	Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.
	To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:
	Let me see; a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?

MOTH	By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
	Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

COSTARD	True, and I for a plantain: thus came your
	argument in;
	Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
	And he ended the market.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin?

MOTH	I will tell you sensibly.

COSTARD	Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that l'envoy:
	I Costard, running out, that was safely within,
	Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	We will talk no more of this matter.

COSTARD	Till there be more matter in the shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

COSTARD	O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy,
	some goose, in this.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,
	enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured,
	restrained, captivated, bound.

COSTARD	True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and,
	in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this:
	bear this significant

	[Giving a letter]

		to the country maid Jaquenetta:
	there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine
	honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

	[Exit]

MOTH	Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

COSTARD	My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew!

	[Exit MOTH]

	Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration!
	O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: three
	farthings--remuneration.--'What's the price of this
	inkle?'--'One penny.'--'No, I'll give you a
	remuneration:' why, it carries it. Remuneration!
	why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will
	never buy and sell out of this word.

	[Enter BIRON]

BIRON	O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

COSTARD	Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man
	buy for a remuneration?

BIRON	What is a remuneration?

COSTARD	Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

BIRON	Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.

COSTARD	I thank your worship: God be wi' you!

BIRON	Stay, slave; I must employ thee:
	As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
	Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

COSTARD	When would you have it done, sir?

BIRON	This afternoon.

COSTARD	Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.

BIRON	Thou knowest not what it is.

COSTARD	I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

BIRON	Why, villain, thou must know first.

COSTARD	I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

BIRON	It must be done this afternoon.
	Hark, slave, it is but this:
	The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
	And in her train there is a gentle lady;
	When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
	And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
	And to her white hand see thou do commend
	This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.

	[Giving him a shilling]

COSTARD	Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration,
	a'leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I
	will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!

	[Exit]

BIRON	And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;
	A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
	A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
	A domineering pedant o'er the boy;
	Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
	This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
	This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
	Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
	The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
	Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
	Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
	Sole imperator and great general
	Of trotting 'paritors:--O my little heart:--
	And I to be a corporal of his field,
	And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
	What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
	A woman, that is like a German clock,
	Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
	And never going aright, being a watch,
	But being watch'd that it may still go right!
	Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
	And, among three, to love the worst of all;
	A wightly wanton with a velvet brow,
	With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
	Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed
	Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
	And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
	To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
	That Cupid will impose for my neglect
	Of his almighty dreadful little might.
	Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
	Some men must love my lady and some Joan.

	[Exit]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS, and her train, a Forester,
	BOYET, ROSALINE, MARIA, and KATHARINE]

PRINCESS	Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard
	Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET	I know not; but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS	Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.
	Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:
	On Saturday we will return to France.
	Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
	That we must stand and play the murderer in?

Forester	Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
	A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS	I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
	And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.

Forester	Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

PRINCESS	What, what? first praise me and again say no?
	O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

Forester	Yes, madam, fair.

PRINCESS	                  Nay, never paint me now:
	Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
	Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
	Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

Forester	Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS	See see, my beauty will be saved by merit!
	O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
	A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
	But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
	And shooting well is then accounted ill.
	Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
	Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
	If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
	That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
	And out of question so it is sometimes,
	Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
	When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
	We bend to that the working of the heart;
	As I for praise alone now seek to spill
	The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

BOYET	Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
	Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
	Lords o'er their lords?

PRINCESS	Only for praise: and praise we may afford
	To any lady that subdues a lord.

BOYET	Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

	[Enter COSTARD]

COSTARD	God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRINCESS	Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

COSTARD	Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRINCESS	The thickest and the tallest.

COSTARD	The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.
	An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
	One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
	Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

PRINCESS	What's your will, sir? what's your will?

COSTARD	I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.

PRINCESS	O, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good friend of mine:
	Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;
	Break up this capon.

BOYET	I am bound to serve.
	This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
	It is writ to Jaquenetta.

PRINCESS	We will read it, I swear.
	Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

	[Reads]

BOYET	'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
	true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that
	thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful
	than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have
	commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The
	magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set
	eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar
	Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say,
	Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the
	vulgar,--O base and obscure vulgar!--videlicet, He
	came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw two;
	overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he
	come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to
	whom came he? to the beggar: what saw he? the
	beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The
	conclusion is victory: on whose side? the king's.
	The captive is enriched: on whose side? the
	beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose
	side? the king's: no, on both in one, or one in
	both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison:
	thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness.
	Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce
	thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I
	will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes;
	for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus,
	expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot,
	my eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every
	part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry,
		    DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'

	Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
	'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.
	Submissive fall his princely feet before,
	And he from forage will incline to play:
	But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
	Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

PRINCESS	What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
	What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?

BOYET	I am much deceived but I remember the style.

PRINCESS	Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.

BOYET	This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
	A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
	To the prince and his bookmates.

PRINCESS	Thou fellow, a word:
	Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD	I told you; my lord.

PRINCESS	To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD	From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS	From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD	From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
	To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

PRINCESS	Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

	[To ROSALINE]

	Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day.

	[Exeunt PRINCESS and train]

BOYET	Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?

ROSALINE	Shall I teach you to know?

BOYET	Ay, my continent of beauty.

ROSALINE	Why, she that bears the bow.
	Finely put off!

BOYET	My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
	Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
	Finely put on!

ROSALINE	Well, then, I am the shooter.

BOYET	And who is your deer?

ROSALINE	If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
	Finely put on, indeed!

MARIA	You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
	at the brow.

BOYET	But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?

ROSALINE	Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was
	a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as
	touching the hit it?

BOYET	So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
	woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
	wench, as touching the hit it.

ROSALINE	          Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
	Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

BOYET	          An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
	An I cannot, another can.

	[Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE]

COSTARD	By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!

MARIA	A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.

BOYET	A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
	Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.

MARIA	Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.

COSTARD	Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

BOYET	An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

COSTARD	Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

MARIA	Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.

COSTARD	She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.

BOYET	I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.

	[Exeunt BOYET and MARIA]

COSTARD	By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
	Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down!
	O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony
	vulgar wit!
	When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it
	were, so fit.
	Armado o' th' one side,--O, a most dainty man!
	To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
	To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a'
	will swear!
	And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit!
	Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
	Sola, sola!

	[Shout within]

	[Exit COSTARD, running]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL]

SIR NATHANIEL	Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony
	of a good conscience.

HOLOFERNES	The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe
	as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in
	the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven;
	and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra,
	the soil, the land, the earth.

SIR NATHANIEL	Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly
	varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I
	assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

HOLOFERNES	Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

DULL	'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES	Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of
	insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of
	explication; facere, as it were, replication, or
	rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his
	inclination, after his undressed, unpolished,
	uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather,
	unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to
	insert again my haud credo for a deer.

DULL	I said the deer was not a haud credo; twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES	Twice-sod simplicity, his coctus!
	O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred
	in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he
	hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not
	replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in
	the duller parts:
	And such barren plants are set before us, that we
	thankful should be,
	Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that
	do fructify in us more than he.
	For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
	So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:
	But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,
	Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

DULL	You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit
	What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five
	weeks old as yet?

HOLOFERNES	Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

DULL	What is Dictynna?

SIR NATHANIEL	A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

HOLOFERNES	The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,
	And raught not to five weeks when he came to
	five-score.
	The allusion holds in the exchange.

DULL	'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

HOLOFERNES	God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds
	in the exchange.

DULL	And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; for
	the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside
	that, 'twas a pricket that the princess killed.

HOLOFERNES	Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph
	on the death of the deer? And, to humour the
	ignorant, call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.

SIR NATHANIEL	Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall
	please you to abrogate scurrility.

HOLOFERNES	I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.
	The preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty
	pleasing pricket;
	Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made
	sore with shooting.
	The dogs did yell: put L to sore, then sorel jumps
	from thicket;
	Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.
	If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores
	one sorel.
	Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.

SIR NATHANIEL	A rare talent!

DULL	[Aside]  If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
	him with a talent.

HOLOFERNES	This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a
	foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures,
	shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions,
	revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of
	memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and
	delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the
	gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am
	thankful for it.

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my
	parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by
	you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
	you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.

HOLOFERNES	Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall
	want no instruction; if their daughters be capable,
	I will put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca
	loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.

	[Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD]

JAQUENETTA	God give you good morrow, master Parson.

HOLOFERNES	Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if one should be
	pierced, which is the one?

COSTARD	Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

HOLOFERNES	Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a
	tuft of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough
	for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is well.

JAQUENETTA	Good master Parson, be so good as read me this
	letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me
	from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it.

HOLOFERNES	Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra
	Ruminat,--and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I
	may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;
	Venetia, Venetia,
	Chi non ti vede non ti pretia.
	Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee
	not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.
	Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather,
	as Horace says in his--What, my soul, verses?

SIR NATHANIEL	Ay, sir, and very learned.

HOLOFERNES	Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.

SIR NATHANIEL	[Reads]

	If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
	Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd!
	Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove:
	Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like
	osiers bow'd.
	Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes,
	Where all those pleasures live that art would
	comprehend:
	If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
	Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend,
	All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
	Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire:
	Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
	Which not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
	Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this wrong,
	That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

HOLOFERNES	You find not the apostraphas, and so miss the
	accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are
	only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy,
	facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret.
	Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso,
	but for smelling out the odouriferous flowers of
	fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing:
	so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper,
	the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,
	was this directed to you?

JAQUENETTA	Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange
	queen's lords.

HOLOFERNES	I will overglance the superscript: 'To the
	snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady
	Rosaline.' I will look again on the intellect of
	the letter, for the nomination of the party writing
	to the person written unto: 'Your ladyship's in all
	desired employment, BIRON.' Sir Nathaniel, this
	Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here
	he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger
	queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of
	progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my
	sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the
	king: it may concern much. Stay not thy
	compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu.

JAQUENETTA	Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!

COSTARD	Have with thee, my girl.

	[Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA]

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very
	religiously; and, as a certain father saith,--

HOLOFERNES	Sir tell me not of the father; I do fear colourable
	colours. But to return to the verses: did they
	please you, Sir Nathaniel?

SIR NATHANIEL	Marvellous well for the pen.

HOLOFERNES	I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil
	of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please
	you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my
	privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid
	child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I
	will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
	neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I
	beseech your society.

SIR NATHANIEL	And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is
	the happiness of life.

HOLOFERNES	And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.

	[To DULL]

	Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not
	say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at
	their game, and we will to our recreation.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter BIRON, with a paper]

BIRON	The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing
	myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in
	a pitch,--pitch that defiles: defile! a foul
	word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say
	the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well
	proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as
	Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep:
	well proved again o' my side! I will not love: if
	I do, hang me; i' faith, I will not. O, but her
	eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I would not
	love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
	in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By
	heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme
	and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme,
	and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my
	sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent
	it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter
	fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care
	a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one
	with a paper: God give him grace to groan!

	[Stands aside]

	[Enter FERDINAND, with a paper]

FERDINAND	Ay me!

BIRON	[Aside]  Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid:
	thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the
	left pap. In faith, secrets!

FERDINAND	[Reads]

	So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
	To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
	As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
	The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows:
	Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
	Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
	As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
	Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep:
	No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
	So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
	Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
	And they thy glory through my grief will show:
	But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
	My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
	O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
	No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
	How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper:
	Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

	[Steps aside]

	What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.

BIRON	Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

	[Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper]

LONGAVILLE	Ay me, I am forsworn!

BIRON	Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.

FERDINAND	In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in shame!

BIRON	One drunkard loves another of the name.

LONGAVILLE	Am I the first that have been perjured so?

BIRON	I could put thee in comfort. Not by two that I know:
	Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
	The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

LONGAVILLE	I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move:
	O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
	These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

BIRON	O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
	Disfigure not his slop.

LONGAVILLE	This same shall go.

	[Reads]

	Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
	'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
	Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
	Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
	A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
	Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
	My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
	Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
	Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
	Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
	Exhalest this vapour-vow; in thee it is:
	If broken then, it is no fault of mine:
	If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
	To lose an oath to win a paradise?

BIRON	This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,
	A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
	God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the way.

LONGAVILLE	By whom shall I send this?--Company! stay.

	[Steps aside]

BIRON	All hid, all hid; an old infant play.
	Like a demigod here sit I in the sky.
	And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'ereye.
	More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!

	[Enter DUMAIN, with a paper]

	Dumain transform'd! four woodcocks in a dish!

DUMAIN	O most divine Kate!

BIRON	O most profane coxcomb!

DUMAIN	By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

BIRON	By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.

DUMAIN	Her amber hair for foul hath amber quoted.

BIRON	An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

DUMAIN	As upright as the cedar.

BIRON	Stoop, I say;
	Her shoulder is with child.

DUMAIN	As fair as day.

BIRON	Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

DUMAIN	O that I had my wish!

LONGAVILLE	And I had mine!

FERDINAND	And I mine too, good Lord!

BIRON	Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?

DUMAIN	I would forget her; but a fever she
	Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be.

BIRON	A fever in your blood! why, then incision
	Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!

DUMAIN	Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

BIRON	Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

DUMAIN	[Reads]

	On a day--alack the day!--
	Love, whose month is ever May,
	Spied a blossom passing fair
	Playing in the wanton air:
	Through the velvet leaves the wind,
	All unseen, can passage find;
	That the lover, sick to death,
	Wish himself the heaven's breath.
	Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
	Air, would I might triumph so!
	But, alack, my hand is sworn
	Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;
	Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
	Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
	Do not call it sin in me,
	That I am forsworn for thee;
	Thou for whom Jove would swear
	Juno but an Ethiope were;
	And deny himself for Jove,
	Turning mortal for thy love.
	This will I send, and something else more plain,
	That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
	O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
	Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
	Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note;
	For none offend where all alike do dote.

LONGAVILLE	[Advancing]  Dumain, thy love is far from charity.
	You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
	To be o'erheard and taken napping so.

FERDINAND	[Advancing]  Come, sir, you blush; as his your case is such;
	You chide at him, offending twice as much;
	You do not love Maria; Longaville
	Did never sonnet for her sake compile,
	Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
	His loving bosom to keep down his heart.
	I have been closely shrouded in this bush
	And mark'd you both and for you both did blush:
	I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion,
	Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
	Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
	One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:

	[To LONGAVILLE]

	You would for paradise break faith, and troth;

	[To DUMAIN]

	And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
	What will Biron say when that he shall hear
	Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear?
	How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit!
	How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it!
	For all the wealth that ever I did see,
	I would not have him know so much by me.

BIRON	Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.

	[Advancing]

	Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me!
	Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
	These worms for loving, that art most in love?
	Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
	There is no certain princess that appears;
	You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing;
	Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting!
	But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not,
	All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
	You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
	But I a beam do find in each of three.
	O, what a scene of foolery have I seen,
	Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen!
	O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
	To see a king transformed to a gnat!
	To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
	And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
	And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
	And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
	Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
	And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
	And where my liege's? all about the breast:
	A caudle, ho!

FERDINAND	                  Too bitter is thy jest.
	Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

BIRON	Not you to me, but I betray'd by you:
	I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
	To break the vow I am engaged in;
	I am betray'd, by keeping company
	With men like men of inconstancy.
	When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
	Or groan for love? or spend a minute's time
	In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
	Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
	A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
	A leg, a limb?

FERDINAND	                  Soft! whither away so fast?
	A true man or a thief that gallops so?

BIRON	I post from love: good lover, let me go.

	[Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD]

JAQUENETTA	God bless the king!

FERDINAND	What present hast thou there?

COSTARD	Some certain treason.

FERDINAND	What makes treason here?

COSTARD	Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

FERDINAND	If it mar nothing neither,
	The treason and you go in peace away together.

JAQUENETTA	I beseech your grace, let this letter be read:
	Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said.

FERDINAND	Biron, read it over.

	[Giving him the paper]

	Where hadst thou it?

JAQUENETTA	Of Costard.

FERDINAND	Where hadst thou it?

COSTARD	Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

	[BIRON tears the letter]

FERDINAND	How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?

BIRON	A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace needs not fear it.

LONGAVILLE	It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.

DUMAIN	It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.

	[Gathering up the pieces]

BIRON	[To COSTARD]  Ah, you whoreson loggerhead! you were
	born to do me shame.
	Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.

FERDINAND	What?

BIRON	That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess:
	He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
	Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
	O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

DUMAIN	Now the number is even.

BIRON	True, true; we are four.
	Will these turtles be gone?

FERDINAND	Hence, sirs; away!

COSTARD	Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

	[Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA]

BIRON	Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!
	As true we are as flesh and blood can be:
	The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
	Young blood doth not obey an old decree:
	We cannot cross the cause why we were born;
	Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.

FERDINAND	What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

BIRON	Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline,
	That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,
	At the first opening of the gorgeous east,
	Bows not his vassal head and strucken blind
	Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
	What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
	Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
	That is not blinded by her majesty?

FERDINAND	   What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?
	My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
	She an attending star, scarce seen a light.

BIRON	My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron:
	O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
	Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
	Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,
	Where several worthies make one dignity,
	Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
	Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,--
	Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:
	To things of sale a seller's praise belongs,
	She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
	A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
	Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
	Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
	And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy:
	O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine.

FERDINAND	   By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

BIRON	Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
	A wife of such wood were felicity.
	O, who can give an oath? where is a book?
	That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,
	If that she learn not of her eye to look:
	No face is fair that is not full so black.

FERDINAND	O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
	The hue of dungeons and the suit of night;
	And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.

BIRON	   Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
	O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,
	It mourns that painting and usurping hair
	Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
	And therefore is she born to make black fair.
	Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
	For native blood is counted painting now;
	And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
	Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

DUMAIN	To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

LONGAVILLE	   And since her time are colliers counted bright.

FERDINAND	And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

DUMAIN	   Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

BIRON	Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
	For fear their colours should be wash'd away.

FERDINAND	'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
	I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

BIRON	I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.

FERDINAND	   No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

DUMAIN	I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

LONGAVILLE	   Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see.

BIRON	O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
	Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!

DUMAIN	O, vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies
	The street should see as she walk'd overhead.

FERDINAND	But what of this? are we not all in love?

BIRON	   Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.

FERDINAND	Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
	Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

DUMAIN	Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.

LONGAVILLE	   O, some authority how to proceed;
	Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

DUMAIN	Some salve for perjury.

BIRON	'Tis more than need.
	Have at you, then, affection's men at arms.
	Consider what you first did swear unto,
	To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
	Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
	Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young;
	And abstinence engenders maladies.
	And where that you have vow'd to study, lords,
	In that each of you have forsworn his book,
	Can you still dream and pore and thereon look?
	For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,
	Have found the ground of study's excellence
	Without the beauty of a woman's face?
	[From women's eyes this doctrine I derive;
	They are the ground, the books, the academes
	From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire]
	Why, universal plodding poisons up
	The nimble spirits in the arteries,
	As motion and long-during action tires
	The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
	Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
	You have in that forsworn the use of eyes
	And study too, the causer of your vow;
	For where is any author in the world
	Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
	Learning is but an adjunct to ourself
	And where we are our learning likewise is:
	Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,
	Do we not likewise see our learning there?
	O, we have made a vow to study, lords,
	And in that vow we have forsworn our books.
	For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
	In leaden contemplation have found out
	Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
	Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
	Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
	And therefore, finding barren practisers,
	Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil:
	But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
	Lives not alone immured in the brain;
	But, with the motion of all elements,
	Courses as swift as thought in every power,
	And gives to every power a double power,
	Above their functions and their offices.
	It adds a precious seeing to the eye;
	A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;
	A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
	When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd:
	Love's feeling is more soft and sensible
	Than are the tender horns of cockl'd snails;
	Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste:
	For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
	Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
	Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
	As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
	And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
	Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
	Never durst poet touch a pen to write
	Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;
	O, then his lines would ravish savage ears
	And plant in tyrants mild humility.
	From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
	They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
	They are the books, the arts, the academes,
	That show, contain and nourish all the world:
	Else none at all in ought proves excellent.
	Then fools you were these women to forswear,
	Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
	For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love,
	Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men,
	Or for men's sake, the authors of these women,
	Or women's sake, by whom we men are men,
	Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
	Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
	It is religion to be thus forsworn,
	For charity itself fulfills the law,
	And who can sever love from charity?

FERDINAND	Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!

BIRON	Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;
	Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advised,
	In conflict that you get the sun of them.

LONGAVILLE	Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by:
	Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

FERDINAND	And win them too: therefore let us devise
	Some entertainment for them in their tents.

BIRON	First, from the park let us conduct them thither;
	Then homeward every man attach the hand
	Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon
	We will with some strange pastime solace them,
	Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
	For revels, dances, masks and merry hours
	Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

FERDINAND	Away, away! no time shall be omitted
	That will betime, and may by us be fitted.

BIRON	Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn;
	And justice always whirls in equal measure:
	Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
	If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT V



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL]

HOLOFERNES	Satis quod sufficit.

SIR NATHANIEL	I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner
	have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without
	scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without
	impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-
	out heresy. I did converse this quondam day with
	a companion of the king's, who is intituled, nomi-
	nated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

HOLOFERNES	Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, his
	discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye
	ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
	behavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is
	too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it
	were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

SIR NATHANIEL	A most singular and choice epithet.

	[Draws out his table-book]

HOLOFERNES	He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer
	than the staple of his argument. I abhor such
	fanatical phantasimes, such insociable and
	point-devise companions; such rackers of
	orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should
	say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt,--d,
	e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf;
	half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebor; neigh
	abbreviated ne. This is abhominable,--which he
	would call abbominable: it insinuateth me of
	insanie: anne intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.

SIR NATHANIEL	Laus Deo, bene intelligo.

HOLOFERNES	Bon, bon, fort bon, Priscian! a little scratch'd,
	'twill serve.

SIR NATHANIEL	Videsne quis venit?

HOLOFERNES	Video, et gaudeo.

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Chirrah!

	[To MOTH]

HOLOFERNES	Quare chirrah, not sirrah?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Men of peace, well encountered.

HOLOFERNES	Most military sir, salutation.

MOTH	[Aside to COSTARD]  They have been at a great feast
	of languages, and stolen the scraps.

COSTARD	O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words.
	I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word;
	for thou art not so long by the head as
	honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier
	swallowed than a flap-dragon.

MOTH	Peace! the peal begins.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	[To HOLOFERNES]  Monsieur, are you not lettered?

MOTH	Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a,
	b, spelt backward, with the horn on his head?

HOLOFERNES	Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

MOTH	Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.

HOLOFERNES	Quis, quis, thou consonant?

MOTH	The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or
	the fifth, if I.

HOLOFERNES	I will repeat them,--a, e, i,--

MOTH	The sheep: the other two concludes it,--o, u.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet
	touch, a quick venue of wit! snip, snap, quick and
	home! it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit!

MOTH	Offered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.

HOLOFERNES	What is the figure? what is the figure?

MOTH	Horns.

HOLOFERNES	Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig.

MOTH	Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about
	your infamy circum circa,--a gig of a cuckold's horn.

COSTARD	An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst
	have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is the very
	remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny
	purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an
	the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but my
	bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me!
	Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers'
	ends, as they say.

HOLOFERNES	O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Arts-man, preambulate, we will be singled from the
	barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the
	charge-house on the top of the mountain?

HOLOFERNES	Or mons, the hill.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

HOLOFERNES	I do, sans question.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and
	affection to congratulate the princess at her
	pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the
	rude multitude call the afternoon.

HOLOFERNES	The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is
	liable, congruent and measurable for the afternoon:
	the word is well culled, chose, sweet and apt, I do
	assure you, sir, I do assure.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar,
	I do assure ye, very good friend: for what is
	inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee,
	remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee, apparel thy
	head: and among other important and most serious
	designs, and of great import indeed, too, but let
	that pass: for I must tell thee, it will please his
	grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor
	shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally
	with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet
	heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no
	fable: some certain special honours it pleaseth his
	greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of
	travel, that hath seen the world; but let that pass.
	The very all of all is,--but, sweet heart, I do
	implore secrecy,--that the king would have me
	present the princess, sweet chuck, with some
	delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or
	antique, or firework. Now, understanding that the
	curate and your sweet self are good at such
	eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it
	were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to
	crave your assistance.

HOLOFERNES	Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.
	Sir, as concerning some entertainment of time, some
	show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by
	our assistants, at the king's command, and this most
	gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, before
	the princess; I say none so fit as to present the
	Nine Worthies.

SIR NATHANIEL	Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

HOLOFERNES	Joshua, yourself; myself and this gallant gentleman,
	Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great
	limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the
	page, Hercules,--

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for
	that Worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club.

HOLOFERNES	Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules in
	minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a
	snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.

MOTH	An excellent device! so, if any of the audience
	hiss, you may cry 'Well done, Hercules! now thou
	crushest the snake!' that is the way to make an
	offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	For the rest of the Worthies?--

HOLOFERNES	I will play three myself.

MOTH	Thrice-worthy gentleman!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Shall I tell you a thing?

HOLOFERNES	We attend.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	We will have, if this fadge not, an antique. I
	beseech you, follow.

HOLOFERNES	Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no word all this while.

DULL	Nor understood none neither, sir.

HOLOFERNES	Allons! we will employ thee.

DULL	I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play
	On the tabour to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

HOLOFERNES	Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away!

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT V



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and MARIA]

PRINCESS	Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
	If fairings come thus plentifully in:
	A lady wall'd about with diamonds!
	Look you what I have from the loving king.

ROSALINE	Madame, came nothing else along with that?

PRINCESS	Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme
	As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
	Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all,
	That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

ROSALINE	That was the way to make his godhead wax,
	For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

KATHARINE	Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

ROSALINE	You'll ne'er be friends with him; a' kill'd your sister.

KATHARINE	He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
	And so she died: had she been light, like you,
	Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
	She might ha' been a grandam ere she died:
	And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

ROSALINE	What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

KATHARINE	A light condition in a beauty dark.

ROSALINE	We need more light to find your meaning out.

KATHARINE	You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff;
	Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.

ROSALINE	Look what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

KATHARINE	So do not you, for you are a light wench.

ROSALINE	Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.

KATHARINE	You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me.

ROSALINE	Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.'

PRINCESS	Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
	But Rosaline, you have a favour too:
	Who sent it? and what is it?

ROSALINE	I would you knew:
	An if my face were but as fair as yours,
	My favour were as great; be witness this.
	Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
	The numbers true; and, were the numbering too,
	I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
	I am compared to twenty thousand fairs.
	O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

PRINCESS	Any thing like?

ROSALINE	Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.

PRINCESS	Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

KATHARINE	Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

ROSALINE	'Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor,
	My red dominical, my golden letter:
	O, that your face were not so full of O's!

KATHARINE	A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.

PRINCESS	But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

KATHARINE	Madam, this glove.

PRINCESS	                  Did he not send you twain?

KATHARINE	Yes, madam, and moreover
	Some thousand verses of a faithful lover,
	A huge translation of hypocrisy,
	Vilely compiled, profound simplicity.

MARIA	This and these pearls to me sent Longaville:
	The letter is too long by half a mile.

PRINCESS	I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart
	The chain were longer and the letter short?

MARIA	Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

PRINCESS	We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

ROSALINE	They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
	That same Biron I'll torture ere I go:
	O that I knew he were but in by the week!
	How I would make him fawn and beg and seek
	And wait the season and observe the times
	And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes
	And shape his service wholly to my hests
	And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
	So perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state
	That he should be my fool and I his fate.

PRINCESS	None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,
	As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
	Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school
	And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

ROSALINE	The blood of youth burns not with such excess
	As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

MARIA	Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
	As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
	Since all the power thereof it doth apply
	To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

PRINCESS	Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

	[Enter BOYET]

BOYET	O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace?

PRINCESS	Thy news Boyet?

BOYET	                  Prepare, madam, prepare!
	Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
	Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,
	Armed in arguments; you'll be surprised:
	Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
	Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

PRINCESS	Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they
	That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

BOYET	Under the cool shade of a sycamore
	I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
	When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest,
	Toward that shade I might behold addrest
	The king and his companions: warily
	I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
	And overheard what you shall overhear,
	That, by and by, disguised they will be here.
	Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
	That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage:
	Action and accent did they teach him there;
	'Thus must thou speak,' and 'thus thy body bear:'
	And ever and anon they made a doubt
	Presence majestical would put him out,
	'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou see;
	Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'
	The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil;
	I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'
	With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the shoulder,
	Making the bold wag by their praises bolder:
	One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore
	A better speech was never spoke before;
	Another, with his finger and his thumb,
	Cried, 'Via! we will do't, come what will come;'
	The third he caper'd, and cried, 'All goes well;'
	The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
	With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
	With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
	That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
	To cheque their folly, passion's solemn tears.

PRINCESS	But what, but what, come they to visit us?

BOYET	They do, they do: and are apparell'd thus.
	Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
	Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
	And every one his love-feat will advance
	Unto his several mistress, which they'll know
	By favours several which they did bestow.

PRINCESS	And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd;
	For, ladies, we shall every one be mask'd;
	And not a man of them shall have the grace,
	Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.
	Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,
	And then the king will court thee for his dear;
	Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
	So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.
	And change your favours too; so shall your loves
	Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.

ROSALINE	Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.

KATHARINE	But in this changing what is your intent?

PRINCESS	The effect of my intent is to cross theirs:
	They do it but in mocking merriment;
	And mock for mock is only my intent.
	Their several counsels they unbosom shall
	To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal
	Upon the next occasion that we meet,
	With visages displayed, to talk and greet.

ROSALINE	But shall we dance, if they desire to't?

PRINCESS	No, to the death, we will not move a foot;
	Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace,
	But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face.

BOYET	Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart,
	And quite divorce his memory from his part.

PRINCESS	Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
	The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out
	There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
	To make theirs ours and ours none but our own:
	So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
	And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.

	[Trumpets sound within]

BOYET	The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the maskers come.

	[The Ladies mask]

	[Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; FERDINAND,
	BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits,
	and masked]

MOTH	All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!--

BOYET	Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.

MOTH	A holy parcel of the fairest dames.

	[The Ladies turn their backs to him]

	That ever turn'd their--backs--to mortal views!

BIRON	[Aside to MOTH]  Their eyes, villain, their eyes!

MOTH	That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!--Out--

BOYET	True; out indeed.

MOTH	Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe
	Not to behold--

BIRON	[Aside to MOTH]  Once to behold, rogue.

MOTH	Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,
	--with your sun-beamed eyes--

BOYET	They will not answer to that epithet;
	You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.'

MOTH	They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

BIRON	Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!

	[Exit MOTH]

ROSALINE	What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet:
	If they do speak our language, 'tis our will:
	That some plain man recount their purposes
	Know what they would.

BOYET	What would you with the princess?

BIRON	Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE	What would they, say they?

BOYET	Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE	Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

BOYET	She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

FERDINAND	Say to her, we have measured many miles
	To tread a measure with her on this grass.

BOYET	They say, that they have measured many a mile
	To tread a measure with you on this grass.

ROSALINE	It is not so. Ask them how many inches
	Is in one mile: if they have measured many,
	The measure then of one is easily told.

BOYET	If to come hither you have measured miles,
	And many miles, the princess bids you tell
	How many inches doth fill up one mile.

BIRON	Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

BOYET	She hears herself.

ROSALINE	                  How many weary steps,
	Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
	Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

BIRON	We number nothing that we spend for you:
	Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
	That we may do it still without accompt.
	Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
	That we, like savages, may worship it.

ROSALINE	My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

FERDINAND	Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
	Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
	Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.

ROSALINE	O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
	Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.

FERDINAND	Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
	Thou bid'st me beg: this begging is not strange.

ROSALINE	Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.

	[Music plays]

	Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.

FERDINAND	Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

ROSALINE	You took the moon at full, but now she's changed.

FERDINAND	Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
	The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

ROSALINE	Our ears vouchsafe it.

FERDINAND	But your legs should do it.

ROSALINE	Since you are strangers and come here by chance,
	We'll not be nice: take hands. We will not dance.

FERDINAND	Why take we hands, then?

ROSALINE	Only to part friends:
	Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.

FERDINAND	More measure of this measure; be not nice.

ROSALINE	We can afford no more at such a price.

FERDINAND	Prize you yourselves: what buys your company?

ROSALINE	Your absence only.

FERDINAND	                  That can never be.

ROSALINE	Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu;
	Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

FERDINAND	If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

ROSALINE	In private, then.

FERDINAND	                  I am best pleased with that.

	[They converse apart]

BIRON	White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

PRINCESS	Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

BIRON	Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice,
	Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice!
	There's half-a-dozen sweets.

PRINCESS	Seventh sweet, adieu:
	Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

BIRON	One word in secret.

PRINCESS	Let it not be sweet.

BIRON	Thou grievest my gall.

PRINCESS	Gall! bitter.

BIRON	Therefore meet.

	[They converse apart]

DUMAIN	Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

MARIA	Name it.

DUMAIN	       Fair lady,--

MARIA	Say you so? Fair lord,--
	Take that for your fair lady.

DUMAIN	Please it you,
	As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

	[They converse apart]

KATHARINE	What, was your vizard made without a tongue?

LONGAVILLE	I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

KATHARINE	O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.

LONGAVILLE	You have a double tongue within your mask,
	And would afford my speechless vizard half.

KATHARINE	Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?

LONGAVILLE	A calf, fair lady!

KATHARINE	                  No, a fair lord calf.

LONGAVILLE	Let's part the word.

KATHARINE	No, I'll not be your half
	Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

LONGAVILLE	Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
	Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

KATHARINE	Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

LONGAVILLE	One word in private with you, ere I die.

KATHARINE	Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry.

	[They converse apart]

BOYET	The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
	As is the razor's edge invisible,
	Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,
	Above the sense of sense; so sensible
	Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings
	Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

ROSALINE	Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

BIRON	By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

FERDINAND	Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

PRINCESS	Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.

	[Exeunt FERDINAND, Lords, and Blackamoors]

	Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

BOYET	Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

ROSALINE	Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

PRINCESS	O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
	Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight?
	Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces?
	This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

ROSALINE	O, they were all in lamentable cases!
	The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

PRINCESS	Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

MARIA	Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
	No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

KATHARINE	Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
	And trow you what he called me?

PRINCESS	Qualm, perhaps.

KATHARINE	Yes, in good faith.

PRINCESS	Go, sickness as thou art!

ROSALINE	Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
	But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

PRINCESS	And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

KATHARINE	And Longaville was for my service born.

MARIA	Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

BOYET	Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
	Immediately they will again be here
	In their own shapes; for it can never be
	They will digest this harsh indignity.

PRINCESS	Will they return?

BOYET	                  They will, they will, God knows,
	And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
	Therefore change favours; and, when they repair,
	Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

PRINCESS	How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

BOYET	Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud;
	Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
	Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

PRINCESS	Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
	If they return in their own shapes to woo?

ROSALINE	Good madam, if by me you'll be advised,
	Let's, mock them still, as well known as disguised:
	Let us complain to them what fools were here,
	Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
	And wonder what they were and to what end
	Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd
	And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
	Should be presented at our tent to us.

BOYET	Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

PRINCESS	Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land.

	[Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA]

	[Re-enter FERDINAND, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,
	in their proper habits]

FERDINAND	Fair sir, God save you! Where's the princess?

BOYET	Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty
	Command me any service to her thither?

FERDINAND	That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

BOYET	I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.

	[Exit]

BIRON	This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,
	And utters it again when God doth please:
	He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares
	At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
	And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
	Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
	This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
	Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve;
	A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
	That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy;
	This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
	That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
	In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
	A mean most meanly; and in ushering
	Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet;
	The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
	This is the flower that smiles on every one,
	To show his teeth as white as whale's bone;
	And consciences, that will not die in debt,
	Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

FERDINAND	A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
	That put Armado's page out of his part!

BIRON	See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou
	Till this madman show'd thee? and what art thou now?

	[Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET, ROSALINE,
	MARIA, and KATHARINE]

FERDINAND	All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

PRINCESS	'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive.

FERDINAND	Construe my speeches better, if you may.

PRINCESS	Then wish me better; I will give you leave.

FERDINAND	We came to visit you, and purpose now
	To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.

PRINCESS	This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:
	Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.

FERDINAND	Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
	The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

PRINCESS	You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke;
	For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
	Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
	As the unsullied lily, I protest,
	A world of torments though I should endure,
	I would not yield to be your house's guest;
	So much I hate a breaking cause to be
	Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

FERDINAND	O, you have lived in desolation here,
	Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

PRINCESS	Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
	We have had pastimes here and pleasant game:
	A mess of Russians left us but of late.

FERDINAND	How, madam! Russians!

PRINCESS	Ay, in truth, my lord;
	Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.

ROSALINE	Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
	My lady, to the manner of the days,
	In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
	We four indeed confronted were with four
	In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
	And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
	They did not bless us with one happy word.
	I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
	When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

BIRON	This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,
	Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet,
	With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye,
	By light we lose light: your capacity
	Is of that nature that to your huge store
	Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.

ROSALINE	This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,--

BIRON	I am a fool, and full of poverty.

ROSALINE	But that you take what doth to you belong,
	It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

BIRON	O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

ROSALINE	All the fool mine?

BIRON	                  I cannot give you less.

ROSALINE	Which of the vizards was it that you wore?

BIRON	Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

ROSALINE	There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case
	That hid the worse and show'd the better face.

FERDINAND	We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.

DUMAIN	Let us confess and turn it to a jest.

PRINCESS	Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?

ROSALINE	Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?
	Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

BIRON	Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
	Can any face of brass hold longer out?
	Here stand I	lady, dart thy skill at me;
	Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
	Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
	Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
	And I will wish thee never more to dance,
	Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
	O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
	Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue,
	Nor never come in vizard to my friend,
	Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song!
	Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
	Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
	Figures pedantical; these summer-flies
	Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
	I do forswear them; and I here protest,
	By this white glove;--how white the hand, God knows!--
	Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
	In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
	And, to begin, wench,--so God help me, la!--
	My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

ROSALINE	Sans sans, I pray you.

BIRON	Yet I have a trick
	Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
	I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see:
	Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
	They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
	They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes;
	These lords are visited; you are not free,
	For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

PRINCESS	No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

BIRON	Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.

ROSALINE	It is not so; for how can this be true,
	That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

BIRON	Peace! for I will not have to do with you.

ROSALINE	Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

BIRON	Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.

FERDINAND	Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
	Some fair excuse.

PRINCESS	                  The fairest is confession.
	Were not you here but even now disguised?

FERDINAND	Madam, I was.

PRINCESS	                  And were you well advised?

FERDINAND	I was, fair madam.

PRINCESS	                  When you then were here,
	What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

FERDINAND	That more than all the world I did respect her.

PRINCESS	When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

FERDINAND	Upon mine honour, no.

PRINCESS	Peace, peace! forbear:
	Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

FERDINAND	Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

PRINCESS	I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
	What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

ROSALINE	Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
	As precious eyesight, and did value me
	Above this world; adding thereto moreover
	That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

PRINCESS	God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
	Most honourably doth unhold his word.

FERDINAND	What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,
	I never swore this lady such an oath.

ROSALINE	By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
	You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

FERDINAND	My faith and this the princess I did give:
	I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

PRINCESS	Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
	And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear.
	What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

BIRON	Neither of either; I remit both twain.
	I see the trick on't: here was a consent,
	Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
	To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
	Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
	Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
	That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick
	To make my lady laugh when she's disposed,
	Told our intents before; which once disclosed,
	The ladies did change favours: and then we,
	Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
	Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
	We are again forsworn, in will and error.
	Much upon this it is: and might not you

	[To BOYET]

	Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
	Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier,
	And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
	And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
	Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
	You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
	Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
	You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
	Wounds like a leaden sword.

BOYET	Full merrily
	Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

BIRON	Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.

	[Enter COSTARD]

	Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, they would know
	Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.

BIRON	What, are there but three?

COSTARD	No, sir; but it is vara fine,
	For every one pursents three.

BIRON	And three times thrice is nine.

COSTARD	Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so.
	You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir we know
	what we know:
	I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,--

BIRON	Is not nine.

COSTARD	Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

BIRON	By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living
	by reckoning, sir.

BIRON	How much is it?

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors,
	sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine
	own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man
	in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.

BIRON	Art thou one of the Worthies?

COSTARD	It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the
	Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of
	the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.

BIRON	Go, bid them prepare.

COSTARD	We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take
	some care.

	[Exit]

FERDINAND	Biron, they will shame us: let them not approach.

BIRON	We are shame-proof, my lord: and tis some policy
	To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

FERDINAND	I say they shall not come.

PRINCESS	Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now:
	That sport best pleases that doth least know how:
	Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
	Dies in the zeal of that which it presents:
	Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
	When great things labouring perish in their birth.

BIRON	A right description of our sport, my lord.

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal
	sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

	[Converses apart with FERDINAND, and delivers him a paper]

PRINCESS	Doth this man serve God?

BIRON	Why ask you?

PRINCESS	He speaks not like a man of God's making.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for,
	I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding
	fantastical; too, too vain, too too vain: but we
	will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra.
	I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!

	[Exit]

FERDINAND	Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He
	presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the
	Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page,
	Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus: And if
	these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
	These four will change habits, and present the other five.

BIRON	There is five in the first show.

FERDINAND	You are deceived; 'tis not so.

BIRON	The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool
	and the boy:--
	Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
	Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

FERDINAND	The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

	[Enter COSTARD, for Pompey]

COSTARD	I Pompey am,--

BOYET	                  You lie, you are not he.

COSTARD	I Pompey am,--

BOYET	                  With libbard's head on knee.

BIRON	Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends
	with thee.

COSTARD	I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big--

DUMAIN	The Great.

COSTARD	It is, 'Great,' sir:--
		 Pompey surnamed the Great;
	That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make
	my foe to sweat:
	And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,
	And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France,
	If your ladyship would say, 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done.

PRINCESS	Great thanks, great Pompey.

COSTARD	'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect: I
	made a little fault in 'Great.'

BIRON	My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

	[Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for Alexander]

SIR NATHANIEL	When in the world I lived, I was the world's
	commander;
	By east, west, north, and south, I spread my
	conquering might:
	My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander,--

BOYET	Your nose says, no, you are not for it stands too right.

BIRON	Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling knight.

PRINCESS	The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander.

SIR NATHANIEL	When in the world I lived, I was the world's
	commander,--

BOYET	Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

BIRON	Pompey the Great,--

COSTARD	Your servant, and Costard.

BIRON	Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

COSTARD	[To SIR NATHANIEL]  O, sir, you have overthrown
	Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of
	the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds
	his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given
	to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror,
	and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander.

	[SIR NATHANIEL retires]

	There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an
	honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a
	marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good
	bowler: but, for Alisander,--alas, you see how
	'tis,--a little o'erparted. But there are Worthies
	a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

	[Enter HOLOFERNES, for Judas; and MOTH, for Hercules]

HOLOFERNES	   Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
	Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
	And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
	Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
	Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
	Ergo I come with this apology.
	Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

	[MOTH retires]

	Judas I am,--

DUMAIN	A Judas!

HOLOFERNES	Not Iscariot, sir.
	Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.

DUMAIN	Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

BIRON	A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?

HOLOFERNES	Judas I am,--

DUMAIN	The more shame for you, Judas.

HOLOFERNES	What mean you, sir?

BOYET	To make Judas hang himself.

HOLOFERNES	Begin, sir; you are my elder.

BIRON	Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.

HOLOFERNES	I will not be put out of countenance.

BIRON	Because thou hast no face.

HOLOFERNES	What is this?

BOYET	A cittern-head.

DUMAIN	The head of a bodkin.

BIRON	A Death's face in a ring.

LONGAVILLE	The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

BOYET	The pommel of Caesar's falchion.

DUMAIN	The carved-bone face on a flask.

BIRON	Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.

DUMAIN	Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

BIRON	Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer.
	And now forward; for we have put thee in countenance.

HOLOFERNES	You have put me out of countenance.

BIRON	False; we have given thee faces.

HOLOFERNES	But you have out-faced them all.

BIRON	An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

BOYET	Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
	And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

DUMAIN	For the latter end of his name.

BIRON	For the ass to the Jude; give it him:--Jud-as, away!

HOLOFERNES	This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

BOYET	A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble.

	[HOLOFERNES retires]

PRINCESS	Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, for Hector]

BIRON	Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

DUMAIN	Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

FERDINAND	Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.

BOYET	But is this Hector?

FERDINAND	I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.

LONGAVILLE	His leg is too big for Hector's.

DUMAIN	More calf, certain.

BOYET	No; he is best endued in the small.

BIRON	This cannot be Hector.

DUMAIN	He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
	Gave Hector a gift,--

DUMAIN	A gilt nutmeg.

BIRON	A lemon.

LONGAVILLE	Stuck with cloves.

DUMAIN	No, cloven.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Peace!--
	The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty
	Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
	A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea
	From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
	I am that flower,--

DUMAIN	That mint.

LONGAVILLE	That columbine.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

LONGAVILLE	I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

DUMAIN	Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks,
	beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed,
	he was a man. But I will forward with my device.

	[To the PRINCESS]

	Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

PRINCESS	Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

BOYET	[Aside to DUMAIN]  Loves her by the foot,--

DUMAIN	[Aside to BOYET]  He may not by the yard.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--

COSTARD	The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she
	is two months on her way.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What meanest thou?

COSTARD	Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor
	wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in
	her belly already: tis yours.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt
	die.

COSTARD	Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is
	quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by
	him.

DUMAIN	Most rare Pompey!

BOYET	Renowned Pompey!

BIRON	Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
	Pompey the Huge!

DUMAIN	Hector trembles.

BIRON	Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them
	on! stir them on!

DUMAIN	Hector will challenge him.

BIRON	Ay, if a' have no man's blood in's belly than will
	sup a flea.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

COSTARD	I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man:
	I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you,
	let me borrow my arms again.

DUMAIN	Room for the incensed Worthies!

COSTARD	I'll do it in my shirt.

DUMAIN	Most resolute Pompey!

MOTH	Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you
	not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean
	you? You will lose your reputation.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat
	in my shirt.

DUMAIN	You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

BIRON	What reason have you for't?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go
	woolward for penance.

BOYET	True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of
	linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but
	a dishclout of Jaquenetta's, and that a' wears next
	his heart for a favour.

	[Enter MERCADE]

MERCADE	God save you, madam!

PRINCESS	Welcome, Mercade;
	But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

MERCADE	I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
	Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father--

PRINCESS	Dead, for my life!

MERCADE	Even so; my tale is told.

BIRON	Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have
	seen the day of wrong through the little hole of
	discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.

	[Exeunt Worthies]

FERDINAND	How fares your majesty?

PRINCESS	Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.

FERDINAND	Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

PRINCESS	Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
	For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
	Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
	In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
	The liberal opposition of our spirits,
	If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
	In the converse of breath: your gentleness
	Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord!
	A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
	Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
	For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

FERDINAND	The extreme parts of time extremely forms
	All causes to the purpose of his speed,
	And often at his very loose decides
	That which long process could not arbitrate:
	And though the mourning brow of progeny
	Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
	The holy suit which fain it would convince,
	Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
	Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
	From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
	Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
	As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

PRINCESS	I understand you not: my griefs are double.

BIRON	Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
	And by these badges understand the king.
	For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
	Play'd foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
	Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
	Even to the opposed end of our intents:
	And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,--
	As love is full of unbefitting strains,
	All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
	Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye,
	Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
	Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
	To every varied object in his glance:
	Which parti-coated presence of loose love
	Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
	Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
	Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
	Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
	Our love being yours, the error that love makes
	Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
	By being once false for ever to be true
	To those that make us both,--fair ladies, you:
	And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
	Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.

PRINCESS	We have received your letters full of love;
	Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
	And, in our maiden council, rated them
	At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy,
	As bombast and as lining to the time:
	But more devout than this in our respects
	Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
	In their own fashion, like a merriment.

DUMAIN	Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.

LONGAVILLE	So did our looks.

ROSALINE	                  We did not quote them so.

FERDINAND	Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
	Grant us your loves.

PRINCESS	A time, methinks, too short
	To make a world-without-end bargain in.
	No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
	Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:
	If for my love, as there is no such cause,
	You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
	Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
	To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
	Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
	There stay until the twelve celestial signs
	Have brought about the annual reckoning.
	If this austere insociable life
	Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
	If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
	Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
	But that it bear this trial and last love;
	Then, at the expiration of the year,
	Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
	And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine
	I will be thine; and till that instant shut
	My woeful self up in a mourning house,
	Raining the tears of lamentation
	For the remembrance of my father's death.
	If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
	Neither entitled in the other's heart.

FERDINAND	If this, or more than this, I would deny,
	To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
	The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
	Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

BIRON	[And what to me, my love? and what to me?

ROSALINE	You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd,
	You are attaint with faults and perjury:
	Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
	A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
	But seek the weary beds of people sick]

DUMAIN	But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?

KATHARINE	A beard, fair health, and honesty;
	With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

DUMAIN	O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

KATHARINE	Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
	I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say:
	Come when the king doth to my lady come;
	Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

DUMAIN	I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

KATHARINE	Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.

LONGAVILLE	What says Maria?

MARIA	                  At the twelvemonth's end
	I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

LONGAVILLE	I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

MARIA	The liker you; few taller are so young.

BIRON	Studies my lady? mistress, look on me;
	Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
	What humble suit attends thy answer there:
	Impose some service on me for thy love.

ROSALINE	Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,
	Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
	Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
	Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
	Which you on all estates will execute
	That lie within the mercy of your wit.
	To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
	And therewithal to win me, if you please,
	Without the which I am not to be won,
	You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
	Visit the speechless sick and still converse
	With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
	With all the fierce endeavor of your wit
	To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

BIRON	To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
	It cannot be; it is impossible:
	Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINE	Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
	Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
	Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
	A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
	Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
	Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
	Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
	Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
	And I will have you and that fault withal;
	But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
	And I shall find you empty of that fault,
	Right joyful of your reformation.

BIRON	A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall,
	I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

PRINCESS	[To FERDINAND]  Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.

FERDINAND	No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

BIRON	Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
	Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
	Might well have made our sport a comedy.

FERDINAND	Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
	And then 'twill end.

BIRON	That's too long for a play.

	[Re-enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,--

PRINCESS	Was not that Hector?

DUMAIN	The worthy knight of Troy.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am
	a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the
	plough for her sweet love three years. But, most
	esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that
	the two learned men have compiled in praise of the
	owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the
	end of our show.

FERDINAND	Call them forth quickly; we will do so.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Holla! approach.

	[Re-enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD,
	and others]

	This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring;
	the one maintained by the owl, the other by the
	cuckoo. Ver, begin.

	[THE SONG]
	
	SPRING.
	When daisies pied and violets blue
	And lady-smocks all silver-white
	And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
	Do paint the meadows with delight,
	The cuckoo then, on every tree,
	Mocks married men; for thus sings he, 	Cuckoo;
	Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
	Unpleasing to a married ear!

	When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
	And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
	When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
	And maidens bleach their summer smocks
	The cuckoo then, on every tree,
	Mocks married men; for thus sings he, 	Cuckoo;
	Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
	Unpleasing to a married ear!
	
	WINTER.
	When icicles hang by the wall
	And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
	And Tom bears logs into the hall
	And milk comes frozen home in pail,
	When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
	Then nightly sings the staring owl, 	Tu-whit;
	Tu-who, a merry note,
	While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

	When all aloud the wind doth blow
	And coughing drowns the parson's saw
	And birds sit brooding in the snow
	And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
	When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
	Then nightly sings the staring owl, 	Tu-whit;
	Tu-who, a merry note,
	While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of
	Apollo. You that way: we this way.

	[Exeunt]
	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


VINCENTIO	the Duke. (DUKE VINCENTIO:)

ANGELO	Deputy.

ESCALUS	an ancient Lord.

CLAUDIO	a young gentleman.

LUCIO	a fantastic.

	Two other gentlemen.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	Provost.


PETER	(FRIAR PETER:)	|
		|  two friars.
THOMAS	(FRIAR THOMAS:)	|


	A Justice.

VARRIUS:

ELBOW	a simple constable.

FROTH	a foolish gentleman.

POMPEY	servant to Mistress Overdone.

ABHORSON	an executioner.

BARNARDINE	a dissolute prisoner.

ISABELLA	sister to Claudio.

MARIANA	betrothed to Angelo.

JULIET	beloved of Claudio.

FRANCISCA	a nun.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	a bawd.

	Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendant.
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Vienna.




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE I	An apartment in the DUKE'S palace.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, ESCALUS, Lords and
	Attendants]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Escalus.

ESCALUS	My lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Of government the properties to unfold,
	Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
	Since I am put to know that your own science
	Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
	My strength can give you: then no more remains,
	But that to your sufficiency [           ]
	[                  ] as your Worth is able,
	And let them work. The nature of our people,
	Our city's institutions, and the terms
	For common justice, you're as pregnant in
	As art and practise hath enriched any
	That we remember. There is our commission,
	From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
	I say, bid come before us Angelo.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	What figure of us think you he will bear?
	For you must know, we have with special soul
	Elected him our absence to supply,
	Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
	And given his deputation all the organs
	Of our own power: what think you of it?

ESCALUS	If any in Vienna be of worth
	To undergo such ample grace and honour,
	It is Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  Look where he comes.

	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	Always obedient to your grace's will,
	I come to know your pleasure.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Angelo,
	There is a kind of character in thy life,
	That to the observer doth thy history
	Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
	Are not thine own so proper as to waste
	Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
	Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
	Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
	Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
	As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
	But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
	The smallest scruple of her excellence
	But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
	Herself the glory of a creditor,
	Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
	To one that can my part in him advertise;
	Hold therefore, Angelo:--
	In our remove be thou at full ourself;
	Mortality and mercy in Vienna
	Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
	Though first in question, is thy secondary.
	Take thy commission.

ANGELO	Now, good my lord,
	Let there be some more test made of my metal,
	Before so noble and so great a figure
	Be stamp'd upon it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	No more evasion:
	We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
	Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
	Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
	That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd
	Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
	As time and our concernings shall importune,
	How it goes with us, and do look to know
	What doth befall you here. So, fare you well;
	To the hopeful execution do I leave you
	Of your commissions.

ANGELO	Yet give leave, my lord,
	That we may bring you something on the way.

DUKE VINCENTIO	My haste may not admit it;
	Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
	With any scruple; your scope is as mine own
	So to enforce or qualify the laws
	As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand:
	I'll privily away. I love the people,
	But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
	Through it do well, I do not relish well
	Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
	Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
	That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

ANGELO	The heavens give safety to your purposes!

ESCALUS	Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!

DUKE	I thank you. Fare you well.

	[Exit]

ESCALUS	I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
	To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
	To look into the bottom of my place:
	A power I have, but of what strength and nature
	I am not yet instructed.

ANGELO	'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
	And we may soon our satisfaction have
	Touching that point.

ESCALUS	I'll wait upon your honour.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE II	A Street.


	[Enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	If the duke with the other dukes come not to
	composition with the King of Hungary, why then all
	the dukes fall upon the king.

First Gentleman	Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
	Hungary's!

Second Gentleman	Amen.

LUCIO	Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that
	went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped
	one out of the table.

Second Gentleman	'Thou shalt not steal'?

LUCIO	Ay, that he razed.

First Gentleman	Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and
	all the rest from their functions: they put forth
	to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in
	the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
	well that prays for peace.

Second Gentleman	I never heard any soldier dislike it.

LUCIO	I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where
	grace was said.

Second Gentleman	No? a dozen times at least.

First Gentleman	What, in metre?

LUCIO	In any proportion or in any language.

First Gentleman	I think, or in any religion.

LUCIO	Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all
	controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a
	wicked villain, despite of all grace.

First Gentleman	Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.

LUCIO	I grant; as there may between the lists and the
	velvet. Thou art the list.

First Gentleman	And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt
	a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief
	be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou
	art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak
	feelingly now?

LUCIO	I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
	feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
	confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I
	live, forget to drink after thee.

First Gentleman	I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?

Second Gentleman	Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.

LUCIO	Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I
	have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to--

Second Gentleman	To what, I pray?

LUCIO	Judge.

Second Gentleman	To three thousand dolours a year.

First Gentleman	Ay, and more.

LUCIO	A French crown more.

First Gentleman	Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou
	art full of error; I am sound.

LUCIO	Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
	things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow;
	impiety has made a feast of thee.

	[Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE]

First Gentleman	How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried
	to prison was worth five thousand of you all.

Second Gentleman	Who's that, I pray thee?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

First Gentleman	Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw
	him carried away; and, which is more, within these
	three days his head to be chopped off.

LUCIO	But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so.
	Art thou sure of this?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam
	Julietta with child.

LUCIO	Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two
	hours since, and he was ever precise in
	promise-keeping.

Second Gentleman	Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
	speech we had to such a purpose.

First Gentleman	But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation.

LUCIO	Away! let's go learn the truth of it.

	[Exeunt LUCIO and Gentlemen]

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
	with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
	custom-shrunk.

	[Enter POMPEY]

	How now! what's the news with you?

POMPEY	Yonder man is carried to prison.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well; what has he done?

POMPEY	A woman.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But what's his offence?

POMPEY	Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What, is there a maid with child by him?

POMPEY	No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have
	not heard of the proclamation, have you?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What proclamation, man?

POMPEY	All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	And what shall become of those in the city?

POMPEY	They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too,
	but that a wise burgher put in for them.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
	pulled down?

POMPEY	To the ground, mistress.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
	What shall become of me?

POMPEY	Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no
	clients: though you change your place, you need not
	change your trade; I'll be your tapster still.
	Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that
	have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
	will be considered.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw.

POMPEY	Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to
	prison; and there's Madam Juliet.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers]

CLAUDIO	Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?
	Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost	I do it not in evil disposition,
	But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

CLAUDIO	Thus can the demigod Authority
	Make us pay down for our offence by weight
	The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will;
	On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.

	[Re-enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?

CLAUDIO	From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
	As surfeit is the father of much fast,
	So every scope by the immoderate use
	Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,
	Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
	A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

LUCIO	If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would
	send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say
	the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom
	as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy
	offence, Claudio?

CLAUDIO	What but to speak of would offend again.

LUCIO	What, is't murder?

CLAUDIO	No.

LUCIO	Lechery?

CLAUDIO	Call it so.

Provost	Away, sir! you must go.

CLAUDIO	One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.

LUCIO	A hundred, if they'll do you any good.
	Is lechery so look'd after?

CLAUDIO	Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract
	I got possession of Julietta's bed:
	You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
	Save that we do the denunciation lack
	Of outward order: this we came not to,
	Only for propagation of a dower
	Remaining in the coffer of her friends,
	From whom we thought it meet to hide our love
	Till time had made them for us. But it chances
	The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
	With character too gross is writ on Juliet.

LUCIO	With child, perhaps?

CLAUDIO	Unhappily, even so.
	And the new deputy now for the duke--
	Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
	Or whether that the body public be
	A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
	Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
	He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
	Whether the tyranny be in his place,
	Or in his emmence that fills it up,
	I stagger in:--but this new governor
	Awakes me all the enrolled penalties
	Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
	So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round
	And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
	Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
	Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name.

LUCIO	I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on
	thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love,
	may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to
	him.

CLAUDIO	I have done so, but he's not to be found.
	I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
	This day my sister should the cloister enter
	And there receive her approbation:
	Acquaint her with the danger of my state:
	Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
	To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him:
	I have great hope in that; for in her youth
	There is a prone and speechless dialect,
	Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art
	When she will play with reason and discourse,
	And well she can persuade.

LUCIO	I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the
	like, which else would stand under grievous
	imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I
	would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a
	game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

CLAUDIO	I thank you, good friend Lucio.

LUCIO	Within two hours.

CLAUDIO	                  Come, officer, away!

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE III	A monastery.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO and FRIAR THOMAS]

DUKE VINCENTIO	No, holy father; throw away that thought;
	Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
	Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
	To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
	More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
	Of burning youth.

FRIAR THOMAS	                  May your grace speak of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO	My holy sir, none better knows than you
	How I have ever loved the life removed
	And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
	Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
	I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
	A man of stricture and firm abstinence,
	My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
	And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
	For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
	And so it is received. Now, pious sir,
	You will demand of me why I do this?

FRIAR THOMAS	Gladly, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	We have strict statutes and most biting laws.
	The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds,
	Which for this nineteen years we have let slip;
	Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
	That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
	Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
	Only to stick it in their children's sight
	For terror, not to use, in time the rod
	Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
	Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
	And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
	The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
	Goes all decorum.

FRIAR THOMAS	                  It rested in your grace
	To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:
	And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd
	Than in Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I do fear, too dreadful:
	Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
	'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
	For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
	When evil deeds have their permissive pass
	And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father,
	I have on Angelo imposed the office;
	Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
	And yet my nature never in the fight
	To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
	I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
	Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee,
	Supply me with the habit and instruct me
	How I may formally in person bear me
	Like a true friar. More reasons for this action
	At our more leisure shall I render you;
	Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
	Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
	That his blood flows, or that his appetite
	Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
	If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE IV	A nunnery.


	[Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA]

ISABELLA	And have you nuns no farther privileges?

FRANCISCA	Are not these large enough?

ISABELLA	Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
	But rather wishing a more strict restraint
	Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

LUCIO	[Within]  Ho! Peace be in this place!

ISABELLA	Who's that which calls?

FRANCISCA	It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
	Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
	You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
	When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
	But in the presence of the prioress:
	Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
	Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
	He calls again; I pray you, answer him.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
	Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
	As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
	A novice of this place and the fair sister
	To her unhappy brother Claudio?

ISABELLA	Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask,
	The rather for I now must make you know
	I am that Isabella and his sister.

LUCIO	Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
	Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

ISABELLA	Woe me! for what?

LUCIO	For that which, if myself might be his judge,
	He should receive his punishment in thanks:
	He hath got his friend with child.

ISABELLA	Sir, make me not your story.

LUCIO	It is true.
	I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin
	With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
	Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so:
	I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
	By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
	And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
	As with a saint.

ISABELLA	You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

LUCIO	Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
	Your brother and his lover have embraced:
	As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
	That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
	To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
	Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

ISABELLA	Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?

LUCIO	Is she your cousin?

ISABELLA	Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
	By vain though apt affection.

LUCIO	She it is.

ISABELLA	O, let him marry her.

LUCIO	This is the point.
	The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
	Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
	In hand and hope of action: but we do learn
	By those that know the very nerves of state,
	His givings-out were of an infinite distance
	From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
	And with full line of his authority,
	Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
	Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
	The wanton stings and motions of the sense,
	But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
	With profits of the mind, study and fast.
	He--to give fear to use and liberty,
	Which have for long run by the hideous law,
	As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act,
	Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
	Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
	And follows close the rigour of the statute,
	To make him an example. All hope is gone,
	Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
	To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business
	'Twixt you and your poor brother.

ISABELLA	Doth he so seek his life?

LUCIO	Has censured him
	Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
	A warrant for his execution.

ISABELLA	Alas! what poor ability's in me
	To do him good?

LUCIO	                  Assay the power you have.

ISABELLA	My power? Alas, I doubt--

LUCIO	Our doubts are traitors
	And make us lose the good we oft might win
	By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,
	And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
	Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
	All their petitions are as freely theirs
	As they themselves would owe them.

ISABELLA	I'll see what I can do.

LUCIO	But speedily.

ISABELLA	I will about it straight;
	No longer staying but to give the mother
	Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
	Commend me to my brother: soon at night
	I'll send him certain word of my success.

LUCIO	I take my leave of you.

ISABELLA	Good sir, adieu.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE I	A hall In ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, and a Justice, Provost,
	Officers, and other Attendants, behind]

ANGELO	We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
	Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
	And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
	Their perch and not their terror.

ESCALUS	Ay, but yet
	Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
	Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman
	Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
	Let but your honour know,
	Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
	That, in the working of your own affections,
	Had time cohered with place or place with wishing,
	Or that the resolute acting of your blood
	Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
	Whether you had not sometime in your life
	Err'd in this point which now you censure him,
	And pull'd the law upon you.

ANGELO	'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
	Another thing to fall. I not deny,
	The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
	May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
	Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,
	That justice seizes: what know the laws
	That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
	The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't
	Because we see it; but what we do not see
	We tread upon, and never think of it.
	You may not so extenuate his offence
	For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
	When I, that censure him, do so offend,
	Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
	And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

ESCALUS	Be it as your wisdom will.

ANGELO	Where is the provost?

Provost	Here, if it like your honour.

ANGELO	See that Claudio
	Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
	Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
	For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.

	[Exit Provost]

ESCALUS	[Aside]  Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!
	Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall:
	Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none:
	And some condemned for a fault alone.

	[Enter ELBOW, and Officers with FROTH and POMPEY]

ELBOW	Come, bring them away: if these be good people in
	a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in
	common houses, I know no law: bring them away.

ANGELO	How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter?

ELBOW	If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's
	constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon
	justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
	honour two notorious benefactors.

ANGELO	Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are
	they not malefactors?

ELBOW	If it? please your honour, I know not well what they
	are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure
	of; and void of all profanation in the world that
	good Christians ought to have.

ESCALUS	This comes off well; here's a wise officer.

ANGELO	Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your
	name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow?

POMPEY	He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.

ANGELO	What are you, sir?

ELBOW	He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
	serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they
	say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she
	professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.

ESCALUS	How know you that?

ELBOW	My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,--

ESCALUS	How? thy wife?

ELBOW	Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,--

ESCALUS	Dost thou detest her therefore?

ELBOW	I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as
	she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
	it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

ESCALUS	How dost thou know that, constable?

ELBOW	Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
	cardinally given, might have been accused in
	fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.

ESCALUS	By the woman's means?

ELBOW	Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she
	spit in his face, so she defied him.

POMPEY	Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

ELBOW	Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable
	man; prove it.

ESCALUS	Do you hear how he misplaces?

POMPEY	Sir, she came in great with child; and longing,
	saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes;
	sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very
	distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a
	dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen
	such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very
	good dishes,--

ESCALUS	Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir.

POMPEY	No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in
	the right: but to the point. As I say, this
	Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and
	being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for
	prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,
	Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the
	rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very
	honestly; for, as you know, Master Froth, I could
	not give you three-pence again.

FROTH	No, indeed.

POMPEY	Very well: you being then, if you be remembered,
	cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,--

FROTH	Ay, so I did indeed.

POMPEY	Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be
	remembered, that such a one and such a one were past
	cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very
	good diet, as I told you,--

FROTH	All this is true.

POMPEY	Why, very well, then,--

ESCALUS	Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. What
	was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to
	complain of? Come me to what was done to her.

POMPEY	Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

ESCALUS	No, sir, nor I mean it not.

POMPEY	Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's
	leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth
	here, sir; a man of four-score pound a year; whose
	father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas,
	Master Froth?

FROTH	All-hallond eve.

POMPEY	Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir,
	sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in
	the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight
	to sit, have you not?

FROTH	I have so; because it is an open room and good for winter.

POMPEY	Why, very well, then; I hope here be truths.

ANGELO	This will last out a night in Russia,
	When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave.
	And leave you to the hearing of the cause;
	Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.

ESCALUS	I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.

	[Exit ANGELO]

	Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?

POMPEY	Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once.

ELBOW	I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

POMPEY	I beseech your honour, ask me.

ESCALUS	Well, sir; what did this gentleman to her?

POMPEY	I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face.
	Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a
	good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face?

ESCALUS	Ay, sir, very well.

POMPEY	Nay; I beseech you, mark it well.

ESCALUS	Well, I do so.

POMPEY	Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

ESCALUS	Why, no.

POMPEY	I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst
	thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the
	worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the
	constable's wife any harm? I would know that of
	your honour.

ESCALUS	He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it?

ELBOW	First, an it like you, the house is a respected
	house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his
	mistress is a respected woman.

POMPEY	By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected
	person than any of us all.

ELBOW	Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet! the
	time has yet to come that she was ever respected
	with man, woman, or child.

POMPEY	Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.

ESCALUS	Which is the wiser here? Justice or Iniquity? Is
	this true?

ELBOW	O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked
	Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married
	to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she
	with me, let not your worship think me the poor
	duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or
	I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

ESCALUS	If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your
	action of slander too.

ELBOW	Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't
	your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

ESCALUS	Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him
	that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him
	continue in his courses till thou knowest what they
	are.

ELBOW	Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou
	wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art
	to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

ESCALUS	Where were you born, friend?

FROTH	Here in Vienna, sir.

ESCALUS	Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

FROTH	Yes, an't please you, sir.

ESCALUS	So. What trade are you of, sir?

POMPHEY	Tapster; a poor widow's tapster.

ESCALUS	Your mistress' name?

POMPHEY	Mistress Overdone.

ESCALUS	Hath she had any more than one husband?

POMPEY	Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.

ESCALUS	Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master
	Froth, I would not have you acquainted with
	tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you
	will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no
	more of you.

FROTH	I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never
	come into any room in a tap-house, but I am drawn
	in.

ESCALUS	Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell.

	[Exit FROTH]

	Come you hither to me, Master tapster. What's your
	name, Master tapster?

POMPEY	Pompey.

ESCALUS	What else?

POMPEY	Bum, sir.

ESCALUS	Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you;
	so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the
	Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey,
	howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you
	not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you.

POMPEY	Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

ESCALUS	How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What
	do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

POMPEY	If the law would allow it, sir.

ESCALUS	But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall
	not be allowed in Vienna.

POMPEY	Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the
	youth of the city?

ESCALUS	No, Pompey.

POMPEY	Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then.
	If your worship will take order for the drabs and
	the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

ESCALUS	There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you:
	it is but heading and hanging.

POMPEY	If you head and hang all that offend that way but
	for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a
	commission for more heads: if this law hold in
	Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it
	after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this
	come to pass, say Pompey told you so.

ESCALUS	Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your
	prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find
	you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever;
	no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey,
	I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd
	Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall
	have you whipt: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

POMPEY	I thank your worship for your good counsel:

	[Aside]

	but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall
	better determine.
	Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade:
	The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade.

	[Exit]

ESCALUS	Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master
	constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

ELBOW	Seven year and a half, sir.

ESCALUS	I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had
	continued in it some time. You say, seven years together?

ELBOW	And a half, sir.

ESCALUS	Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you
	wrong to put you so oft upon 't: are there not men
	in your ward sufficient to serve it?

ELBOW	Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they
	are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I
	do it for some piece of money, and go through with
	all.

ESCALUS	Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven,
	the most sufficient of your parish.

ELBOW	To your worship's house, sir?

ESCALUS	To my house. Fare you well.

	[Exit ELBOW]

	What's o'clock, think you?

Justice	Eleven, sir.

ESCALUS	I pray you home to dinner with me.

Justice	I humbly thank you.

ESCALUS	It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
	But there's no remedy.

Justice	Lord Angelo is severe.

ESCALUS	It is but needful:
	Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
	Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
	But yet,--poor Claudio! There is no remedy.
	Come, sir.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE II	Another room in the same.


	[Enter Provost and a Servant]

Servant	He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight
	I'll tell him of you.

Provost	Pray you, do.

	[Exit Servant]

		                  I'll know
	His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,
	He hath but as offended in a dream!
	All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
	To die for't!

	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	                  Now, what's the matter. Provost?

Provost	Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow?

ANGELO	Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?
	Why dost thou ask again?

Provost	Lest I might be too rash:
	Under your good correction, I have seen,
	When, after execution, judgment hath
	Repented o'er his doom.

ANGELO	Go to; let that be mine:
	Do you your office, or give up your place,
	And you shall well be spared.

Provost	I crave your honour's pardon.
	What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
	She's very near her hour.

ANGELO	Dispose of her
	To some more fitter place, and that with speed.

	[Re-enter Servant]

Servant	Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
	Desires access to you.

ANGELO	Hath he a sister?

Provost	Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,
	And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
	If not already.

ANGELO	                  Well, let her be admitted.

	[Exit Servant]

	See you the fornicatress be removed:
	Let have needful, but not lavish, means;
	There shall be order for't.

	[Enter ISABELLA and LUCIO]

Provost	God save your honour!

ANGELO	Stay a little while.

	[To ISABELLA]

		You're welcome: what's your will?

ISABELLA	I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
	Please but your honour hear me.

ANGELO	Well; what's your suit?

ISABELLA	There is a vice that most I do abhor,
	And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
	For which I would not plead, but that I must;
	For which I must not plead, but that I am
	At war 'twixt will and will not.

ANGELO	Well; the matter?

ISABELLA	I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
	I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
	And not my brother.

Provost	[Aside]  Heaven give thee moving graces!

ANGELO	Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
	Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done:
	Mine were the very cipher of a function,
	To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
	And let go by the actor.

ISABELLA	O just but severe law!
	I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Give't not o'er so: to him
	again, entreat him;
	Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown:
	You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
	You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
	To him, I say!

ISABELLA	Must he needs die?

ANGELO	                  Maiden, no remedy.

ISABELLA	Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
	And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELO	I will not do't.

ISABELLA	                  But can you, if you would?

ANGELO	Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISABELLA	But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
	If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
	As mine is to him?

ANGELO	                  He's sentenced; 'tis too late.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  You are too cold.

ISABELLA	Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word.
	May call it back again. Well, believe this,
	No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
	Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
	The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
	Become them with one half so good a grace
	As mercy does.
	If he had been as you and you as he,
	You would have slipt like him; but he, like you,
	Would not have been so stern.

ANGELO	Pray you, be gone.

ISABELLA	I would to heaven I had your potency,
	And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
	No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
	And what a prisoner.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]

		Ay, touch him; there's the vein.

ANGELO	Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
	And you but waste your words.

ISABELLA	Alas, alas!
	Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
	And He that might the vantage best have took
	Found out the remedy. How would you be,
	If He, which is the top of judgment, should
	But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
	And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
	Like man new made.

ANGELO	                  Be you content, fair maid;
	It is the law, not I condemn your brother:
	Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
	It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow.

ISABELLA	To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him!
	He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
	We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven
	With less respect than we do minister
	To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you;
	Who is it that hath died for this offence?
	There's many have committed it.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]           Ay, well said.

ANGELO	The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
	Those many had not dared to do that evil,
	If the first that did the edict infringe
	Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake
	Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
	Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
	Either new, or by remissness new-conceived,
	And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
	Are now to have no successive degrees,
	But, ere they live, to end.

ISABELLA	Yet show some pity.

ANGELO	I show it most of all when I show justice;
	For then I pity those I do not know,
	Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
	And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
	Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
	Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

ISABELLA	So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
	And he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent
	To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
	To use it like a giant.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]   That's well said.

ISABELLA	Could great men thunder
	As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
	For every pelting, petty officer
	Would use his heaven for thunder;
	Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
	Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
	Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
	Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
	Drest in a little brief authority,
	Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
	His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
	Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
	As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
	Would all themselves laugh mortal.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  O, to him, to him, wench! he
	will relent;
	He's coming; I perceive 't.

Provost	[Aside]  Pray heaven she win him!

ISABELLA	We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:
	Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them,
	But in the less foul profanation.

LUCIO	Thou'rt i' the right, girl; more o, that.

ISABELLA	That in the captain's but a choleric word,
	Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Art avised o' that? more on 't.

ANGELO	Why do you put these sayings upon me?

ISABELLA	Because authority, though it err like others,
	Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
	That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom;
	Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
	That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
	A natural guiltiness such as is his,
	Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
	Against my brother's life.

ANGELO	[Aside]                  She speaks, and 'tis
	Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well.

ISABELLA	Gentle my lord, turn back.

ANGELO	I will bethink me: come again tomorrow.

ISABELLA	Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back.

ANGELO	How! bribe me?

ISABELLA	Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  You had marr'd all else.

ISABELLA	Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,
	Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor
	As fancy values them; but with true prayers
	That shall be up at heaven and enter there
	Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,
	From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
	To nothing temporal.

ANGELO	Well; come to me to-morrow.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Go to; 'tis well; away!

ISABELLA	Heaven keep your honour safe!

ANGELO	[Aside]	Amen:
	For I am that way going to temptation,
	Where prayers cross.

ISABELLA	At what hour to-morrow
	Shall I attend your lordship?

ANGELO	At any time 'fore noon.

ISABELLA	'Save your honour!

	[Exeunt ISABELLA, LUCIO, and Provost]

ANGELO	                  From thee, even from thy virtue!
	What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
	The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
	Ha!
	Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I
	That, lying by the violet in the sun,
	Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
	Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
	That modesty may more betray our sense
	Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
	Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
	And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
	What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
	Dost thou desire her foully for those things
	That make her good? O, let her brother live!
	Thieves for their robbery have authority
	When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
	That I desire to hear her speak again,
	And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
	O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
	With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
	Is that temptation that doth goad us on
	To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
	With all her double vigour, art and nature,
	Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
	Subdues me quite. Even till now,
	When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE III	A room in a prison.


	[Enter, severally, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as a
	friar, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hail to you, provost! so I think you are.

Provost	I am the provost. What's your will, good friar?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bound by my charity and my blest order,
	I come to visit the afflicted spirits
	Here in the prison. Do me the common right
	To let me see them and to make me know
	The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
	To them accordingly.

Provost	I would do more than that, if more were needful.

	[Enter JULIET]

	Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine,
	Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,
	Hath blister'd her report: she is with child;
	And he that got it, sentenced; a young man
	More fit to do another such offence
	Than die for this.

DUKE VINCENTIO	When must he die?

Provost	                  As I do think, to-morrow.
	I have provided for you: stay awhile,

	[To JULIET]

	And you shall be conducted.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?

JULIET	I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
	And try your penitence, if it be sound,
	Or hollowly put on.

JULIET	I'll gladly learn.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Love you the man that wrong'd you?

JULIET	Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	So then it seems your most offenceful act
	Was mutually committed?

JULIET	Mutually.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

JULIET	I do confess it, and repent it, father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent,
	As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,
	Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven,
	Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,
	But as we stand in fear,--

JULIET	I do repent me, as it is an evil,
	And take the shame with joy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	There rest.
	Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
	And I am going with instruction to him.
	Grace go with you, Benedicite!

	[Exit]

JULIET	Must die to-morrow! O injurious love,
	That respites me a life, whose very comfort
	Is still a dying horror!

Provost	'Tis pity of him.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE IV	A room in ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	When I would pray and think, I think and pray
	To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words;
	Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
	Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,
	As if I did but only chew his name;
	And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
	Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied
	Is like a good thing, being often read,
	Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
	Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride,
	Could I with boot change for an idle plume,
	Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,
	How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
	Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls
	To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood:
	Let's write good angel on the devil's horn:
	'Tis not the devil's crest.

	[Enter a Servant]

		      How now! who's there?

Servant	One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.

ANGELO	Teach her the way.

	[Exit Servant]

	O heavens!
	Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
	Making both it unable for itself,
	And dispossessing all my other parts
	Of necessary fitness?
	So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
	Come all to help him, and so stop the air
	By which he should revive: and even so
	The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
	Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
	Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
	Must needs appear offence.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

		     How now, fair maid?

ISABELLA	I am come to know your pleasure.

ANGELO	That you might know it, would much better please me
	Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

ISABELLA	Even so. Heaven keep your honour!

ANGELO	Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
	As long as you or I	yet he must die.

ISABELLA	Under your sentence?

ANGELO	Yea.

ISABELLA	When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,
	Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
	That his soul sicken not.

ANGELO	Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good
	To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
	A man already made, as to remit
	Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
	In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
	Falsely to take away a life true made
	As to put metal in restrained means
	To make a false one.

ISABELLA	'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

ANGELO	Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly.
	Which had you rather, that the most just law
	Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
	Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness
	As she that he hath stain'd?

ISABELLA	Sir, believe this,
	I had rather give my body than my soul.

ANGELO	I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins
	Stand more for number than for accompt.

ISABELLA	How say you?

ANGELO	Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
	Against the thing I say. Answer to this:
	I, now the voice of the recorded law,
	Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
	Might there not be a charity in sin
	To save this brother's life?

ISABELLA	Please you to do't,
	I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
	It is no sin at all, but charity.

ANGELO	Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul,
	Were equal poise of sin and charity.

ISABELLA	That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
	Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit,
	If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
	To have it added to the faults of mine,
	And nothing of your answer.

ANGELO	Nay, but hear me.
	Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
	Or seem so craftily; and that's not good.

ISABELLA	Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,
	But graciously to know I am no better.

ANGELO	Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright
	When it doth tax itself; as these black masks
	Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder
	Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me;
	To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
	Your brother is to die.

ISABELLA	So.

ANGELO	And his offence is so, as it appears,
	Accountant to the law upon that pain.

ISABELLA	True.

ANGELO	Admit no other way to save his life,--
	As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
	But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister,
	Finding yourself desired of such a person,
	Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
	Could fetch your brother from the manacles
	Of the all-building law; and that there were
	No earthly mean to save him, but that either
	You must lay down the treasures of your body
	To this supposed, or else to let him suffer;
	What would you do?

ISABELLA	As much for my poor brother as myself:
	That is, were I under the terms of death,
	The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies,
	And strip myself to death, as to a bed
	That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield
	My body up to shame.

ANGELO	Then must your brother die.

ISABELLA	And 'twere the cheaper way:
	Better it were a brother died at once,
	Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
	Should die for ever.

ANGELO	Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
	That you have slander'd so?

ISABELLA	Ignomy in ransom and free pardon
	Are of two houses: lawful mercy
	Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELO	You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;
	And rather proved the sliding of your brother
	A merriment than a vice.

ISABELLA	O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
	To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:
	I something do excuse the thing I hate,
	For his advantage that I dearly love.

ANGELO	We are all frail.

ISABELLA	                  Else let my brother die,
	If not a feodary, but only he
	Owe and succeed thy weakness.

ANGELO	Nay, women are frail too.

ISABELLA	Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
	Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
	Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar
	In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;
	For we are soft as our complexions are,
	And credulous to false prints.

ANGELO	I think it well:
	And from this testimony of your own sex,--
	Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger
	Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold;
	I do arrest your words. Be that you are,
	That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
	If you be one, as you are well express'd
	By all external warrants, show it now,
	By putting on the destined livery.

ISABELLA	I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
	Let me entreat you speak the former language.

ANGELO	Plainly conceive, I love you.

ISABELLA	My brother did love Juliet,
	And you tell me that he shall die for it.

ANGELO	He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

ISABELLA	I know your virtue hath a licence in't,
	Which seems a little fouler than it is,
	To pluck on others.

ANGELO	Believe me, on mine honour,
	My words express my purpose.

ISABELLA	Ha! little honour to be much believed,
	And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!
	I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
	Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
	Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud
	What man thou art.

ANGELO	                  Who will believe thee, Isabel?
	My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
	My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
	Will so your accusation overweigh,
	That you shall stifle in your own report
	And smell of calumny. I have begun,
	And now I give my sensual race the rein:
	Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
	Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
	That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
	By yielding up thy body to my will;
	Or else he must not only die the death,
	But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
	To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
	Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
	I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
	Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
	Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
	That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
	Either of condemnation or approof;
	Bidding the law make court'sy to their will:
	Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
	To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother:
	Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood,
	Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour.
	That, had he twenty heads to tender down
	On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up,
	Before his sister should her body stoop
	To such abhorr'd pollution.
	Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
	More than our brother is our chastity.
	I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
	And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III


SCENE I	A room in the prison.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before, CLAUDIO,
	and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

CLAUDIO	The miserable have no other medicine
	But only hope:
	I've hope to live, and am prepared to die.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Be absolute for death; either death or life
	Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:
	If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
	That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
	Servile to all the skyey influences,
	That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
	Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
	For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun
	And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
	For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
	Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant;
	For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
	Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
	And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st
	Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
	For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
	That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
	For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
	And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;
	For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
	After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
	For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
	Thou bear's thy heavy riches but a journey,
	And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
	For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
	The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
	Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
	For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
	But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
	Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
	Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
	Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
	Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
	To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
	That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
	Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
	That makes these odds all even.

CLAUDIO	I humbly thank you.
	To sue to live, I find I seek to die;
	And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

ISABELLA	[Within]  What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

Provost	Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

CLAUDIO	Most holy sir, I thank you.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA	My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Provost	And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Provost, a word with you.

Provost	As many as you please.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed.

	[Exeunt DUKE VINCENTIO and Provost]

CLAUDIO	Now, sister, what's the comfort?

ISABELLA	Why,
	As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed.
	Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
	Intends you for his swift ambassador,
	Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:
	Therefore your best appointment make with speed;
	To-morrow you set on.

CLAUDIO	Is there no remedy?

ISABELLA	None, but such remedy as, to save a head,
	To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUDIO	But is there any?

ISABELLA	Yes, brother, you may live:
	There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
	If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
	But fetter you till death.

CLAUDIO	Perpetual durance?

ISABELLA	Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
	Though all the world's vastidity you had,
	To a determined scope.

CLAUDIO	But in what nature?

ISABELLA	In such a one as, you consenting to't,
	Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
	And leave you naked.

CLAUDIO	Let me know the point.

ISABELLA	O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
	Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
	And six or seven winters more respect
	Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die?
	The sense of death is most in apprehension;
	And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
	In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
	As when a giant dies.

CLAUDIO	Why give you me this shame?
	Think you I can a resolution fetch
	From flowery tenderness? If I must die,
	I will encounter darkness as a bride,
	And hug it in mine arms.

ISABELLA	There spake my brother; there my father's grave
	Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
	Thou art too noble to conserve a life
	In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
	Whose settled visage and deliberate word
	Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew
	As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil
	His filth within being cast, he would appear
	A pond as deep as hell.

CLAUDIO	The prenzie Angelo!

ISABELLA	O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
	The damned'st body to invest and cover
	In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?
	If I would yield him my virginity,
	Thou mightst be freed.

CLAUDIO	O heavens! it cannot be.

ISABELLA	Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,
	So to offend him still. This night's the time
	That I should do what I abhor to name,
	Or else thou diest to-morrow.

CLAUDIO	Thou shalt not do't.

ISABELLA	O, were it but my life,
	I'ld throw it down for your deliverance
	As frankly as a pin.

CLAUDIO	Thanks, dear Isabel.

ISABELLA	Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.

CLAUDIO	Yes. Has he affections in him,
	That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
	When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin,
	Or of the deadly seven, it is the least.

ISABELLA	Which is the least?

CLAUDIO	If it were damnable, he being so wise,
	Why would he for the momentary trick
	Be perdurably fined? O Isabel!

ISABELLA	What says my brother?

CLAUDIO	Death is a fearful thing.

ISABELLA	And shamed life a hateful.

CLAUDIO	Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
	To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
	This sensible warm motion to become
	A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
	To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
	In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
	To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
	And blown with restless violence round about
	The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
	Of those that lawless and incertain thought
	Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
	The weariest and most loathed worldly life
	That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
	Can lay on nature is a paradise
	To what we fear of death.

ISABELLA	Alas, alas!

CLAUDIO	          Sweet sister, let me live:
	What sin you do to save a brother's life,
	Nature dispenses with the deed so far
	That it becomes a virtue.

ISABELLA	O you beast!
	O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
	Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
	Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
	From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
	Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!
	For such a warped slip of wilderness
	Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance!
	Die, perish! Might but my bending down
	Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
	I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
	No word to save thee.

CLAUDIO	Nay, hear me, Isabel.

ISABELLA	O, fie, fie, fie!
	Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.
	Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
	'Tis best thou diest quickly.

CLAUDIO	O hear me, Isabella!

	[Re-enter DUKE VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

ISABELLA	What is your will?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and
	by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I
	would require is likewise your own benefit.

ISABELLA	I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be
	stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.

	[Walks apart]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you
	and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to
	corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her
	virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition
	of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her,
	hath made him that gracious denial which he is most
	glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I
	know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to
	death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes
	that are fallible: tomorrow you must die; go to
	your knees and make ready.

CLAUDIO	Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love
	with life that I will sue to be rid of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hold you there: farewell.

	[Exit CLAUDIO]

	Provost, a word with you!

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	What's your will, father

DUKE VINCENTIO	That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me
	awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my
	habit no loss shall touch her by my company.

Provost	In good time.

	[Exit Provost. ISABELLA comes forward]

DUKE VINCENTIO	The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good:
	the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty
	brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of
	your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever
	fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,
	fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but
	that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should
	wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this
	substitute, and to save your brother?

ISABELLA	I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my
	brother die by the law than my son should be
	unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke
	deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can
	speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or
	discover his government.

DUKE VINCENTIO	That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter
	now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made
	trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my
	advisings: to the love I have in doing good a
	remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe
	that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged
	lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from
	the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious
	person; and much please the absent duke, if
	peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of
	this business.

ISABELLA	Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do
	anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have
	you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of
	Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

ISABELLA	I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

DUKE VINCENTIO	She should this Angelo have married; was affianced
	to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between
	which time of the contract and limit of the
	solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea,
	having in that perished vessel the dowry of his
	sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the
	poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and
	renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most
	kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of
	her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her
	combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

ISABELLA	Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them
	with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole,
	pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few,
	bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet
	wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears,
	is washed with them, but relents not.

ISABELLA	What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid
	from the world! What corruption in this life, that
	it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail?

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the
	cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps
	you from dishonour in doing it.

ISABELLA	Show me how, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance
	of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that
	in all reason should have quenched her love, hath,
	like an impediment in the current, made it more
	violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his
	requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with
	his demands to the point; only refer yourself to
	this advantage, first, that your stay with him may
	not be long; that the time may have all shadow and
	silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.
	This being granted in course,--and now follows
	all,--we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up
	your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter
	acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to
	her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother
	saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana
	advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid
	will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you
	think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness
	of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof.
	What think you of it?

ISABELLA	The image of it gives me content already; and I
	trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily
	to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his
	bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will
	presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated
	grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that
	place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that
	it may be quickly.

ISABELLA	I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.

	[Exeunt severally]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III



SCENE II	The street before the prison.


	[Enter, on one side, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as
	before; on the other, ELBOW, and Officers with POMPEY]

ELBOW	Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will
	needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we
	shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O heavens! what stuff is here

POMPEY	'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the
	merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by
	order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and
	furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that
	craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

ELBOW	Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And you, good brother father. What offence hath
	this man made you, sir?

ELBOW	Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we
	take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found
	upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have
	sent to the deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd!
	The evil that thou causest to be done,
	That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
	What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back
	From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
	From their abominable and beastly touches
	I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
	Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
	So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

POMPEY	Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet,
	sir, I would prove--

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,
	Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer:
	Correction and instruction must both work
	Ere this rude beast will profit.

ELBOW	He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him
	warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if
	he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were
	as good go a mile on his errand.

DUKE VINCENTIO	That we were all, as some would seem to be,
	From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!

ELBOW	His neck will come to your waist,--a cord, sir.

POMPEY	I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman and a
	friend of mine.

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of
	Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there
	none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be
	had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and
	extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What
	sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't
	not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest
	thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is
	the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The
	trick of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Still thus, and thus; still worse!

LUCIO	How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she
	still, ha?

POMPEY	Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she
	is herself in the tub.

LUCIO	Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be
	so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd:
	an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going
	to prison, Pompey?

POMPEY	Yes, faith, sir.

LUCIO	Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I
	sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

ELBOW	For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

LUCIO	Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the
	due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he
	doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born.
	Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison,
	Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you
	will keep the house.

POMPEY	I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

LUCIO	No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear.
	I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If
	you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the
	more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And you.

LUCIO	Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?

ELBOW	Come your ways, sir; come.

POMPEY	You will not bail me, then, sir?

LUCIO	Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar?
	what news?

ELBOW	Come your ways, sir; come.

LUCIO	Go to kennel, Pompey; go.

	[Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and Officers]

	What news, friar, of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know none. Can you tell me of any?

LUCIO	Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other
	some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

LUCIO	It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from
	the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born
	to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he
	puts transgression to 't.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He does well in 't.

LUCIO	A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in
	him: something too crabbed that way, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

LUCIO	Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred;
	it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp
	it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put
	down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and
	woman after this downright way of creation: is it
	true, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	How should he be made, then?

LUCIO	Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he
	was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is
	certain that when he makes water his urine is
	congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a
	motion generative; that's infallible.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

LUCIO	Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the
	rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a
	man! Would the duke that is absent have done this?
	Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a
	hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing
	a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport: he
	knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I never heard the absent duke much detected for
	women; he was not inclined that way.

LUCIO	O, sir, you are deceived.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis not possible.

LUCIO	Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and
	his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the
	duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too;
	that let me inform you.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You do him wrong, surely.

LUCIO	Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the
	duke: and I believe I know the cause of his
	withdrawing.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What, I prithee, might be the cause?

LUCIO	No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked within the
	teeth and the lips: but this I can let you
	understand, the greater file of the subject held the
	duke to be wise.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Wise! why, no question but he was.

LUCIO	A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking:
	the very stream of his life and the business he hath
	helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better
	proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own
	bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the
	envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier.
	Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your
	knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice.

LUCIO	Sir, I know him, and I love him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with
	dearer love.

LUCIO	Come, sir, I know what I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I can hardly believe that, since you know not what
	you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our
	prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your
	answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke,
	you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call
	upon you; and, I pray you, your name?

LUCIO	Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to
	report you.

LUCIO	I fear you not.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you
	imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I
	can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again.

LUCIO	I'll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me,
	friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if
	Claudio die to-morrow or no?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Why should he die, sir?

LUCIO	Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would
	the duke we talk of were returned again: the
	ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with
	continency; sparrows must not build in his
	house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke
	yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would
	never bring them to light: would he were returned!
	Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing.
	Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The
	duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on
	Fridays. He's not past it yet, and I say to thee,
	he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown
	bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	No might nor greatness in mortality
	Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny
	The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong
	Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
	But who comes here?

	[Enter ESCALUS, Provost, and Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

ESCALUS	Go; away with her to prison!

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted
	a merciful man; good my lord.

ESCALUS	Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in
	the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play
	the tyrant.

Provost	A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please
	your honour.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.
	Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the
	duke's time; he promised her marriage: his child
	is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob:
	I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me!

ESCALUS	That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be
	called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to;
	no more words.

	[Exeunt Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

	Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered;
	Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished
	with divines, and have all charitable preparation.
	if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be
	so with him.

Provost	So please you, this friar hath been with him, and
	advised him for the entertainment of death.

ESCALUS	Good even, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bliss and goodness on you!

ESCALUS	Of whence are you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not of this country, though my chance is now
	To use it for my time: I am a brother
	Of gracious order, late come from the See
	In special business from his holiness.

ESCALUS	What news abroad i' the world?

DUKE VINCENTIO	None, but that there is so great a fever on
	goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it:
	novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous
	to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous
	to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce
	truth enough alive to make societies secure; but
	security enough to make fellowships accurst: much
	upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This
	news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I
	pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?

ESCALUS	One that, above all other strifes, contended
	especially to know himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What pleasure was he given to?

ESCALUS	Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at
	any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a
	gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to
	his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous;
	and let me desire to know how you find Claudio
	prepared. I am made to understand that you have
	lent him visitation.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He professes to have received no sinister measure
	from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself
	to the determination of justice: yet had he framed
	to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many
	deceiving promises of life; which I by my good
	leisure have discredited to him, and now is he
	resolved to die.

ESCALUS	You have paid the heavens your function, and the
	prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have
	laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest
	shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I
	found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him
	he is indeed Justice.

DUKE VINCENTIO	If his own life answer the straitness of his
	proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he
	chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.

ESCALUS	I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Peace be with you!

	[Exeunt ESCALUS and Provost]

	He who the sword of heaven will bear
	Should be as holy as severe;
	Pattern in himself to know,
	Grace to stand, and virtue go;
	More nor less to others paying
	Than by self-offences weighing.
	Shame to him whose cruel striking
	Kills for faults of his own liking!
	Twice treble shame on Angelo,
	To weed my vice and let his grow!
	O, what may man within him hide,
	Though angel on the outward side!
	How may likeness made in crimes,
	Making practise on the times,
	To draw with idle spiders' strings
	Most ponderous and substantial things!
	Craft against vice I must apply:
	With Angelo to-night shall lie
	His old betrothed but despised;
	So disguise shall, by the disguised,
	Pay with falsehood false exacting,
	And perform an old contracting.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE I	The moated grange at ST. LUKE's.


	[Enter MARIANA and a Boy]

	[Boy sings]

	Take, O, take those lips away,
	That so sweetly were forsworn;
	And those eyes, the break of day,
	Lights that do mislead the morn:
	But my kisses bring again, bring again;
	Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

MARIANA	Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away:
	Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
	Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.

	[Exit Boy]

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

	I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish
	You had not found me here so musical:
	Let me excuse me, and believe me so,
	My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm
	To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
	I pray, you, tell me, hath any body inquired
	for me here to-day? much upon this time have
	I promised here to meet.

MARIANA	You have not been inquired after:
	I have sat here all day.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	I do constantly believe you. The time is come even
	now. I shall crave your forbearance a little: may
	be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself.

MARIANA	I am always bound to you.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Very well met, and well come.
	What is the news from this good deputy?

ISABELLA	He hath a garden circummured with brick,
	Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
	And to that vineyard is a planched gate,
	That makes his opening with this bigger key:
	This other doth command a little door
	Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;
	There have I made my promise
	Upon the heavy middle of the night
	To call upon him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	But shall you on your knowledge find this way?

ISABELLA	I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't:
	With whispering and most guilty diligence,
	In action all of precept, he did show me
	The way twice o'er.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Are there no other tokens
	Between you 'greed concerning her observance?

ISABELLA	No, none, but only a repair i' the dark;
	And that I have possess'd him my most stay
	Can be but brief; for I have made him know
	I have a servant comes with me along,
	That stays upon me, whose persuasion is
	I come about my brother.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis well borne up.
	I have not yet made known to Mariana
	A word of this. What, ho! within! come forth!

	[Re-enter MARIANA]

	I pray you, be acquainted with this maid;
	She comes to do you good.

ISABELLA	I do desire the like.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?

MARIANA	Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Take, then, this your companion by the hand,
	Who hath a story ready for your ear.
	I shall attend your leisure: but make haste;
	The vaporous night approaches.

MARIANA	Will't please you walk aside?

	[Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	O place and greatness! millions of false eyes
	Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report
	Run with these false and most contrarious quests
	Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit
	Make thee the father of their idle dreams
	And rack thee in their fancies.

	[Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA]

		          Welcome, how agreed?

ISABELLA	She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
	If you advise it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  It is not my consent,
	But my entreaty too.

ISABELLA	Little have you to say
	When you depart from him, but, soft and low,
	'Remember now my brother.'

MARIANA	Fear me not.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.
	He is your husband on a pre-contract:
	To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin,
	Sith that the justice of your title to him
	Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go:
	Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE II	A room in the prison.


	[Enter Provost and POMPEY]

Provost	Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?

POMPEY	If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a
	married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never
	cut off a woman's head.

Provost	Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a
	direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio
	and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common
	executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if
	you will take it on you to assist him, it shall
	redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have
	your full time of imprisonment and your deliverance
	with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a
	notorious bawd.

POMPEY	Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind;
	but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I
	would be glad to receive some instruction from my
	fellow partner.

Provost	What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there?

	[Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON	Do you call, sir?

Provost	Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in
	your execution. If you think it meet, compound with
	him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if
	not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He
	cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd.

ABHORSON	A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery.

Provost	Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn
	the scale.

	[Exit]

POMPEY	Pray, sir, by your good favour,--for surely, sir, a
	good favour you have, but that you have a hanging
	look,--do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery?

ABHORSON	Ay, sir; a mystery

POMPEY	Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and
	your whores, sir, being members of my occupation,
	using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery:
	but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I
	should be hanged, I cannot imagine.

ABHORSON	Sir, it is a mystery.

POMPEY	Proof?

ABHORSON	Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be
	too little for your thief, your true man thinks it
	big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your
	thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's
	apparel fits your thief.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Are you agreed?

POMPEY	Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is
	a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth
	oftener ask forgiveness.

Provost	You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe
	to-morrow four o'clock.

ABHORSON	Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.

POMPEY	I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have
	occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find
	me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you
	a good turn.

Provost	Call hither Barnardine and Claudio:

	[Exeunt POMPEY and ABHORSON]

	The one has my pity; not a jot the other,
	Being a murderer, though he were my brother.

	[Enter CLAUDIO]

	Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death:
	'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
	Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?

CLAUDIO	As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour
	When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones:
	He will not wake.

Provost	                  Who can do good on him?
	Well, go, prepare yourself.

	[Knocking within]

		      But, hark, what noise?
	Heaven give your spirits comfort!

	[Exit CLAUDIO]

		                  By and by.
	I hope it is some pardon or reprieve
	For the most gentle Claudio.

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

		       Welcome father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The best and wholesomest spirts of the night
	Envelope you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?

Provost	None, since the curfew rung.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not Isabel?

Provost	          No.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  They will, then, ere't be long.

Provost	What comfort is for Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO	There's some in hope.

Provost	It is a bitter deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd
	Even with the stroke and line of his great justice:
	He doth with holy abstinence subdue
	That in himself which he spurs on his power
	To qualify in others: were he meal'd with that
	Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
	But this being so, he's just.

	[Knocking within]

		        Now are they come.

	[Exit Provost]

	This is a gentle provost: seldom when
	The steeled gaoler is the friend of men.

	[Knocking within]

	How now! what noise? That spirit's possessed with haste
	That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	There he must stay until the officer
	Arise to let him in: he is call'd up.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
	But he must die to-morrow?

Provost	None, sir, none.

DUKE VINCENTIO	As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
	You shall hear more ere morning.

Provost	Happily
	You something know; yet I believe there comes
	No countermand; no such example have we:
	Besides, upon the very siege of justice
	Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
	Profess'd the contrary.

	[Enter a Messenger]

		  This is his lordship's man.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Messenger	[Giving a paper]

	My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this
	further charge, that you swerve not from the
	smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or
	other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it,
	it is almost day.

Provost	I shall obey him.

	[Exit Messenger]

DUKE VINCENTIO	[Aside]  This is his pardon, purchased by such sin
	For which the pardoner himself is in.
	Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
	When it is born in high authority:
	When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended,
	That for the fault's love is the offender friended.
	Now, sir, what news?

Provost	I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss
	in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted
	putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Pray you, let's hear.

Provost	[Reads]

	'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let
	Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and in the
	afternoon Barnardine: for my better satisfaction,
	let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let
	this be duly performed; with a thought that more
	depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail
	not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'
	What say you to this, sir?

DUKE VINCENTIO	What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the
	afternoon?

Provost	A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one
	that is a prisoner nine years old.

DUKE VINCENTIO	How came it that the absent duke had not either
	delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I
	have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Provost	His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and,
	indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord
	Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is now apparent?

Provost	Most manifest, and not denied by himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how
	seems he to be touched?

Provost	A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but
	as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless
	of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of
	mortality, and desperately mortal.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He wants advice.

Provost	He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty
	of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he
	would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days
	entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if
	to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming
	warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all.

DUKE VINCENTIO	More of him anon. There is written in your brow,
	provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not
	truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the
	boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard.
	Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is
	no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath
	sentenced him. To make you understand this in a
	manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite;
	for the which you are to do me both a present and a
	dangerous courtesy.

Provost	Pray, sir, in what?

DUKE VINCENTIO	In the delaying death.

Provost	A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited,
	and an express command, under penalty, to deliver
	his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case
	as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest.

DUKE VINCENTIO	By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my
	instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine
	be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo.

Provost	Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it.
	Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was
	the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his
	death: you know the course is common. If any thing
	fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good
	fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead
	against it with my life.

Provost	Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?

Provost	To him, and to his substitutes.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You will think you have made no offence, if the duke
	avouch the justice of your dealing?

Provost	But what likelihood is in that?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see
	you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor
	persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go
	further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you.
	Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the
	duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the
	signet is not strange to you.

Provost	I know them both.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The contents of this is the return of the duke: you
	shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you
	shall find, within these two days he will be here.
	This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this
	very day receives letters of strange tenor;
	perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering
	into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what
	is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the
	shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these
	things should be: all difficulties are but easy
	when they are known. Call your executioner, and off
	with Barnardine's head: I will give him a present
	shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you
	are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you.
	Come away; it is almost clear dawn.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE III	Another room in the same.


	[Enter POMPEY]

POMPEY	I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house
	of profession: one would think it were Mistress
	Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old
	customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in
	for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,
	ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made
	five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not
	much in request, for the old women were all dead.
	Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of
	Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of
	peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a
	beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young
	Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master
	Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young
	Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master
	Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the
	great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed
	Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in
	our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.'

	[Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON	Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

POMPEY	Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged.
	Master Barnardine!

ABHORSON	What, ho, Barnardine!

BARNARDINE	[Within]  A pox o' your throats! Who makes that
	noise there? What are you?

POMPEY	Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so
	good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

BARNARDINE	[Within]  Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.

ABHORSON	Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.

POMPEY	Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are
	executed, and sleep afterwards.

ABHORSON	Go in to him, and fetch him out.

POMPEY	He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.

ABHORSON	Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?

POMPEY	Very ready, sir.

	[Enter BARNARDINE]

BARNARDINE	How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you?

ABHORSON	Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your
	prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come.

BARNARDINE	You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not
	fitted for 't.

POMPEY	O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night,
	and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the
	sounder all the next day.

ABHORSON	Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do
	we jest now, think you?

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily
	you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort
	you and pray with you.

BARNARDINE	Friar, not I	I have been drinking hard all night,
	and I will have more time to prepare me, or they
	shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not
	consent to die this day, that's certain.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you
	Look forward on the journey you shall go.

BARNARDINE	I swear I will not die to-day for any man's
	persuasion.

DUKE VINCENTIO	But hear you.

BARNARDINE	Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me,
	come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Unfit to live or die: O gravel heart!
	After him, fellows; bring him to the block.

	[Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY]

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?

DUKE VINCENTIO	A creature unprepared, unmeet for death;
	And to transport him in the mind he is
	Were damnable.

Provost	                  Here in the prison, father,
	There died this morning of a cruel fever
	One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
	A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head
	Just of his colour. What if we do omit
	This reprobate till he were well inclined;
	And satisfy the deputy with the visage
	Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!
	Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on
	Prefix'd by Angelo: see this be done,
	And sent according to command; whiles I
	Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Provost	This shall be done, good father, presently.
	But Barnardine must die this afternoon:
	And how shall we continue Claudio,
	To save me from the danger that might come
	If he were known alive?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Let this be done.
	Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:
	Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting
	To the under generation, you shall find
	Your safety manifested.

Provost	I am your free dependant.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.

	[Exit Provost]

	Now will I write letters to Angelo,--
	The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents
	Shall witness to him I am near at home,
	And that, by great injunctions, I am bound
	To enter publicly: him I'll desire
	To meet me at the consecrated fount
	A league below the city; and from thence,
	By cold gradation and well-balanced form,
	We shall proceed with Angelo.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Convenient is it. Make a swift return;
	For I would commune with you of such things
	That want no ear but yours.

Provost	I'll make all speed.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	[Within]  Peace, ho, be here!

DUKE VINCENTIO	The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know
	If yet her brother's pardon be come hither:
	But I will keep her ignorant of her good,
	To make her heavenly comforts of despair,
	When it is least expected.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA	Ho, by your leave!

DUKE VINCENTIO	Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

ISABELLA	The better, given me by so holy a man.
	Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?

DUKE VINCENTIO	He hath released him, Isabel, from the world:
	His head is off and sent to Angelo.

ISABELLA	Nay, but it is not so.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,
	In your close patience.

ISABELLA	O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!

DUKE VINCENTIO	You shall not be admitted to his sight.

ISABELLA	Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel!
	Injurious world! most damned Angelo!

DUKE VINCENTIO	This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;
	Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.
	Mark what I say, which you shall find
	By every syllable a faithful verity:
	The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes;
	One of our convent, and his confessor,
	Gives me this instance: already he hath carried
	Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
	Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
	There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom
	In that good path that I would wish it go,
	And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,
	Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart,
	And general honour.

ISABELLA	                  I am directed by you.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;
	'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return:
	Say, by this token, I desire his company
	At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours
	I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you
	Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo
	Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,
	I am combined by a sacred vow
	And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter:
	Command these fretting waters from your eyes
	With a light heart; trust not my holy order,
	If I pervert your course. Who's here?

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	Good even. Friar, where's the provost?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not within, sir.

LUCIO	O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see
	thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain
	to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for
	my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set
	me to 't. But they say the duke will be here
	to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother:
	if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been
	at home, he had lived.

	[Exit ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your
	reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.

LUCIO	Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do:
	he's a better woodman than thou takest him for.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.

LUCIO	Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee
	I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You have told me too many of him already, sir, if
	they be true; if not true, none were enough.

LUCIO	I was once before him for getting a wench with child.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Did you such a thing?

LUCIO	Yes, marry, did I	but I was fain to forswear it;
	they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.

LUCIO	By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end:
	if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of
	it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE IV	A room in ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS]

ESCALUS	Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.

ANGELO	In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions
	show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be
	not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and
	redeliver our authorities there

ESCALUS	I guess not.

ANGELO	And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his
	entering, that if any crave redress of injustice,
	they should exhibit their petitions in the street?

ESCALUS	He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of
	complaints, and to deliver us from devices
	hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand
	against us.

ANGELO	Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes
	i' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give
	notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet
	him.

ESCALUS	I shall, sir. Fare you well.

ANGELO	Good night.

	[Exit ESCALUS]

	This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant
	And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid!
	And by an eminent body that enforced
	The law against it! But that her tender shame
	Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
	How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;
	For my authority bears of a credent bulk,
	That no particular scandal once can touch
	But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,
	Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
	Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
	By so receiving a dishonour'd life
	With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!
	A lack, when once our grace we have forgot,
	Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE V	Fields without the town.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER]

DUKE VINCENTIO	These letters at fit time deliver me

	[Giving letters]

	The provost knows our purpose and our plot.
	The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,
	And hold you ever to our special drift;
	Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,
	As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house,
	And tell him where I stay: give the like notice
	To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
	And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;
	But send me Flavius first.

FRIAR PETER	It shall be speeded well.

	[Exit]

	[Enter VARRIUS]

DUKE VINCENTIO	I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste:
	Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends
	Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE VI	Street near the city gate.


	[Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA]

ISABELLA	To speak so indirectly I am loath:
	I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
	That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;
	He says, to veil full purpose.

MARIANA	Be ruled by him.

ISABELLA	Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure
	He speak against me on the adverse side,
	I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic
	That's bitter to sweet end.

MARIANA	I would Friar Peter--

ISABELLA	O, peace! the friar is come.

	[Enter FRIAR PETER]

FRIAR PETER	Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,
	Where you may have such vantage on the duke,
	He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;
	The generous and gravest citizens
	Have hent the gates, and very near upon
	The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away!

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT V


SCENE I	The city gate.


	[MARIANA veiled, ISABELLA, and FRIAR PETER, at their
	stand. Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, VARRIUS, Lords,
	ANGELO, ESCALUS, LUCIO, Provost, Officers, and
	Citizens, at several doors]

DUKE VINCENTIO	My very worthy cousin, fairly met!
	Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.


ANGELO	|
	|  Happy return be to your royal grace!
ESCALUS	|


DUKE VINCENTIO	Many and hearty thankings to you both.
	We have made inquiry of you; and we hear
	Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
	Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
	Forerunning more requital.

ANGELO	You make my bonds still greater.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,
	To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
	When it deserves, with characters of brass,
	A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time
	And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,
	And let the subject see, to make them know
	That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
	Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,
	You must walk by us on our other hand;
	And good supporters are you.

	[FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA come forward]

FRIAR PETER	Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him.

ISABELLA	Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard
	Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid!
	O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye
	By throwing it on any other object
	Till you have heard me in my true complaint
	And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!

DUKE VINCENTIO	Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief.
	Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice:
	Reveal yourself to him.

ISABELLA	O worthy duke,
	You bid me seek redemption of the devil:
	Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
	Must either punish me, not being believed,
	Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here!

ANGELO	My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
	She hath been a suitor to me for her brother
	Cut off by course of justice,--

ISABELLA	By course of justice!

ANGELO	And she will speak most bitterly and strange.

ISABELLA	Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak:
	That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange?
	That Angelo's a murderer; is 't not strange?
	That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
	An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;
	Is it not strange and strange?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nay, it is ten times strange.

ISABELLA	It is not truer he is Angelo
	Than this is all as true as it is strange:
	Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
	To the end of reckoning.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Away with her! Poor soul,
	She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

ISABELLA	O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest
	There is another comfort than this world,
	That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
	That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible
	That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible
	But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
	May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute
	As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
	In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
	Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince:
	If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
	Had I more name for badness.

DUKE VINCENTIO	By mine honesty,
	If she be mad,--as I believe no other,--
	Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
	Such a dependency of thing on thing,
	As e'er I heard in madness.

ISABELLA	O gracious duke,
	Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason
	For inequality; but let your reason serve
	To make the truth appear where it seems hid,
	And hide the false seems true.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Many that are not mad
	Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?

ISABELLA	I am the sister of one Claudio,
	Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
	To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
	I, in probation of a sisterhood,
	Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio
	As then the messenger,--

LUCIO	That's I, an't like your grace:
	I came to her from Claudio, and desired her
	To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo
	For her poor brother's pardon.

ISABELLA	That's he indeed.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You were not bid to speak.

LUCIO	No, my good lord;
	Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I wish you now, then;
	Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
	A business for yourself, pray heaven you then
	Be perfect.

LUCIO	I warrant your honour.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The warrants for yourself; take heed to't.

ISABELLA	This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,--

LUCIO	Right.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It may be right; but you are i' the wrong
	To speak before your time. Proceed.

ISABELLA	I went
	To this pernicious caitiff deputy,--

DUKE VINCENTIO	That's somewhat madly spoken.

ISABELLA	Pardon it;
	The phrase is to the matter.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Mended again. The matter; proceed.

ISABELLA	In brief, to set the needless process by,
	How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
	How he refell'd me, and how I replied,--
	For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion
	I now begin with grief and shame to utter:
	He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
	To his concupiscible intemperate lust,
	Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
	My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,
	And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes,
	His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
	For my poor brother's head.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This is most likely!

ISABELLA	O, that it were as like as it is true!

DUKE VINCENTIO	By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speak'st,
	Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour
	In hateful practise. First, his integrity
	Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason
	That with such vehemency he should pursue
	Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
	He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself
	And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on:
	Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
	Thou camest here to complain.

ISABELLA	And is this all?
	Then, O you blessed ministers above,
	Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time
	Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
	In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe,
	As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know you'ld fain be gone. An officer!
	To prison with her! Shall we thus permit
	A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
	On him so near us? This needs must be a practise.
	Who knew of Your intent and coming hither?

ISABELLA	One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.

DUKE VINCENTIO	A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?

LUCIO	My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar;
	I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord
	For certain words he spake against your grace
	In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Words against me? this is a good friar, belike!
	And to set on this wretched woman here
	Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.

LUCIO	But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,
	I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,
	A very scurvy fellow.

FRIAR PETER	Blessed be your royal grace!
	I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
	Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman
	Most wrongfully accused your substitute,
	Who is as free from touch or soil with her
	As she from one ungot.

DUKE VINCENTIO	We did believe no less.
	Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?

FRIAR PETER	I know him for a man divine and holy;
	Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
	As he's reported by this gentleman;
	And, on my trust, a man that never yet
	Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

LUCIO	My lord, most villanously; believe it.

FRIAR PETER	Well, he in time may come to clear himself;
	But at this instant he is sick my lord,
	Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,
	Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
	Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither,
	To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
	Is true and false; and what he with his oath
	And all probation will make up full clear,
	Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman.
	To justify this worthy nobleman,
	So vulgarly and personally accused,
	Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
	Till she herself confess it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Good friar, let's hear it.

	[ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and MARIANA comes forward]

	Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?
	O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!
	Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;
	In this I'll be impartial; be you judge
	Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar?
	First, let her show her face, and after speak.

MARIANA	Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face
	Until my husband bid me.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What, are you married?

MARIANA	No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Are you a maid?

MARIANA	No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	A widow, then?

MARIANA	Neither, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife?

LUCIO	My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are
	neither maid, widow, nor wife.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause
	To prattle for himself.

LUCIO	Well, my lord.

MARIANA	My lord; I do confess I ne'er was married;
	And I confess besides I am no maid:
	I have known my husband; yet my husband
	Knows not that ever he knew me.

LUCIO	He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better.

DUKE VINCENTIO	For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!

LUCIO	Well, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This is no witness for Lord Angelo.

MARIANA	Now I come to't my lord
	She that accuses him of fornication,
	In self-same manner doth accuse my husband,
	And charges him my lord, with such a time
	When I'll depose I had him in mine arms
	With all the effect of love.

ANGELO	Charges she more than me?

MARIANA	Not that I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO	No? you say your husband.

MARIANA	Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
	Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body,
	But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's.

ANGELO	This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face.

MARIANA	My husband bids me; now I will unmask.

	[Unveiling]

	This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
	Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on;
	This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,
	Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body
	That took away the match from Isabel,
	And did supply thee at thy garden-house
	In her imagined person.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Know you this woman?

LUCIO	Carnally, she says.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sirrah, no more!

LUCIO	Enough, my lord.

ANGELO	My lord, I must confess I know this woman:
	And five years since there was some speech of marriage
	Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
	Partly for that her promised proportions
	Came short of composition, but in chief
	For that her reputation was disvalued
	In levity: since which time of five years
	I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,
	Upon my faith and honour.

MARIANA	Noble prince,
	As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,
	As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,
	I am affianced this man's wife as strongly
	As words could make up vows: and, my good lord,
	But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house
	He knew me as a wife. As this is true,
	Let me in safety raise me from my knees
	Or else for ever be confixed here,
	A marble monument!

ANGELO	                  I did but smile till now:
	Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice
	My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive
	These poor informal women are no more
	But instruments of some more mightier member
	That sets them on: let me have way, my lord,
	To find this practise out.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Ay, with my heart
	And punish them to your height of pleasure.
	Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
	Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths,
	Though they would swear down each particular saint,
	Were testimonies against his worth and credit
	That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,
	Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains
	To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived.
	There is another friar that set them on;
	Let him be sent for.

FRIAR PETER	Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed
	Hath set the women on to this complaint:
	Your provost knows the place where he abides
	And he may fetch him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Go do it instantly.

	[Exit Provost]

	And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
	Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,
	Do with your injuries as seems you best,
	In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you;
	But stir not you till you have well determined
	Upon these slanderers.

ESCALUS	My lord, we'll do it throughly.

	[Exit DUKE]

	Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that
	Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person?

LUCIO	'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest in nothing
	but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most
	villanous speeches of the duke.

ESCALUS	We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and
	enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a
	notable fellow.

LUCIO	As any in Vienna, on my word.

ESCALUS	Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you
	shall see how I'll handle her.

LUCIO	Not better than he, by her own report.

ESCALUS	Say you?

LUCIO	Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately,
	she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly,
	she'll be ashamed.

ESCALUS	I will go darkly to work with her.

LUCIO	That's the way; for women are light at midnight.

	[Re-enter Officers with ISABELLA; and Provost with
	the DUKE VINCENTIO in his friar's habit]

ESCALUS	Come on, mistress: here's a gentlewoman denies all
	that you have said.

LUCIO	My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with
	the provost.

ESCALUS	In very good time: speak not you to him till we
	call upon you.

LUCIO	Mum.

ESCALUS	Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander
	Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis false.

ESCALUS	How! know you where you are?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Respect to your great place! and let the devil
	Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne!
	Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak.

ESCALUS	The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak:
	Look you speak justly.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,
	Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox?
	Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone?
	Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust,
	Thus to retort your manifest appeal,
	And put your trial in the villain's mouth
	Which here you come to accuse.

LUCIO	This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.

ESCALUS	Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar,
	Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women
	To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth
	And in the witness of his proper ear,
	To call him villain? and then to glance from him
	To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?
	Take him hence; to the rack with him! We'll touse you
	Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.
	What 'unjust'!

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  Be not so hot; the duke
	Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
	Dare rack his own: his subject am I not,
	Nor here provincial. My business in this state
	Made me a looker on here in Vienna,
	Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
	Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults,
	But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes
	Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,
	As much in mock as mark.

ESCALUS	Slander to the state! Away with him to prison!

ANGELO	What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?
	Is this the man that you did tell us of?

LUCIO	'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate:
	do you know me?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I
	met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke.

LUCIO	O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Most notedly, sir.

LUCIO	Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a
	fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

DUKE VINCENTIO	You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make
	that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and
	much more, much worse.

LUCIO	O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the
	nose for thy speeches?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I protest I love the duke as I love myself.

ANGELO	Hark, how the villain would close now, after his
	treasonable abuses!

ESCALUS	Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with
	him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him
	to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him
	speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and
	with the other confederate companion!

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To Provost]  Stay, sir; stay awhile.

ANGELO	What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.

LUCIO	Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you
	bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must
	you? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you!
	show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour!
	Will't not off?

	[Pulls off the friar's hood, and discovers DUKE
	VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke.
	First, provost, let me bail these gentle three.

	[To LUCIO]

	Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you
	Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.

LUCIO	This may prove worse than hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To ESCALUS]  What you have spoke I pardon: sit you down:
	We'll borrow place of him.

	[To ANGELO]

		     Sir, by your leave.
	Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
	That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,
	Rely upon it till my tale be heard,
	And hold no longer out.

ANGELO	O my dread lord,
	I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
	To think I can be undiscernible,
	When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
	Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince,
	No longer session hold upon my shame,
	But let my trial be mine own confession:
	Immediate sentence then and sequent death
	Is all the grace I beg.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Come hither, Mariana.
	Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?

ANGELO	I was, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.
	Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
	Return him here again. Go with him, provost.

	[Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER and Provost]

ESCALUS	My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour
	Than at the strangeness of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Come hither, Isabel.
	Your friar is now your prince: as I was then
	Advertising and holy to your business,
	Not changing heart with habit, I am still
	Attorney'd at your service.

ISABELLA	O, give me pardon,
	That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
	Your unknown sovereignty!

DUKE VINCENTIO	You are pardon'd, Isabel:
	And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
	Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
	And you may marvel why I obscured myself,
	Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
	Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power
	Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
	It was the swift celerity of his death,
	Which I did think with slower foot came on,
	That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him!
	That life is better life, past fearing death,
	Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort,
	So happy is your brother.

ISABELLA	I do, my lord.

	[Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	For this new-married man approaching here,
	Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
	Your well defended honour, you must pardon
	For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,--
	Being criminal, in double violation
	Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach
	Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,--
	The very mercy of the law cries out
	Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
	'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'
	Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
	Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE.
	Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;
	Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.
	We do condemn thee to the very block
	Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.
	Away with him!

MARIANA	                  O my most gracious lord,
	I hope you will not mock me with a husband.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.
	Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
	I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
	For that he knew you, might reproach your life
	And choke your good to come; for his possessions,
	Although by confiscation they are ours,
	We do instate and widow you withal,
	To buy you a better husband.

MARIANA	O my dear lord,
	I crave no other, nor no better man.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Never crave him; we are definitive.

MARIANA	Gentle my liege,--

	[Kneeling]

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  You do but lose your labour.
	Away with him to death!

	[To LUCIO]

		  Now, sir, to you.

MARIANA	O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;
	Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
	I'll lend you all my life to do you service.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Against all sense you do importune her:
	Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,
	Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
	And take her hence in horror.

MARIANA	Isabel,
	Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
	Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.
	They say, best men are moulded out of faults;
	And, for the most, become much more the better
	For being a little bad: so may my husband.
	O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?

DUKE VINCENTIO	He dies for Claudio's death.

ISABELLA	Most bounteous sir,

	[Kneeling]

	Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
	As if my brother lived: I partly think
	A due sincerity govern'd his deeds,
	Till he did look on me: since it is so,
	Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
	In that he did the thing for which he died:
	For Angelo,
	His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,
	And must be buried but as an intent
	That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects;
	Intents but merely thoughts.

MARIANA	Merely, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.
	I have bethought me of another fault.
	Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
	At an unusual hour?

Provost	It was commanded so.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Had you a special warrant for the deed?

Provost	No, my good lord; it was by private message.

DUKE VINCENTIO	For which I do discharge you of your office:
	Give up your keys.

Provost	                  Pardon me, noble lord:
	I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
	Yet did repent me, after more advice;
	For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
	That should by private order else have died,
	I have reserved alive.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What's he?

Provost	His name is Barnardine.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.
	Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.

	[Exit Provost]

ESCALUS	I am sorry, one so learned and so wise
	As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
	Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood.
	And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

ANGELO	I am sorry that such sorrow I procure:
	And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart
	That I crave death more willingly than mercy;
	'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

	[Re-enter Provost, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO muffled,
	and JULIET]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Which is that Barnardine?

Provost	This, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	There was a friar told me of this man.
	Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.
	That apprehends no further than this world,
	And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd:
	But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;
	And pray thee take this mercy to provide
	For better times to come. Friar, advise him;
	I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that?

Provost	This is another prisoner that I saved.
	Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;
	As like almost to Claudio as himself.

	[Unmuffles CLAUDIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To ISABELLA]  If he be like your brother, for his sake
	Is he pardon'd; and, for your lovely sake,
	Give me your hand and say you will be mine.
	He is my brother too: but fitter time for that.
	By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
	Methinks I see a quickening in his eye.
	Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well:
	Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.
	I find an apt remission in myself;
	And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.

	[To LUCIO]

	You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,
	One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;
	Wherein have I so deserved of you,
	That you extol me thus?

LUCIO	'Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the
	trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I
	had rather it would please you I might be whipt.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Whipt first, sir, and hanged after.
	Proclaim it, provost, round about the city.
	Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
	As I have heard him swear himself there's one
	Whom he begot with child, let her appear,
	And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd,
	Let him be whipt and hang'd.

LUCIO	I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore.
	Your highness said even now, I made you a duke:
	good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
	Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
	Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;
	And see our pleasure herein executed.

LUCIO	Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death,
	whipping, and hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Slandering a prince deserves it.

	[Exit Officers with LUCIO]

	She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
	Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo:
	I have confess'd her and I know her virtue.
	Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness:
	There's more behind that is more gratulate.
	Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy:
	We shill employ thee in a worthier place.
	Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
	The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
	The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,
	I have a motion much imports your good;
	Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
	What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
	So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
	What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

	[Exeunt]
	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:)


The PRINCE OF		|
MOROCCO	(MOROCCO:)	|
		|  suitors to Portia.
The PRINCE OF		|
ARRAGON	(ARRAGON:)	|


ANTONIO	a merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO	his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.


SALANIO	|
	|
SALARINO	|
	|  friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
GRATIANO	|
	|
SALERIO	|


LORENZO	in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK	a rich Jew.

TUBAL	a Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO	the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)

OLD GOBBO	father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)

LEONARDO	servant to BASSANIO.


BALTHASAR	|
	|  servants to PORTIA.
STEPHANO	|


PORTIA	a rich heiress.

NERISSA	her waiting-maid.

JESSICA	daughter to SHYLOCK.

	Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
	Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.
	(Servant:)
	(Clerk:)

SCENE	Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont,
	the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

ANTONIO	In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
	It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
	But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
	What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
	I am to learn;
	And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
	That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINO	Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
	There, where your argosies with portly sail,
	Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
	Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
	Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
	That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
	As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO	Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
	The better part of my affections would
	Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
	Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
	Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
	And every object that might make me fear
	Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
	Would make me sad.

SALARINO	                  My wind cooling my broth
	Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
	What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
	I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
	But I should think of shallows and of flats,
	And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
	Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
	To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
	And see the holy edifice of stone,
	And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
	Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
	Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
	Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
	And, in a word, but even now worth this,
	And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
	To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
	That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
	But tell not me; I know, Antonio
	Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO	Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
	My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
	Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
	Upon the fortune of this present year:
	Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO	Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO	Fie, fie!

SALARINO	Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
	Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
	For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
	Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
	Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
	Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
	And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
	And other of such vinegar aspect
	That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
	Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

	[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

SALANIO	Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
	Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
	We leave you now with better company.

SALARINO	I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
	If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO	Your worth is very dear in my regard.
	I take it, your own business calls on you
	And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO	Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO	Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
	You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO	We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

	[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

LORENZO	My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
	We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,
	I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO	I will not fail you.

GRATIANO	You look not well, Signior Antonio;
	You have too much respect upon the world:
	They lose it that do buy it with much care:
	Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

ANTONIO	I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
	A stage where every man must play a part,
	And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO	Let me play the fool:
	With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
	And let my liver rather heat with wine
	Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
	Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
	Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
	Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
	By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio--
	I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
	There are a sort of men whose visages
	Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
	And do a wilful stillness entertain,
	With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
	Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
	As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
	And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
	O my Antonio, I do know of these
	That therefore only are reputed wise
	For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
	If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
	Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
	I'll tell thee more of this another time:
	But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
	For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
	Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
	I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO	Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
	I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
	For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO	Well, keep me company but two years moe,
	Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO	Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO	Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
	In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

	[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

ANTONIO	Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO	Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
	than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two
	grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you
	shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
	have them, they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO	Well, tell me now what lady is the same
	To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
	That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO	'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
	How much I have disabled mine estate,
	By something showing a more swelling port
	Than my faint means would grant continuance:
	Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
	From such a noble rate; but my chief care
	Is to come fairly off from the great debts
	Wherein my time something too prodigal
	Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
	I owe the most, in money and in love,
	And from your love I have a warranty
	To unburden all my plots and purposes
	How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO	I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
	And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
	Within the eye of honour, be assured,
	My purse, my person, my extremest means,
	Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO	In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
	I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
	The self-same way with more advised watch,
	To find the other forth, and by adventuring both
	I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
	Because what follows is pure innocence.
	I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
	That which I owe is lost; but if you please
	To shoot another arrow that self way
	Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
	As I will watch the aim, or to find both
	Or bring your latter hazard back again
	And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO	You know me well, and herein spend but time
	To wind about my love with circumstance;
	And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
	In making question of my uttermost
	Than if you had made waste of all I have:
	Then do but say to me what I should do
	That in your knowledge may by me be done,
	And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO	In Belmont is a lady richly left;
	And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
	Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
	I did receive fair speechless messages:
	Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
	To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
	Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
	For the four winds blow in from every coast
	Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
	Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
	Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
	And many Jasons come in quest of her.
	O my Antonio, had I but the means
	To hold a rival place with one of them,
	I have a mind presages me such thrift,
	That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIO	Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
	Neither have I money nor commodity
	To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
	Try what my credit can in Venice do:
	That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
	To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
	Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
	Where money is, and I no question make
	To have it of my trust or for my sake.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
	this great world.

NERISSA	You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in
	the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
	yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit
	with too much as they that starve with nothing. It
	is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
	mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
	competency lives longer.

PORTIA	Good sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSA	They would be better, if well followed.

PORTIA	If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
	do, chapels had been churches and poor men's
	cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that
	follows his own instructions: I can easier teach
	twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the
	twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may
	devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
	o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the
	youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the
	cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
	choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose!' I may
	neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I
	dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed
	by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,
	Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

NERISSA	Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their
	death have good inspirations: therefore the lottery,
	that he hath devised in these three chests of gold,
	silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning
	chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any
	rightly but one who shall rightly love. But what
	warmth is there in your affection towards any of
	these princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIA	I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
	them, I will describe them; and, according to my
	description, level at my affection.

NERISSA	First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

PORTIA	Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
	talk of his horse; and he makes it a great
	appropriation to his own good parts, that he can
	shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his
	mother played false with a smith.

NERISSA	Then there is the County Palatine.

PORTIA	He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If you
	will not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales and
	smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping
	philosopher when he grows old, being so full of
	unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be
	married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth
	than to either of these. God defend me from these
	two!

NERISSA	How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIA	God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.
	In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but,
	he! why, he hath a horse better than the
	Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than
	the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a
	throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will
	fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I
	should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me
	I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I
	shall never requite him.

NERISSA	What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
	of England?

PORTIA	You know I say nothing to him, for he understands
	not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French,
	nor Italian, and you will come into the court and
	swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.
	He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can
	converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited!
	I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round
	hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his
	behavior every where.

NERISSA	What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

PORTIA	That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he
	borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and
	swore he would pay him again when he was able: I
	think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed
	under for another.

NERISSA	How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

PORTIA	Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and
	most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when
	he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and
	when he is worst, he is little better than a beast:
	and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall
	make shift to go without him.

NERISSA	If he should offer to choose, and choose the right
	casket, you should refuse to perform your father's
	will, if you should refuse to accept him.

PORTIA	Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a
	deep glass of rhenish wine on the contrary casket,
	for if the devil be within and that temptation
	without, I know he will choose it. I will do any
	thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSA	You need not fear, lady, the having any of these
	lords: they have acquainted me with their
	determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their
	home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless
	you may be won by some other sort than your father's
	imposition depending on the caskets.

PORTIA	If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
	chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner
	of my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers
	are so reasonable, for there is not one among them
	but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant
	them a fair departure.

NERISSA	Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a
	Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither
	in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

PORTIA	Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

NERISSA	True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish
	eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

PORTIA	I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
	thy praise.

	[Enter a Serving-man]

	How now! what news?

Servant	The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take
	their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a
	fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the
	prince his master will be here to-night.

PORTIA	If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a
	heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should
	be glad of his approach: if he have the condition
	of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had
	rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come,
	Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
	Whiles we shut the gates
	upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE III	Venice. A public place.


	[Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK]

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats; well.

BASSANIO	Ay, sir, for three months.

SHYLOCK	For three months; well.

BASSANIO	For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

SHYLOCK	Antonio shall become bound; well.

BASSANIO	May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I
	know your answer?

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

BASSANIO	Your answer to that.

SHYLOCK	Antonio is a good man.

BASSANIO	Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCK	Oh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a
	good man is to have you understand me that he is
	sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition: he
	hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the
	Indies; I understand moreover, upon the Rialto, he
	hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and
	other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships
	are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats
	and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I
	mean pirates, and then there is the peril of waters,
	winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
	sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may
	take his bond.

BASSANIO	Be assured you may.

SHYLOCK	I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,
	I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

BASSANIO	If it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCK	Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which
	your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I
	will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,
	walk with you, and so following, but I will not eat
	with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What
	news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here?

	[Enter ANTONIO]

BASSANIO	This is Signior Antonio.

SHYLOCK	[Aside]  How like a fawning publican he looks!
	I hate him for he is a Christian,
	But more for that in low simplicity
	He lends out money gratis and brings down
	The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
	If I can catch him once upon the hip,
	I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
	He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
	Even there where merchants most do congregate,
	On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
	Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
	If I forgive him!

BASSANIO	                  Shylock, do you hear?

SHYLOCK	I am debating of my present store,
	And, by the near guess of my memory,
	I cannot instantly raise up the gross
	Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
	Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
	Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
	Do you desire?

	[To ANTONIO]

	Rest you fair, good signior;
	Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

ANTONIO	Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow
	By taking nor by giving of excess,
	Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
	I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd
	How much ye would?

SHYLOCK	                  Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

ANTONIO	And for three months.

SHYLOCK	I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
	Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
	Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
	Upon advantage.

ANTONIO	                  I do never use it.

SHYLOCK	When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep--
	This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
	As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
	The third possessor; ay, he was the third--

ANTONIO	And what of him? did he take interest?

SHYLOCK	No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
	Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
	When Laban and himself were compromised
	That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied
	Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
	In the end of autumn turned to the rams,
	And, when the work of generation was
	Between these woolly breeders in the act,
	The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands,
	And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
	He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
	Who then conceiving did in eaning time
	Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
	This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:
	And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

ANTONIO	This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;
	A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
	But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.
	Was this inserted to make interest good?
	Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?

SHYLOCK	I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
	But note me, signior.

ANTONIO	Mark you this, Bassanio,
	The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
	An evil soul producing holy witness
	Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
	A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
	O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum.
	Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate--

ANTONIO	Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK	Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
	In the Rialto you have rated me
	About my moneys and my usances:
	Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
	For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
	You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
	And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
	And all for use of that which is mine own.
	Well then, it now appears you need my help:
	Go to, then; you come to me, and you say
	'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so;
	You, that did void your rheum upon my beard
	And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
	Over your threshold: moneys is your suit
	What should I say to you? Should I not say
	'Hath a dog money? is it possible
	A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or
	Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key,
	With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;
	'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
	You spurn'd me such a day; another time
	You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies
	I'll lend you thus much moneys'?

ANTONIO	I am as like to call thee so again,
	To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
	If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
	As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
	A breed for barren metal of his friend?
	But lend it rather to thine enemy,
	Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
	Exact the penalty.

SHYLOCK	                  Why, look you, how you storm!
	I would be friends with you and have your love,
	Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
	Supply your present wants and take no doit
	Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:
	This is kind I offer.


BASSANIO	This were kindness.

SHYLOCK	This kindness will I show.
	Go with me to a notary, seal me there
	Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
	If you repay me not on such a day,
	In such a place, such sum or sums as are
	Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
	Be nominated for an equal pound
	Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
	In what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO	Content, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond
	And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO	You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
	I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO	Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
	Within these two months, that's a month before
	This bond expires, I do expect return
	Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

SHYLOCK	O father Abram, what these Christians are,
	Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
	The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
	If he should break his day, what should I gain
	By the exaction of the forfeiture?
	A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
	Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
	As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
	To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
	If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
	And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIO	Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK	Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
	Give him direction for this merry bond,
	And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
	See to my house, left in the fearful guard
	Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
	I will be with you.

ANTONIO	Hie thee, gentle Jew.

	[Exit Shylock]

	The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO	I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

ANTONIO	Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
	My ships come home a month before the day.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE I	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO
	and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others
	attending]

MOROCCO	Mislike me not for my complexion,
	The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
	To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
	Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
	Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
	And let us make incision for your love,
	To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
	I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
	Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swear
	The best-regarded virgins of our clime
	Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
	Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA	In terms of choice I am not solely led
	By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
	Besides, the lottery of my destiny
	Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
	But if my father had not scanted me
	And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
	His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
	Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair
	As any comer I have look'd on yet
	For my affection.

MOROCCO	                  Even for that I thank you:
	Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
	To try my fortune. By this scimitar
	That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
	That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
	I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
	Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
	Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
	Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
	To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
	If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
	Which is the better man, the greater throw
	May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
	So is Alcides beaten by his page;
	And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
	Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
	And die with grieving.

PORTIA	You must take your chance,
	And either not attempt to choose at all
	Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
	Never to speak to lady afterward
	In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

MOROCCO	Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA	First, forward to the temple: after dinner
	Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO	Good fortune then!
	To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

	[Cornets, and exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE II	Venice. A street.


	[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT	Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
	this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
	tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
	Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot
	Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
	conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;
	take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest
	Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
	heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
	pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the
	fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'
	says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience,
	hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
	to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
	man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for,
	indeed, my father did something smack, something
	grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
	says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
	fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
	'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'
	say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my
	conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
	who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
	run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
	fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
	himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
	incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
	but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
	me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
	friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
	at your command; I will run.

	[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

GOBBO	Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	[Aside]  O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
	who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
	knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBO	Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but,
	at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at
	the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn
	down indirectly to the Jew's house.

GOBBO	By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can
	you tell me whether one Launcelot,
	that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

LAUNCELOT	Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

	[Aside]

	Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
	of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO	No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,
	though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man
	and, God be thanked, well to live.

LAUNCELOT	Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of
	young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO	Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT	But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
	talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO	Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT	Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master
	Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman,
	according to Fates and Destinies and such odd
	sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of
	learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say
	in plain terms, gone to heaven.

GOBBO	Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
	age, my very prop.

LAUNCELOT	Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
	a prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBO	Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:
	but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his
	soul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOT	Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO	Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOT	Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of
	the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his
	own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of
	your son: give me your blessing: truth will come
	to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
	may, but at the length truth will out.

GOBBO	Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
	Launcelot, my boy.

LAUNCELOT	Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but
	give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy
	that was, your son that is, your child that shall
	be.

GOBBO	I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT	I know not what I shall think of that: but I am
	Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your
	wife is my mother.

GOBBO	Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou
	be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
	Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
	got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
	Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT	It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows
	backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail
	than I have of my face when I last saw him.

GOBBO	Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
	master agree? I have brought him a present. How
	'gree you now?

LAUNCELOT	Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set
	up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I
	have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: give
	him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in
	his service; you may tell every finger I have with
	my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me
	your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed,
	gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I
	will run as far as God has any ground. O rare
	fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I
	am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

	[Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers]

BASSANIO	You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper
	be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See
	these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,
	and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

	[Exit a Servant]

LAUNCELOT	To him, father.

GOBBO	God bless your worship!

BASSANIO	Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBO	Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,--

LAUNCELOT	Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that
	would, sir, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO	He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve--

LAUNCELOT	Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,
	and have a desire, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO	His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
	are scarce cater-cousins--

LAUNCELOT	To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having
	done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I
	hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you--

GOBBO	I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon
	your worship, and my suit is--

LAUNCELOT	In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as
	your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,
	though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

BASSANIO	One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT	Serve you, sir.

GOBBO	That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO	I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit:
	Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
	And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
	To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
	The follower of so poor a gentleman.

LAUNCELOT	The old proverb is very well parted between my
	master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of
	God, sir, and he hath enough.

BASSANIO	Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
	Take leave of thy old master and inquire
	My lodging out. Give him a livery
	More guarded than his fellows': see it done.

LAUNCELOT	Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have
	ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in
	Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear
	upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to,
	here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifle
	of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
	widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
	man: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be
	in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
	here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
	woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,
	come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

	[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]

BASSANIO	I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
	These things being bought and orderly bestow'd,
	Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
	My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

LEONARDO	My best endeavours shall be done herein.

	[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO	Where is your master?

LEONARDO	Yonder, sir, he walks.

	[Exit]

GRATIANO	Signior Bassanio!

BASSANIO	Gratiano!

GRATIANO	I have a suit to you.

BASSANIO	You have obtain'd it.

GRATIANO	You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO	Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano;
	Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;
	Parts that become thee happily enough
	And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
	But where thou art not known, why, there they show
	Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
	To allay with some cold drops of modesty
	Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
	I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
	And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO	                  Signior Bassanio, hear me:
	If I do not put on a sober habit,
	Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
	Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
	Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
	Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,'
	Use all the observance of civility,
	Like one well studied in a sad ostent
	To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO	Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO	Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
	By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO	No, that were pity:
	I would entreat you rather to put on
	Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
	That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
	I have some business.

GRATIANO	And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
	But we will visit you at supper-time.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house.


	[Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT]

JESSICA	I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
	Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
	Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
	But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:
	And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
	Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
	Give him this letter; do it secretly;
	And so farewell: I would not have my father
	See me in talk with thee.

LAUNCELOT	Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful
	pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play
	the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,
	adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my
	manly spirit: adieu.

JESSICA	Farewell, good Launcelot.

	[Exit Launcelot]

	Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
	To be ashamed to be my father's child!
	But though I am a daughter to his blood,
	I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
	If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
	Become a Christian and thy loving wife.

	[Exit]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IV	The same. A street.


	[Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

LORENZO	Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
	Disguise us at my lodging and return,
	All in an hour.

GRATIANO	We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO	We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO	'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,
	And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO	'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
	To furnish us.

	[Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter]

	Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

LAUNCELOT	An it shall please you to break up
	this, it shall seem to signify.

LORENZO	I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
	And whiter than the paper it writ on
	Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO	Love-news, in faith.

LAUNCELOT	By your leave, sir.

LORENZO	Whither goest thou?

LAUNCELOT	Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
	Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

LORENZO	Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
	I will not fail her; speak it privately.
	Go, gentlemen,

	[Exit Launcelot]

	Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
	I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIO	Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SALANIO	And so will I.

LORENZO	                  Meet me and Gratiano
	At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALARINO	'Tis good we do so.

	[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO]

GRATIANO	Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO	I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
	How I shall take her from her father's house,
	What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,
	What page's suit she hath in readiness.
	If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
	It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
	And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
	Unless she do it under this excuse,
	That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
	Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
	Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE V	The same. Before SHYLOCK'S house.


	[Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT]

SHYLOCK	Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
	The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:--
	What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise,
	As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!--
	And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;--
	Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT	Why, Jessica!

SHYLOCK	Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOT	Your worship was wont to tell me that
	I could do nothing without bidding.

	[Enter Jessica]

JESSICA	Call you? what is your will?

SHYLOCK	I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
	There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
	I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
	But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
	The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
	Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
	There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
	For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

LAUNCELOT	I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect
	your reproach.

SHYLOCK	So do I his.

LAUNCELOT	An they have conspired together, I will not say you
	shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not
	for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on
	Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning,
	falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four
	year, in the afternoon.

SHYLOCK	What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
	Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
	And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
	Clamber not you up to the casements then,
	Nor thrust your head into the public street
	To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
	But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
	Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
	My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
	I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
	But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
	Say I will come.

LAUNCELOT	I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at
	window, for all this, There will come a Christian
	boy, will be worth a Jewess' eye.

	[Exit]

SHYLOCK	What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?


JESSICA	His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

SHYLOCK	The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
	Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
	More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
	Therefore I part with him, and part with him
	To one that would have him help to waste
	His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
	Perhaps I will return immediately:
	Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
	Fast bind, fast find;
	A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

	[Exit]

JESSICA	Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
	I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

	[Exit]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued]

GRATIANO	This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
	Desired us to make stand.

SALARINO	His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO	And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
	For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALARINO	O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
	To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont
	To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO	That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
	With that keen appetite that he sits down?
	Where is the horse that doth untread again
	His tedious measures with the unbated fire
	That he did pace them first? All things that are,
	Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
	How like a younker or a prodigal
	The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
	Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
	How like the prodigal doth she return,
	With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
	Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

SALARINO	Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

	[Enter LORENZO]

LORENZO	Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
	Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
	When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
	I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;
	Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?

	[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes]

JESSICA	Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
	Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO	Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA	Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
	For who love I so much? And now who knows
	But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO	Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA	Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
	I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
	For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
	But love is blind and lovers cannot see
	The pretty follies that themselves commit;
	For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
	To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO	Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA	What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
	They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
	Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
	And I should be obscured.

LORENZO	So are you, sweet,
	Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
	But come at once;
	For the close night doth play the runaway,
	And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICA	I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
	With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

	[Exit above]

GRATIANO	Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZO	Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
	For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
	And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
	And true she is, as she hath proved herself,
	And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,
	Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

	[Enter JESSICA, below]

	What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
	Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

	[Exit with Jessica and Salarino]

	[Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIO	Who's there?

GRATIANO	Signior Antonio!

ANTONIO	Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
	'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.
	No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
	Bassanio presently will go aboard:
	I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANO	I am glad on't: I desire no more delight
	Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VII	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the
	PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains]

PORTIA	Go draw aside the curtains and discover
	The several caskets to this noble prince.
	Now make your choice.

MOROCCO	The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;'
	The second, silver, which this promise carries,
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;'
	This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	How shall I know if I do choose the right?

PORTIA	The one of them contains my picture, prince:
	If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO	Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
	I will survey the inscriptions back again.
	What says this leaden casket?
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead?
	This casket threatens. Men that hazard all
	Do it in hope of fair advantages:
	A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
	I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
	What says the silver with her virgin hue?
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
	As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,
	And weigh thy value with an even hand:
	If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
	Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
	May not extend so far as to the lady:
	And yet to be afeard of my deserving
	Were but a weak disabling of myself.
	As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady:
	I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
	In graces and in qualities of breeding;
	But more than these, in love I do deserve.
	What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
	Let's see once more this saying graved in gold
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
	Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her;
	From the four corners of the earth they come,
	To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:
	The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
	Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now
	For princes to come view fair Portia:
	The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
	Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
	To stop the foreign spirits, but they come,
	As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
	One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
	Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
	To think so base a thought: it were too gross
	To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
	Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
	Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
	O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
	Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
	A coin that bears the figure of an angel
	Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon;
	But here an angel in a golden bed
	Lies all within. Deliver me the key:
	Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

PORTIA	There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
	Then I am yours.

	[He unlocks the golden casket]

MOROCCO	                  O hell! what have we here?
	A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
	There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

	[Reads]

	All that glitters is not gold;
	Often have you heard that told:
	Many a man his life hath sold
	But my outside to behold:
	Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
	Had you been as wise as bold,
	Young in limbs, in judgment old,
	Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
	Fare you well; your suit is cold.
	Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
	Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
	Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
	To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

	[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets]

PORTIA	A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
	Let all of his complexion choose me so.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VIII	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SALARINO and SALANIO]

SALARINO	Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
	With him is Gratiano gone along;
	And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO	The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,
	Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALARINO	He came too late, the ship was under sail:
	But there the duke was given to understand
	That in a gondola were seen together
	Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
	Besides, Antonio certified the duke
	They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIO	I never heard a passion so confused,
	So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
	As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:
	'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
	Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
	Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
	A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
	Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter!
	And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
	Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;
	She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.'

SALARINO	Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
	Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO	Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
	Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINO	Marry, well remember'd.
	I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
	Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
	The French and English, there miscarried
	A vessel of our country richly fraught:
	I thought upon Antonio when he told me;
	And wish'd in silence that it were not his.

SALANIO	You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
	Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINO	A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
	I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
	Bassanio told him he would make some speed
	Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so;
	Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio
	But stay the very riping of the time;
	And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
	Let it not enter in your mind of love:
	Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
	To courtship and such fair ostents of love
	As shall conveniently become you there:'
	And even there, his eye being big with tears,
	Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
	And with affection wondrous sensible
	He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SALANIO	I think he only loves the world for him.
	I pray thee, let us go and find him out
	And quicken his embraced heaviness
	With some delight or other.

SALARINO	Do we so.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IX	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter NERISSA with a Servitor]

NERISSA	Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
	The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
	And comes to his election presently.

	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,
	PORTIA, and their trains]

PORTIA	Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
	If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
	Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
	But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
	You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON	I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
	First, never to unfold to any one
	Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
	Of the right casket, never in my life
	To woo a maid in way of marriage: Lastly,
	If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
	Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIA	To these injunctions every one doth swear
	That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON	And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
	To my heart's hope! Gold; silver; and base lead.
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.
	What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
	What many men desire! that 'many' may be meant
	By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
	Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
	Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
	Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
	Even in the force and road of casualty.
	I will not choose what many men desire,
	Because I will not jump with common spirits
	And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
	Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
	Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:'
	And well said too; for who shall go about
	To cozen fortune and be honourable
	Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
	To wear an undeserved dignity.
	O, that estates, degrees and offices
	Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
	Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
	How many then should cover that stand bare!
	How many be commanded that command!
	How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
	From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
	Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times
	To be new-varnish'd! Well, but to my choice:
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
	I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
	And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

	[He opens the silver casket]

PORTIA	Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON	What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
	Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
	How much unlike art thou to Portia!
	How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
	'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
	Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
	Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA	To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
	And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON	What is here?

	[Reads]

	The fire seven times tried this:
	Seven times tried that judgment is,
	That did never choose amiss.
	Some there be that shadows kiss;
	Such have but a shadow's bliss:
	There be fools alive, I wis,
	Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
	Take what wife you will to bed,
	I will ever be your head:
	So be gone: you are sped.
	Still more fool I shall appear
	By the time I linger here
	With one fool's head I came to woo,
	But I go away with two.
	Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
	Patiently to bear my wroth.

	[Exeunt Arragon and train]

PORTIA	Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
	O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
	They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA	The ancient saying is no heresy,
	Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA	Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Where is my lady?

PORTIA	                  Here: what would my lord?

Servant	Madam, there is alighted at your gate
	A young Venetian, one that comes before
	To signify the approaching of his lord;
	From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,
	To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
	Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
	So likely an ambassador of love:
	A day in April never came so sweet,
	To show how costly summer was at hand,
	As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA	No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
	Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
	Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.
	Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see
	Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA	Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SALANIO and SALARINO]

SALANIO	Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALARINO	Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath
	a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas;
	the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very
	dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many
	a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip
	Report be an honest woman of her word.

SALANIO	I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever
	knapped ginger or made her neighbours believe she
	wept for the death of a third husband. But it is
	true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the
	plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the
	honest Antonio,--O that I had a title good enough
	to keep his name company!--

SALARINO	Come, the full stop.

SALANIO	Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath
	lost a ship.

SALARINO	I would it might prove the end of his losses.

SALANIO	Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross my
	prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

	[Enter SHYLOCK]

	How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCK	You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my
	daughter's flight.

SALARINO	That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor
	that made the wings she flew withal.

SALANIO	And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was
	fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all
	to leave the dam.

SHYLOCK	She is damned for it.

SALANIO	That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

SHYLOCK	My own flesh and blood to rebel!

SALANIO	Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

SHYLOCK	I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO	There is more difference between thy flesh and hers
	than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods
	than there is between red wine and rhenish. But
	tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any
	loss at sea or no?

SHYLOCK	There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a
	prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the
	Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon
	the mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont to
	call me usurer; let him look to his bond: he was
	wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him
	look to his bond.

SALARINO	Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
	his flesh: what's that good for?

SHYLOCK	To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
	it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
	hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
	mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
	bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
	enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath
	not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
	dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
	the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
	to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
	warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
	a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
	if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
	us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
	revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
	resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
	what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
	wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
	Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
	teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
	will better the instruction.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and
	desires to speak with you both.

SALARINO	We have been up and down to seek him.

	[Enter TUBAL]

SALANIO	Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be
	matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

	[Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant]

SHYLOCK	How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou
	found my daughter?

TUBAL	I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

SHYLOCK	Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,
	cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse
	never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it
	till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other
	precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter
	were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!
	would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in
	her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I know
	not what's spent in the search: why, thou loss upon
	loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to
	find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:
	nor no in luck stirring but what lights on my
	shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears
	but of my shedding.

TUBAL	Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I
	heard in Genoa,--

SHYLOCK	What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

TUBAL	Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

SHYLOCK	I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true?

TUBAL	I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

SHYLOCK	I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!
	ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

TUBAL	Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one
	night fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCK	Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my
	gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!
	fourscore ducats!

TUBAL	There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my
	company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.

SHYLOCK	I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture
	him: I am glad of it.

TUBAL	One of them showed me a ring that he had of your
	daughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCK	Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my
	turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:
	I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

TUBAL	But Antonio is certainly undone.

SHYLOCK	Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee
	me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I
	will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were
	he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I
	will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;
	go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE II	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and
	Attendants]

PORTIA	I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two
	Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
	I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.
	There's something tells me, but it is not love,
	I would not lose you; and you know yourself,
	Hate counsels not in such a quality.
	But lest you should not understand me well,--
	And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,--
	I would detain you here some month or two
	Before you venture for me. I could teach you
	How to choose right, but I am then forsworn;
	So will I never be: so may you miss me;
	But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
	That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
	They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;
	One half of me is yours, the other half yours,
	Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
	And so all yours. O, these naughty times
	Put bars between the owners and their rights!
	And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
	Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
	I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time,
	To eke it and to draw it out in length,
	To stay you from election.

BASSANIO	Let me choose
	For as I am, I live upon the rack.

PORTIA	Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess
	What treason there is mingled with your love.

BASSANIO	None but that ugly treason of mistrust,
	Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
	There may as well be amity and life
	'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

PORTIA	Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
	Where men enforced do speak anything.

BASSANIO	Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIA	Well then, confess and live.

BASSANIO	'Confess' and 'love'
	Had been the very sum of my confession:
	O happy torment, when my torturer
	Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
	But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

PORTIA	Away, then! I am lock'd in one of them:
	If you do love me, you will find me out.
	Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.
	Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
	Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
	Fading in music: that the comparison
	May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
	And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
	And what is music then? Then music is
	Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
	To a new-crowned monarch: such it is
	As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
	That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
	And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
	With no less presence, but with much more love,
	Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
	The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
	To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice
	The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
	With bleared visages, come forth to view
	The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!
	Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay
	I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

	[Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself]
	
	SONG.
	Tell me where is fancy bred,
	Or in the heart, or in the head?
	How begot, how nourished?
	Reply, reply.
	It is engender'd in the eyes,
	With gazing fed; and fancy dies
	In the cradle where it lies.
	Let us all ring fancy's knell
	I'll begin it,--Ding, dong, bell.

ALL	Ding, dong, bell.

BASSANIO	So may the outward shows be least themselves:
	The world is still deceived with ornament.
	In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
	But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
	Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
	What damned error, but some sober brow
	Will bless it and approve it with a text,
	Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
	There is no vice so simple but assumes
	Some mark of virtue on his outward parts:
	How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
	As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
	The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;
	Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;
	And these assume but valour's excrement
	To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,
	And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;
	Which therein works a miracle in nature,
	Making them lightest that wear most of it:
	So are those crisped snaky golden locks
	Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
	Upon supposed fairness, often known
	To be the dowry of a second head,
	The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
	Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
	To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
	Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
	The seeming truth which cunning times put on
	To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
	Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
	Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
	'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
	Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,
	Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
	And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA	[Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,
	As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
	And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
	Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,
	In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.
	I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
	For fear I surfeit.

BASSANIO	What find I here?

	[Opening the leaden casket]

	Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god
	Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
	Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
	Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
	Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
	Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
	The painter plays the spider and hath woven
	A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
	Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,--
	How could he see to do them? having made one,
	Methinks it should have power to steal both his
	And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far
	The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
	In underprizing it, so far this shadow
	Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,
	The continent and summary of my fortune.

	[Reads]

	You that choose not by the view,
	Chance as fair and choose as true!
	Since this fortune falls to you,
	Be content and seek no new,
	If you be well pleased with this
	And hold your fortune for your bliss,
	Turn you where your lady is
	And claim her with a loving kiss.
	A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
	I come by note, to give and to receive.
	Like one of two contending in a prize,
	That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
	Hearing applause and universal shout,
	Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
	Whether these pearls of praise be his or no;
	So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
	As doubtful whether what I see be true,
	Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

PORTIA	You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
	Such as I am: though for myself alone
	I would not be ambitious in my wish,
	To wish myself much better; yet, for you
	I would be trebled twenty times myself;
	A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
	That only to stand high in your account,
	I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,
	Exceed account; but the full sum of me
	Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
	Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;
	Happy in this, she is not yet so old
	But she may learn; happier than this,
	She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
	Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
	Commits itself to yours to be directed,
	As from her lord, her governor, her king.
	Myself and what is mine to you and yours
	Is now converted: but now I was the lord
	Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
	Queen o'er myself: and even now, but now,
	This house, these servants and this same myself
	Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring;
	Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
	Let it presage the ruin of your love
	And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

BASSANIO	Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
	Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
	And there is such confusion in my powers,
	As after some oration fairly spoke
	By a beloved prince, there doth appear
	Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
	Where every something, being blent together,
	Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
	Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring
	Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:
	O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

NERISSA	My lord and lady, it is now our time,
	That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,
	To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!

GRATIANO	My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,
	I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
	For I am sure you can wish none from me:
	And when your honours mean to solemnize
	The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
	Even at that time I may be married too.

BASSANIO	With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

GRATIANO	I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
	My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
	You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
	You loved, I loved for intermission.
	No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
	Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
	And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
	For wooing here until I sweat again,
	And sweating until my very roof was dry
	With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,
	I got a promise of this fair one here
	To have her love, provided that your fortune
	Achieved her mistress.

PORTIA	Is this true, Nerissa?

NERISSA	Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

BASSANIO	And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

GRATIANO	Yes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIO	Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.

GRATIANO	We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

NERISSA	What, and stake down?

GRATIANO	No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down.
	But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What,
	and my old Venetian friend Salerio?

	[Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messenger
	from Venice]

BASSANIO	Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither;
	If that the youth of my new interest here
	Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
	I bid my very friends and countrymen,
	Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIA	So do I, my lord:
	They are entirely welcome.

LORENZO	I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,
	My purpose was not to have seen you here;
	But meeting with Salerio by the way,
	He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
	To come with him along.

SALERIO	I did, my lord;
	And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
	Commends him to you.

	[Gives Bassanio a letter]

BASSANIO	Ere I ope his letter,
	I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

SALERIO	Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
	Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
	Will show you his estate.

GRATIANO	Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.
	Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice?
	How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
	I know he will be glad of our success;
	We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

SALERIO	I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

PORTIA	There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,
	That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
	Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
	Could turn so much the constitution
	Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
	With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,
	And I must freely have the half of anything
	That this same paper brings you.

BASSANIO	O sweet Portia,
	Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
	That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
	When I did first impart my love to you,
	I freely told you, all the wealth I had
	Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
	And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,
	Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
	How much I was a braggart. When I told you
	My state was nothing, I should then have told you
	That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
	I have engaged myself to a dear friend,
	Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
	To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
	The paper as the body of my friend,
	And every word in it a gaping wound,
	Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
	Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
	From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
	From Lisbon, Barbary and India?
	And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
	Of merchant-marring rocks?

SALERIO	Not one, my lord.
	Besides, it should appear, that if he had
	The present money to discharge the Jew,
	He would not take it. Never did I know
	A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
	So keen and greedy to confound a man:
	He plies the duke at morning and at night,
	And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
	If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
	The duke himself, and the magnificoes
	Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
	But none can drive him from the envious plea
	Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond.

JESSICA	When I was with him I have heard him swear
	To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
	That he would rather have Antonio's flesh
	Than twenty times the value of the sum
	That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,
	If law, authority and power deny not,
	It will go hard with poor Antonio.

PORTIA	Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

BASSANIO	The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
	The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit
	In doing courtesies, and one in whom
	The ancient Roman honour more appears
	Than any that draws breath in Italy.

PORTIA	What sum owes he the Jew?

BASSANIO	For me three thousand ducats.

PORTIA	What, no more?
	Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
	Double six thousand, and then treble that,
	Before a friend of this description
	Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
	First go with me to church and call me wife,
	And then away to Venice to your friend;
	For never shall you lie by Portia's side
	With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
	To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
	When it is paid, bring your true friend along.
	My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
	Will live as maids and widows. Come, away!
	For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
	Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:
	Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
	But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO	[Reads]  Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
	miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is
	very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since
	in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all
	debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but
	see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your
	pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,
	let not my letter.

PORTIA	O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

BASSANIO	Since I have your good leave to go away,
	I will make haste: but, till I come again,
	No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,
	No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE III	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler]

SHYLOCK	Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;
	This is the fool that lent out money gratis:
	Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO	Hear me yet, good Shylock.

SHYLOCK	I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
	I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
	Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause;
	But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
	The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
	Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
	To come abroad with him at his request.

ANTONIO	I pray thee, hear me speak.

SHYLOCK	I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
	I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
	I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
	To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
	To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
	I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond.

	[Exit]

SALARINO	It is the most impenetrable cur
	That ever kept with men.

ANTONIO	Let him alone:
	I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
	He seeks my life; his reason well I know:
	I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
	Many that have at times made moan to me;
	Therefore he hates me.

SALARINO	I am sure the duke
	Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.

ANTONIO	The duke cannot deny the course of law:
	For the commodity that strangers have
	With us in Venice, if it be denied,
	Will much impeach the justice of his state;
	Since that the trade and profit of the city
	Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
	These griefs and losses have so bated me,
	That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
	To-morrow to my bloody creditor.
	Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come
	To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and
	BALTHASAR]

LORENZO	Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
	You have a noble and a true conceit
	Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly
	In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
	But if you knew to whom you show this honour,
	How true a gentleman you send relief,
	How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
	I know you would be prouder of the work
	Than customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIA	I never did repent for doing good,
	Nor shall not now: for in companions
	That do converse and waste the time together,
	Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,
	There must be needs a like proportion
	Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
	Which makes me think that this Antonio,
	Being the bosom lover of my lord,
	Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
	How little is the cost I have bestow'd
	In purchasing the semblance of my soul
	From out the state of hellish misery!
	This comes too near the praising of myself;
	Therefore no more of it: hear other things.
	Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
	The husbandry and manage of my house
	Until my lord's return: for mine own part,
	I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
	To live in prayer and contemplation,
	Only attended by Nerissa here,
	Until her husband and my lord's return:
	There is a monastery two miles off;
	And there will we abide. I do desire you
	Not to deny this imposition;
	The which my love and some necessity
	Now lays upon you.

LORENZO	                  Madam, with all my heart;
	I shall obey you in all fair commands.

PORTIA	My people do already know my mind,
	And will acknowledge you and Jessica
	In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
	And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZO	Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

JESSICA	I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

PORTIA	I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
	To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.

	[Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO]

	Now, Balthasar,
	As I have ever found thee honest-true,
	So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
	And use thou all the endeavour of a man
	In speed to Padua: see thou render this
	Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;
	And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
	Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
	Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
	Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
	But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.

BALTHASAR	Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

	[Exit]

PORTIA	Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand
	That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands
	Before they think of us.

NERISSA	Shall they see us?

PORTIA	They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,
	That they shall think we are accomplished
	With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
	When we are both accoutred like young men,
	I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
	And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
	And speak between the change of man and boy
	With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
	Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
	Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies,
	How honourable ladies sought my love,
	Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
	I could not do withal; then I'll repent,
	And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;
	And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
	That men shall swear I have discontinued school
	Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
	A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
	Which I will practise.

NERISSA	Why, shall we turn to men?

PORTIA	Fie, what a question's that,
	If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
	But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device
	When I am in my coach, which stays for us
	At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
	For we must measure twenty miles to-day.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE V	The same. A garden.


	[Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA]

LAUNCELOT	Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father
	are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I
	promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with
	you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:
	therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think you
	are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do
	you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard
	hope neither.

JESSICA	And what hope is that, I pray thee?

LAUNCELOT	Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you
	not, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

JESSICA	That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the
	sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

LAUNCELOT	Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and
	mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I
	fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are
	gone both ways.

JESSICA	I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a
	Christian.

LAUNCELOT	Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians
	enow before; e'en as many as could well live, one by
	another. This making Christians will raise the
	price of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we
	shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

	[Enter LORENZO]

JESSICA	I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.

LORENZO	I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if
	you thus get my wife into corners.

JESSICA	Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot and I
	are out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy for
	me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and he
	says, you are no good member of the commonwealth,
	for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the
	price of pork.

LORENZO	I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than
	you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the
	Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.

LAUNCELOT	It is much that the Moor should be more than reason:
	but if she be less than an honest woman, she is
	indeed more than I took her for.

LORENZO	How every fool can play upon the word! I think the
	best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence,
	and discourse grow commendable in none only but
	parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

LAUNCELOT	That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

LORENZO	Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid
	them prepare dinner.

LAUNCELOT	That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word.

LORENZO	Will you cover then, sir?

LAUNCELOT	Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

LORENZO	Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show
	the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray
	tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning:
	go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve
	in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

LAUNCELOT	For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the
	meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in
	to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and
	conceits shall govern.

	[Exit]

LORENZO	O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
	The fool hath planted in his memory
	An army of good words; and I do know
	A many fools, that stand in better place,
	Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
	Defy the matter. How cheerest thou, Jessica?
	And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
	How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICA	Past all expressing. It is very meet
	The Lord Bassanio live an upright life;
	For, having such a blessing in his lady,
	He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
	And if on earth he do not mean it, then
	In reason he should never come to heaven
	Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match
	And on the wager lay two earthly women,
	And Portia one, there must be something else
	Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world
	Hath not her fellow.

LORENZO	Even such a husband
	Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.

JESSICA	Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

LORENZO	I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

JESSICA	Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

LORENZO	No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
'	Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
	I shall digest it.

JESSICA	                  Well, I'll set you forth.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Venice. A court of justice.


	[Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO,
	GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others]

DUKE	What, is Antonio here?

ANTONIO	Ready, so please your grace.

DUKE	I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer
	A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
	uncapable of pity, void and empty
	From any dram of mercy.

ANTONIO	I have heard
	Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
	His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate
	And that no lawful means can carry me
	Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
	My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
	To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
	The very tyranny and rage of his.

DUKE	Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

SALERIO	He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

	[Enter SHYLOCK]

DUKE	Make room, and let him stand before our face.
	Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
	That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
	To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought
	Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
	Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
	And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
	Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
	Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
	But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
	Forgive a moiety of the principal;
	Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
	That have of late so huddled on his back,
	Enow to press a royal merchant down
	And pluck commiseration of his state
	From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
	From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
	To offices of tender courtesy.
	We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

SHYLOCK	I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
	And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
	To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
	If you deny it, let the danger light
	Upon your charter and your city's freedom.
	You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
	A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
	Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
	But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd?
	What if my house be troubled with a rat
	And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
	To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
	Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
	Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
	And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose,
	Cannot contain their urine: for affection,
	Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
	Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:
	As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
	Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
	Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
	Why he, a woollen bagpipe; but of force
	Must yield to such inevitable shame
	As to offend, himself being offended;
	So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
	More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing
	I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
	A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?

BASSANIO	This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
	To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

SHYLOCK	I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

BASSANIO	Do all men kill the things they do not love?

SHYLOCK	Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

BASSANIO	Every offence is not a hate at first.

SHYLOCK	What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

ANTONIO	I pray you, think you question with the Jew:
	You may as well go stand upon the beach
	And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
	You may as well use question with the wolf
	Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
	You may as well forbid the mountain pines
	To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
	When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
	You may as well do anything most hard,
	As seek to soften that--than which what's harder?--
	His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,
	Make no more offers, use no farther means,
	But with all brief and plain conveniency
	Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIO	For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

SHYLOCK	What judgment shall I dread, doing
	Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
	I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKE	How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

SHYLOCK	What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
	You have among you many a purchased slave,
	Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
	You use in abject and in slavish parts,
	Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
	Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
	Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds
	Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
	Be season'd with such viands? You will answer
	'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:
	The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
	Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.
	If you deny me, fie upon your law!
	There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
	I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

DUKE	Upon my power I may dismiss this court,
	Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
	Whom I have sent for to determine this,
	Come here to-day.

SALERIO	                  My lord, here stays without
	A messenger with letters from the doctor,
	New come from Padua.

DUKE	Bring us the letter; call the messenger.

BASSANIO	Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
	The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,
	Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIO	I am a tainted wether of the flock,
	Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
	Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me
	You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
	Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

	[Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk]

DUKE	Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

NERISSA	From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

	[Presenting a letter]

BASSANIO	Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

SHYLOCK	To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANO	Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
	Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,
	No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness
	Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

SHYLOCK	No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

GRATIANO	O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
	And for thy life let justice be accused.
	Thou almost makest me waver in my faith
	To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
	That souls of animals infuse themselves
	Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit
	Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
	Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
	And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
	Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
	Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

SHYLOCK	Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
	Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:
	Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
	To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

DUKE	This letter from Bellario doth commend
	A young and learned doctor to our court.
	Where is he?

NERISSA	                  He attendeth here hard by,
	To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKE	With all my heart. Some three or four of you
	Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
	Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

Clerk	[Reads]

	Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of
	your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that
	your messenger came, in loving visitation was with
	me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I
	acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
	the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er
	many books together: he is furnished with my
	opinion; which, bettered with his own learning, the
	greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes
	with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's
	request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of
	years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend
	estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so
	old a head. I leave him to your gracious
	acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his
	commendation.

DUKE	You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes:
	And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

	[Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws]

	Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIA	I did, my lord.

DUKE	                  You are welcome: take your place.
	Are you acquainted with the difference
	That holds this present question in the court?

PORTIA	I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
	Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

DUKE	Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

PORTIA	Is your name Shylock?

SHYLOCK	Shylock is my name.

PORTIA	Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
	Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
	Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
	You stand within his danger, do you not?

ANTONIO	Ay, so he says.

PORTIA	                  Do you confess the bond?

ANTONIO	I do.

PORTIA	    Then must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCK	On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

PORTIA	The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
	It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
	Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
	It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
	'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
	The throned monarch better than his crown;
	His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
	The attribute to awe and majesty,
	Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
	But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
	It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
	It is an attribute to God himself;
	And earthly power doth then show likest God's
	When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
	Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
	That, in the course of justice, none of us
	Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
	And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
	The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
	To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
	Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
	Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCK	My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
	The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA	Is he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIO	Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
	Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,
	I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,
	On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
	If this will not suffice, it must appear
	That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
	Wrest once the law to your authority:
	To do a great right, do a little wrong,
	And curb this cruel devil of his will.

PORTIA	It must not be; there is no power in Venice
	Can alter a decree established:
	'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
	And many an error by the same example
	Will rush into the state: it cannot be.

SHYLOCK	A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
	O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIA	I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCK	Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIA	Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

SHYLOCK	An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
	Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
	No, not for Venice.

PORTIA	Why, this bond is forfeit;
	And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
	A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
	Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:
	Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCK	When it is paid according to the tenor.
	It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
	You know the law, your exposition
	Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
	Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
	Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear
	There is no power in the tongue of man
	To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

ANTONIO	Most heartily I do beseech the court
	To give the judgment.

PORTIA	Why then, thus it is:
	You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCK	O noble judge! O excellent young man!

PORTIA	For the intent and purpose of the law
	Hath full relation to the penalty,
	Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK	'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
	How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIA	Therefore lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCK	Ay, his breast:
	So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?
	'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.

PORTIA	It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
	The flesh?

SHYLOCK	         I have them ready.

PORTIA	Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
	To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK	Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA	It is not so express'd: but what of that?
	'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCK	I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIA	You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIO	But little: I am arm'd and well prepared.
	Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!
	Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
	For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
	Than is her custom: it is still her use
	To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
	To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
	An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
	Of such misery doth she cut me off.
	Commend me to your honourable wife:
	Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
	Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;
	And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
	Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
	Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
	And he repents not that he pays your debt;
	For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
	I'll pay it presently with all my heart.

BASSANIO	Antonio, I am married to a wife
	Which is as dear to me as life itself;
	But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
	Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:
	I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
	Here to this devil, to deliver you.

PORTIA	Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
	If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

GRATIANO	I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:
	I would she were in heaven, so she could
	Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

NERISSA	'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
	The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCK	These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;
	Would any of the stock of Barrabas
	Had been her husband rather than a Christian!

	[Aside]

	We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

PORTIA	A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
	The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK	Most rightful judge!

PORTIA	And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
	The law allows it, and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK	Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

PORTIA	Tarry a little; there is something else.
	This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
	The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:'
	Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
	But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
	One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
	Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
	Unto the state of Venice.

GRATIANO	O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

SHYLOCK	Is that the law?

PORTIA	                  Thyself shalt see the act:
	For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
	Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

GRATIANO	O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

SHYLOCK	I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
	And let the Christian go.

BASSANIO	Here is the money.

PORTIA	Soft!
	The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
	He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO	O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIA	Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
	Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
	But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more
	Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
	As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
	Or the division of the twentieth part
	Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
	But in the estimation of a hair,
	Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO	A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
	Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

PORTIA	Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCK	Give me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIO	I have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIA	He hath refused it in the open court:
	He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANO	A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
	I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCK	Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA	Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
	To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

SHYLOCK	Why, then the devil give him good of it!
	I'll stay no longer question.

PORTIA	Tarry, Jew:
	The law hath yet another hold on you.
	It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
	If it be proved against an alien
	That by direct or indirect attempts
	He seek the life of any citizen,
	The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
	Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
	Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
	And the offender's life lies in the mercy
	Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
	In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;
	For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
	That indirectly and directly too
	Thou hast contrived against the very life
	Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
	The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
	Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.

GRATIANO	Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:
	And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
	Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
	Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

DUKE	That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
	I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
	For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
	The other half comes to the general state,
	Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

PORTIA	Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCK	Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
	You take my house when you do take the prop
	That doth sustain my house; you take my life
	When you do take the means whereby I live.

PORTIA	What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANO	A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.

ANTONIO	So please my lord the duke and all the court
	To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
	I am content; so he will let me have
	The other half in use, to render it,
	Upon his death, unto the gentleman
	That lately stole his daughter:
	Two things provided more, that, for this favour,
	He presently become a Christian;
	The other, that he do record a gift,
	Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
	Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

DUKE	He shall do this, or else I do recant
	The pardon that I late pronounced here.

PORTIA	Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCK	I am content.

PORTIA	                  Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

SHYLOCK	I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
	I am not well: send the deed after me,
	And I will sign it.

DUKE	Get thee gone, but do it.

GRATIANO	In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:
	Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
	To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

	[Exit SHYLOCK]

DUKE	Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

PORTIA	I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:
	I must away this night toward Padua,
	And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKE	I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
	Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
	For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

	[Exeunt Duke and his train]

BASSANIO	Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
	Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
	Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
	Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
	We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

ANTONIO	And stand indebted, over and above,
	In love and service to you evermore.

PORTIA	He is well paid that is well satisfied;
	And I, delivering you, am satisfied
	And therein do account myself well paid:
	My mind was never yet more mercenary.
	I pray you, know me when we meet again:
	I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

BASSANIO	Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further:
	Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
	Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
	Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

PORTIA	You press me far, and therefore I will yield.

	[To ANTONIO]

	Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;

	[To BASSANIO]

	And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:
	Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more;
	And you in love shall not deny me this.

BASSANIO	This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!
	I will not shame myself to give you this.

PORTIA	I will have nothing else but only this;
	And now methinks I have a mind to it.

BASSANIO	There's more depends on this than on the value.
	The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
	And find it out by proclamation:
	Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIA	I see, sir, you are liberal in offers
	You taught me first to beg; and now methinks
	You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

BASSANIO	Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
	And when she put it on, she made me vow
	That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

PORTIA	That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
	An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
	And know how well I have deserved the ring,
	She would not hold out enemy for ever,
	For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

	[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa]

ANTONIO	My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
	Let his deservings and my love withal
	Be valued against your wife's commandment.

BASSANIO	Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
	Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
	Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste.

	[Exit Gratiano]

	Come, you and I will thither presently;
	And in the morning early will we both
	Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same. A street.


	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed
	And let him sign it: we'll away to-night
	And be a day before our husbands home:
	This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

	[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO	Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en
	My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
	Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
	Your company at dinner.

PORTIA	That cannot be:
	His ring I do accept most thankfully:
	And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,
	I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANO	That will I do.

NERISSA	                  Sir, I would speak with you.

	[Aside to PORTIA]

	I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,
	Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

PORTIA	[Aside to NERISSA]  Thou mayst, I warrant.
	We shall have old swearing
	That they did give the rings away to men;
	But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

	[Aloud]

	Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSA	Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT V



SCENE I	Belmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter LORENZO and JESSICA]

LORENZO	The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
	When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
	And they did make no noise, in such a night
	Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls
	And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
	Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA	In such a night
	Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew
	And saw the lion's shadow ere himself
	And ran dismay'd away.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
	Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love
	To come again to Carthage.

JESSICA	In such a night
	Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
	That did renew old AEson.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
	And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
	As far as Belmont.

JESSICA	                  In such a night
	Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
	Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
	And ne'er a true one.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
	Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICA	I would out-night you, did no body come;
	But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

	[Enter STEPHANO]

LORENZO	Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

STEPHANO	A friend.

LORENZO	A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO	Stephano is my name; and I bring word
	My mistress will before the break of day
	Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
	By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
	For happy wedlock hours.

LORENZO	Who comes with her?

STEPHANO	None but a holy hermit and her maid.
	I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

LORENZO	He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
	But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
	And ceremoniously let us prepare
	Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

	[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT	Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

LORENZO	Who calls?

LAUNCELOT	Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo?
	Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!

LORENZO	Leave hollaing, man: here.

LAUNCELOT	Sola! where? where?

LORENZO	Here.

LAUNCELOT	Tell him there's a post come from my master, with
	his horn full of good news: my master will be here
	ere morning.

	[Exit]

LORENZO	Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
	And yet no matter: why should we go in?
	My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
	Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
	And bring your music forth into the air.

	[Exit Stephano]

	How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
	Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
	Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
	Become the touches of sweet harmony.
	Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
	Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
	There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
	But in his motion like an angel sings,
	Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
	Such harmony is in immortal souls;
	But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
	Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

	[Enter Musicians]

	Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!
	With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
	And draw her home with music.

	[Music]

JESSICA	I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

LORENZO	The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
	For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
	Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
	Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
	Which is the hot condition of their blood;
	If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
	Or any air of music touch their ears,
	You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
	Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
	By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
	Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
	Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
	But music for the time doth change his nature.
	The man that hath no music in himself,
	Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
	Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
	The motions of his spirit are dull as night
	And his affections dark as Erebus:
	Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	That light we see is burning in my hall.
	How far that little candle throws his beams!
	So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSA	When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIA	So doth the greater glory dim the less:
	A substitute shines brightly as a king
	Unto the king be by, and then his state
	Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
	Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSA	It is your music, madam, of the house.

PORTIA	Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
	Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA	Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA	The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
	When neither is attended, and I think
	The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
	When every goose is cackling, would be thought
	No better a musician than the wren.
	How many things by season season'd are
	To their right praise and true perfection!
	Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
	And would not be awaked.

	[Music ceases]

LORENZO	That is the voice,
	Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

PORTIA	He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
	By the bad voice.

LORENZO	                  Dear lady, welcome home.

PORTIA	We have been praying for our husbands' healths,
	Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
	Are they return'd?

LORENZO	                  Madam, they are not yet;
	But there is come a messenger before,
	To signify their coming.

PORTIA	Go in, Nerissa;
	Give order to my servants that they take
	No note at all of our being absent hence;
	Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.

	[A tucket sounds]

LORENZO	Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
	We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

PORTIA	This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
	It looks a little paler: 'tis a day,
	Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

	[Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and
	their followers]

BASSANIO	We should hold day with the Antipodes,
	If you would walk in absence of the sun.

PORTIA	Let me give light, but let me not be light;
	For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
	And never be Bassanio so for me:
	But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

BASSANIO	I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
	This is the man, this is Antonio,
	To whom I am so infinitely bound.

PORTIA	You should in all sense be much bound to him.
	For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

ANTONIO	No more than I am well acquitted of.

PORTIA	Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
	It must appear in other ways than words,
	Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

GRATIANO	[To NERISSA]  By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
	In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
	Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
	Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

PORTIA	A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?

GRATIANO	About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
	That she did give me, whose posy was
	For all the world like cutler's poetry
	Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'

NERISSA	What talk you of the posy or the value?
	You swore to me, when I did give it you,
	That you would wear it till your hour of death
	And that it should lie with you in your grave:
	Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
	You should have been respective and have kept it.
	Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge,
	The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.

GRATIANO	He will, an if he live to be a man.

NERISSA	Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANO	Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
	A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
	No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,
	A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
	I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIA	You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
	To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
	A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
	And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
	I gave my love a ring and made him swear
	Never to part with it; and here he stands;
	I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
	Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
	That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
	You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief:
	An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

BASSANIO	[Aside]  Why, I were best to cut my left hand off
	And swear I lost the ring defending it.

GRATIANO	My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
	Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed
	Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
	That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
	And neither man nor master would take aught
	But the two rings.

PORTIA	What ring gave you my lord?
	Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

BASSANIO	If I could add a lie unto a fault,
	I would deny it; but you see my finger
	Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

PORTIA	Even so void is your false heart of truth.
	By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
	Until I see the ring.

NERISSA	Nor I in yours
	Till I again see mine.

BASSANIO	Sweet Portia,
	If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
	If you did know for whom I gave the ring
	And would conceive for what I gave the ring
	And how unwillingly I left the ring,
	When nought would be accepted but the ring,
	You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

PORTIA	If you had known the virtue of the ring,
	Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
	Or your own honour to contain the ring,
	You would not then have parted with the ring.
	What man is there so much unreasonable,
	If you had pleased to have defended it
	With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
	To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
	Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
	I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.

BASSANIO	No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,
	No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
	Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
	And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him
	And suffer'd him to go displeased away;
	Even he that did uphold the very life
	Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
	I was enforced to send it after him;
	I was beset with shame and courtesy;
	My honour would not let ingratitude
	So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;
	For, by these blessed candles of the night,
	Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd
	The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

PORTIA	Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
	Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
	And that which you did swear to keep for me,
	I will become as liberal as you;
	I'll not deny him any thing I have,
	No, not my body nor my husband's bed:
	Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
	Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
	If you do not, if I be left alone,
	Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
	I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSA	And I his clerk; therefore be well advised
	How you do leave me to mine own protection.

GRATIANO	Well, do you so; let not me take him, then;
	For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

ANTONIO	I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

PORTIA	Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIO	Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
	And, in the hearing of these many friends,
	I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
	Wherein I see myself--

PORTIA	Mark you but that!
	In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;
	In each eye, one: swear by your double self,
	And there's an oath of credit.

BASSANIO	Nay, but hear me:
	Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
	I never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIO	I once did lend my body for his wealth;
	Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
	Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
	My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
	Will never more break faith advisedly.

PORTIA	Then you shall be his surety. Give him this
	And bid him keep it better than the other.

ANTONIO	Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

BASSANIO	By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

PORTIA	I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
	For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

NERISSA	And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
	For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
	In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

GRATIANO	Why, this is like the mending of highways
	In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
	What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

PORTIA	Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed:
	Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;
	It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
	There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
	Nerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo here
	Shall witness I set forth as soon as you
	And even but now return'd; I have not yet
	Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;
	And I have better news in store for you
	Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
	There you shall find three of your argosies
	Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
	You shall not know by what strange accident
	I chanced on this letter.

ANTONIO	I am dumb.

BASSANIO	Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

GRATIANO	Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

NERISSA	Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
	Unless he live until he be a man.

BASSANIO	Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow:
	When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

ANTONIO	Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
	For here I read for certain that my ships
	Are safely come to road.

PORTIA	How now, Lorenzo!
	My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

NERISSA	Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
	There do I give to you and Jessica,
	From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
	After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

LORENZO	Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
	Of starved people.

PORTIA	                  It is almost morning,
	And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
	Of these events at full. Let us go in;
	And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
	And we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANO	Let it be so: the first inter'gatory
	That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
	Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
	Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
	But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
	That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
	Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing
	So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

	[Exeunt]
	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

FENTON	a gentleman.

SHALLOW	a country justice.

SLENDER	cousin to Shallow.


FORD	|
	|  two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.
PAGE	|


WILLIAM PAGE	a boy, son to Page.

SIR HUGH EVANS	a Welsh parson.

DOCTOR CAIUS	a French physician.

	Host of the Garter Inn. (Host:)


BARDOLPH	|
	|
PISTOL	|  sharpers attending on Falstaff.
	|
NYM	|


ROBIN	page to Falstaff.

SIMPLE	servant to Slender.

RUGBY	servant to Doctor Caius.

MISTRESS FORD:

MISTRESS PAGE:

ANNE PAGE	her daughter.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	servant to Doctor Caius.

	Servants to Page, Ford, &c.
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)


SCENE	Windsor, and the neighbourhood.




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE I	Windsor. Before PAGE's house.


	[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SHALLOW	Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-
	chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John
	Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.

SLENDER	In the county of Gloucester, justice of peace and
	'Coram.'

SHALLOW	Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalourum.

SLENDER	Ay, and 'Rato-lorum' too; and a gentleman born,
	master parson; who writes himself 'Armigero,' in any
	bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, 'Armigero.'

SHALLOW	Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
	hundred years.

SLENDER	All his successors gone before him hath done't; and
	all his ancestors that come after him may: they may
	give the dozen white luces in their coat.

SHALLOW	It is an old coat.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
	it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to
	man, and signifies love.

SHALLOW	The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat.

SLENDER	I may quarter, coz.

SHALLOW	You may, by marrying.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.

SHALLOW	Not a whit.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat,
	there is but three skirts for yourself, in my
	simple conjectures: but that is all one. If Sir
	John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto
	you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my
	benevolence to make atonements and compremises
	between you.

SHALLOW	The council shall bear it; it is a riot.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is no
	fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, shall
	desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a
	riot; take your vizaments in that.

SHALLOW	Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword
	should end it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it:
	and there is also another device in my prain, which
	peradventure prings goot discretions with it: there
	is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas
	Page, which is pretty virginity.

SLENDER	Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks
	small like a woman.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as
	you will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys,
	and gold and silver, is her grandsire upon his
	death's-bed--Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
	--give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years
	old: it were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles
	and prabbles, and desire a marriage between Master
	Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.

SLENDER	Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.

SLENDER	I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is goot gifts.

SHALLOW	Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
	despise one that is false, or as I despise one that
	is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there; and, I
	beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will
	peat the door for Master Page.

	[Knocks]

	What, hoa! Got pless your house here!

PAGE	[Within]  Who's there?

	[Enter PAGE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
	Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that
	peradventures shall tell you another tale, if
	matters grow to your likings.

PAGE	I am glad to see your worships well.
	I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	Master Page, I am glad to see you: much good do it
	your good heart! I wished your venison better; it
	was ill killed. How doth good Mistress Page?--and I
	thank you always with my heart, la! with my heart.

PAGE	Sir, I thank you.

SHALLOW	Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.

PAGE	I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.

SLENDER	How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he
	was outrun on Cotsall.

PAGE	It could not be judged, sir.

SLENDER	You'll not confess, you'll not confess.

SHALLOW	That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis your fault;
	'tis a good dog.

PAGE	A cur, sir.

SHALLOW	Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: can there be
	more said? he is good and fair. Is Sir John
	Falstaff here?

PAGE	Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good
	office between you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.

SHALLOW	He hath wronged me, Master Page.

PAGE	Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.

SHALLOW	If it be confessed, it is not redress'd: is not that
	so, Master Page? He hath wronged me; indeed he
	hath, at a word, he hath, believe me: Robert
	Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged.

PAGE	Here comes Sir John.

	[Enter FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL]

FALSTAFF	Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the king?

SHALLOW	Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and
	broke open my lodge.

FALSTAFF	But not kissed your keeper's daughter?

SHALLOW	Tut, a pin! this shall be answered.

FALSTAFF	I will answer it straight; I have done all this.
	That is now answered.

SHALLOW	The council shall know this.

FALSTAFF	'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
	you'll be laughed at.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.

FALSTAFF	Good worts! good cabbage. Slender, I broke your
	head: what matter have you against me?

SLENDER	Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
	and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph,
	Nym, and Pistol.

BARDOLPH	You Banbury cheese!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

PISTOL	How now, Mephostophilus!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

NYM	Slice, I say! pauca, pauca: slice! that's my humour.

SLENDER	Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
	three umpires in this matter, as I understand; that
	is, Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is
	myself, fidelicet myself; and the three party is,
	lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.

PAGE	We three, to hear it and end it between them.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my note-
	book; and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with
	as great discreetly as we can.

FALSTAFF	Pistol!

PISTOL	He hears with ears.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this, 'He
	hears with ear'? why, it is affectations.

FALSTAFF	Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?

SLENDER	Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would I might
	never come in mine own great chamber again else, of
	seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
	shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and two
	pence apiece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.

FALSTAFF	Is this true, Pistol?

SIR HUGH EVANS	No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.

PISTOL	Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and Master mine,
	I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
	Word of denial in thy labras here!
	Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest!

SLENDER	By these gloves, then, 'twas he.

NYM	Be avised, sir, and pass good humours: I will say
	'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's
	humour on me; that is the very note of it.

SLENDER	By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for
	though I cannot remember what I did when you made me
	drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.

FALSTAFF	What say you, Scarlet and John?

BARDOLPH	Why, sir, for my part I say the gentleman had drunk
	himself out of his five sentences.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is!

BARDOLPH	And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered; and
	so conclusions passed the careires.

SLENDER	Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no
	matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again,
	but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick:
	if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have
	the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.

SIR HUGH EVANS	So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.

FALSTAFF	You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; you hear it.

	[Enter ANNE PAGE, with wine; MISTRESS FORD
	and MISTRESS PAGE, following]

PAGE	Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.

	[Exit ANNE PAGE]

SLENDER	O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.

PAGE	How now, Mistress Ford!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met:
	by your leave, good mistress.

	[Kisses her]

PAGE	Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
	hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gentlemen, I hope
	we shall drink down all unkindness.

	[Exeunt all except SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SLENDER	I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
	Songs and Sonnets here.

	[Enter SIMPLE]

	How now, Simple! where have you been? I must wait
	on myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles
	about you, have you?

SIMPLE	Book of Riddles! why, did you not lend it to Alice
	Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a fortnight
	afore Michaelmas?

SHALLOW	Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word with
	you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
	tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh
	here. Do you understand me?

SLENDER	Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so,
	I shall do that that is reason.

SHALLOW	Nay, but understand me.

SLENDER	So I do, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Give ear to his motions, Master Slender: I will
	description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.

SLENDER	Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: I pray
	you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his
	country, simple though I stand here.

SIR HUGH EVANS	But that is not the question: the question is
	concerning your marriage.

SHALLOW	Ay, there's the point, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Marry, is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne Page.

SLENDER	Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any
	reasonable demands.

SIR HUGH EVANS	But can you affection the 'oman? Let us command to
	know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers
	philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the
	mouth. Therefore, precisely, can you carry your
	good will to the maid?

SHALLOW	Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?

SLENDER	I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that
	would do reason.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak
	possitable, if you can carry her your desires
	towards her.

SHALLOW	That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, marry her?

SLENDER	I will do a greater thing than that, upon your
	request, cousin, in any reason.

SHALLOW	Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz: what I do
	is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?

SLENDER	I will marry her, sir, at your request: but if there
	be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may
	decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are
	married and have more occasion to know one another;
	I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt:
	but if you say, 'Marry her,' I will marry her; that
	I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is a fery discretion answer; save the fall is in
	the ort 'dissolutely:' the ort is, according to our
	meaning, 'resolutely:' his meaning is good.

SHALLOW	Ay, I think my cousin meant well.

SLENDER	Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la!

SHALLOW	Here comes fair Mistress Anne.

	[Re-enter ANNE PAGE]

	Would I were young for your sake, Mistress Anne!

ANNE PAGE	The dinner is on the table; my father desires your
	worships' company.

SHALLOW	I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.

	[Exeunt SHALLOW and SIR HUGH EVANS]

ANNE PAGE	Will't please your worship to come in, sir?

SLENDER	No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very well.

ANNE PAGE	The dinner attends you, sir.

SLENDER	I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,
	sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my
	cousin Shallow.

	[Exit SIMPLE]

	A justice of peace sometimes may be beholding to his
	friend for a man. I keep but three men and a boy
	yet, till my mother be dead: but what though? Yet I
	live like a poor gentleman born.

ANNE PAGE	I may not go in without your worship: they will not
	sit till you come.

SLENDER	I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as
	though I did.

ANNE PAGE	I pray you, sir, walk in.

SLENDER	I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised
	my shin th' other day with playing at sword and
	dagger with a master of fence; three veneys for a
	dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, I cannot
	abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do your
	dogs bark so? be there bears i' the town?

ANNE PAGE	I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of.

SLENDER	I love the sport well but I shall as soon quarrel at
	it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see
	the bear loose, are you not?

ANNE PAGE	Ay, indeed, sir.

SLENDER	That's meat and drink to me, now. I have seen
	Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by
	the chain; but, I warrant you, the women have so
	cried and shrieked at it, that it passed: but women,
	indeed, cannot abide 'em; they are very ill-favored
	rough things.

	[Re-enter PAGE]

PAGE	Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.

SLENDER	I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.

PAGE	By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! come, come.

SLENDER	Nay, pray you, lead the way.

PAGE	Come on, sir.

SLENDER	Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.

ANNE PAGE	Not I, sir; pray you, keep on.

SLENDER	I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome.
	You do yourself wrong, indeed, la!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which
	is the way: and there dwells one Mistress Quickly,
	which is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry
	nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and
	his wringer.

SIMPLE	Well, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it
	is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with
	Mistress Anne Page: and the letter is, to desire
	and require her to solicit your master's desires to
	Mistress Anne Page. I pray you, be gone: I will
	make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese to come.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF, Host, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL,
	and ROBIN]

FALSTAFF	Mine host of the Garter!

Host	What says my bully-rook? speak scholarly and wisely.

FALSTAFF	Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my
	followers.

Host	Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them wag; trot, trot.

FALSTAFF	I sit at ten pounds a week.

Host	Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and Pheezar. I
	will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall
	tap: said I well, bully Hector?

FALSTAFF	Do so, good mine host.

Host	I have spoke; let him follow.

	[To BARDOLPH]

	Let me see thee froth and lime: I am at a word; follow.

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade:
	an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered
	serving-man a fresh tapster. Go; adieu.

BARDOLPH	It is a life that I have desired: I will thrive.

PISTOL	O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot wield?

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

NYM	He was gotten in drink: is not the humour conceited?

FALSTAFF	I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox: his
	thefts were too open; his filching was like an
	unskilful singer; he kept not time.

NYM	The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.

PISTOL	'Convey,' the wise it call. 'Steal!' foh! a fico
	for the phrase!

FALSTAFF	Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

PISTOL	Why, then, let kibes ensue.

FALSTAFF	There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must shift.

PISTOL	Young ravens must have food.

FALSTAFF	Which of you know Ford of this town?

PISTOL	I ken the wight: he is of substance good.

FALSTAFF	My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

PISTOL	Two yards, and more.

FALSTAFF	No quips now, Pistol! Indeed, I am in the waist two
	yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about
	thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's
	wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses,
	she carves, she gives the leer of invitation: I
	can construe the action of her familiar style; and
	the hardest voice of her behavior, to be Englished
	rightly, is, 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'

PISTOL	He hath studied her will, and translated her will,
	out of honesty into English.

NYM	The anchor is deep: will that humour pass?

FALSTAFF	Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
	husband's purse: he hath a legion of angels.

PISTOL	As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.

NYM	The humour rises; it is good: humour me the angels.

FALSTAFF	I have writ me here a letter to her: and here
	another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good
	eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious
	oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my
	foot, sometimes my portly belly.

PISTOL	Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

NYM	I thank thee for that humour.

FALSTAFF	O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a
	greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did
	seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's
	another letter to her: she bears the purse too; she
	is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will
	be cheater to them both, and they shall be
	exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West
	Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go bear thou
	this letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to
	Mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

PISTOL	Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
	And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all!

NYM	I will run no base humour: here, take the
	humour-letter: I will keep the havior of reputation.

FALSTAFF	[To ROBIN]  Hold, sirrah, bear you these letters tightly;
	Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
	Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
	Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack!
	Falstaff will learn the humour of the age,
	French thrift, you rogues; myself and skirted page.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN]

PISTOL	Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam holds,
	And high and low beguiles the rich and poor:
	Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
	Base Phrygian Turk!

NYM	I have operations which be humours of revenge.

PISTOL	Wilt thou revenge?

NYM	By welkin and her star!

PISTOL	With wit or steel?

NYM	With both the humours, I:
	I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.

PISTOL	     And I to Ford shall eke unfold
	How Falstaff, varlet vile,
	His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
	And his soft couch defile.

NYM	My humour shall not cool: I will incense Page to
	deal with poison; I will possess him with
	yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous:
	that is my true humour.

PISTOL	Thou art the Mars of malecontents: I second thee; troop on.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE IV	A room in DOCTOR CAIUS' house.


	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What, John Rugby! I pray thee, go to the casement,
	and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor
	Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find any
	body in the house, here will be an old abusing of
	God's patience and the king's English.

RUGBY	I'll go watch.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in
	faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire.

	[Exit RUGBY]

	An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant
	shall come in house withal, and, I warrant you, no
	tell-tale nor no breed-bate: his worst fault is,
	that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish
	that way: but nobody but has his fault; but let
	that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is?

SIMPLE	Ay, for fault of a better.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And Master Slender's your master?

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Does he not wear a great round beard, like a
	glover's paring-knife?

SIMPLE	No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, with a
	little yellow beard, a Cain-coloured beard.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	A softly-sprighted man, is he not?

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands
	as any is between this and his head; he hath fought
	with a warrener.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	How say you? O, I should remember him: does he not
	hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?

SIMPLE	Yes, indeed, does he.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell
	Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your
	master: Anne is a good girl, and I wish--

	[Re-enter RUGBY]

RUGBY	Out, alas! here comes my master.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man;
	go into this closet: he will not stay long.

	[Shuts SIMPLE in the closet]

	What, John Rugby! John! what, John, I say!
	Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt
	he be not well, that he comes not home.

	[Singing]

	And down, down, adown-a, &c.

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you,
	go and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert, a box,
	a green-a box: do intend vat I speak? a green-a box.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; I'll fetch it you.

	[Aside]

	I am glad he went not in himself: if he had found
	the young man, he would have been horn-mad.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je
	m'en vais a la cour--la grande affaire.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Is it this, sir?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere
	is dat knave Rugby?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What, John Rugby! John!

RUGBY	Here, sir!

DOCTOR CAIUS	You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby. Come,
	take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the court.

RUGBY	'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me!
	Qu'ai-j'oublie! dere is some simples in my closet,
	dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay me, he'll find the young man here, and be mad!

DOCTOR CAIUS	O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villain! larron!

	[Pulling SIMPLE out]

	Rugby, my rapier!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good master, be content.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Wherefore shall I be content-a?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	The young man is an honest man.

DOCTOR CAIUS	What shall de honest man do in my closet? dere is
	no honest man dat shall come in my closet.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear the truth
	of it: he came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vell.

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth; to desire her to--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Peace, I pray you.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.

SIMPLE	To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to
	speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my
	master in the way of marriage.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my
	finger in the fire, and need not.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baille me some paper.
	Tarry you a little-a while.

	[Writes]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	[Aside to SIMPLE]  I am glad he is so quiet: if he
	had been thoroughly moved, you should have heard him
	so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding,
	man, I'll do you your master what good I can: and
	the very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my
	master,--I may call him my master, look you, for I
	keep his house; and I wash, wring, brew, bake,
	scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds and do
	all myself,--

SIMPLE	[Aside to MISTRESS QUICKLY]  'Tis a great charge to
	come under one body's hand.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	[Aside to SIMPLE]  Are you avised o' that? you
	shall find it a great charge: and to be up early
	and down late; but notwithstanding,--to tell you in
	your ear; I would have no words of it,--my master
	himself is in love with Mistress Anne Page: but
	notwithstanding that, I know Anne's mind,--that's
	neither here nor there.

DOCTOR CAIUS	You jack'nape, give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by
	gar, it is a shallenge: I will cut his troat in dee
	park; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest
	to meddle or make. You may be gone; it is not good
	you tarry here. By gar, I will cut all his two
	stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to throw
	at his dog:

	[Exit SIMPLE]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Alas, he speaks but for his friend.

DOCTOR CAIUS	It is no matter-a ver dat: do not you tell-a me
	dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I
	vill kill de Jack priest; and I have appointed mine
	host of de Jarteer to measure our weapon. By gar, I
	will myself have Anne Page.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We
	must give folks leave to prate: what, the good-jer!

DOCTOR CAIUS	Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have
	not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my
	door. Follow my heels, Rugby.

	[Exeunt DOCTOR CAIUS and RUGBY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	You shall have An fool's-head of your own. No, I
	know Anne's mind for that: never a woman in Windsor
	knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more
	than I do with her, I thank heaven.

FENTON	[Within]  Who's within there? ho!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Who's there, I trow! Come near the house, I pray you.

	[Enter FENTON]

FENTON	How now, good woman? how dost thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	The better that it pleases your good worship to ask.

FENTON	What news? how does pretty Mistress Anne?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and
	gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you
	that by the way; I praise heaven for it.

FENTON	Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? shall I not lose my suit?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but
	notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a
	book, she loves you. Have not your worship a wart
	above your eye?

FENTON	Yes, marry, have I; what of that?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, thereby hangs a tale: good faith, it is such
	another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever
	broke bread: we had an hour's talk of that wart. I
	shall never laugh but in that maid's company! But
	indeed she is given too much to allicholy and
	musing: but for you--well, go to.

FENTON	Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money
	for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf: if
	thou seest her before me, commend me.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Will I? i'faith, that we will; and I will tell your
	worship more of the wart the next time we have
	confidence; and of other wooers.

FENTON	Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Farewell to your worship.

	[Exit FENTON]

	Truly, an honest gentleman: but Anne loves him not;
	for I know Anne's mind as well as another does. Out
	upon't! what have I forgot?

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE I	Before PAGE'S house.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter]

MISTRESS PAGE	What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-
	time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them?
	Let me see.

	[Reads]

	'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though
	Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him
	not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more
	am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you are merry,
	so am I; ha, ha! then there's more sympathy: you
	love sack, and so do I; would you desire better
	sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,--at
	the least, if the love of soldier can suffice,--
	that I love thee. I will not say, pity me; 'tis
	not a soldier-like phrase: but I say, love me. By me,
	Thine own true knight,
	By day or night,
	Or any kind of light,
	With all his might
	For thee to fight,    JOHN FALSTAFF'
	What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked
	world! One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with
	age to show himself a young gallant! What an
	unweighed behavior hath this Flemish drunkard
	picked--with the devil's name!--out of my
	conversation, that he dares in this manner assay me?
	Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What
	should I say to him? I was then frugal of my
	mirth: Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill
	in the parliament for the putting down of men. How
	shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be,
	as sure as his guts are made of puddings.

	[Enter MISTRESS FORD]

MISTRESS FORD	Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your house.

MISTRESS PAGE	And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very
	ill.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to the contrary.

MISTRESS PAGE	Faith, but you do, in my mind.

MISTRESS FORD	Well, I do then; yet I say I could show you to the
	contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel!

MISTRESS PAGE	What's the matter, woman?

MISTRESS FORD	O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I
	could come to such honour!

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang the trifle, woman! take the honour. What is
	it? dispense with trifles; what is it?

MISTRESS FORD	If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so,
	I could be knighted.

MISTRESS PAGE	What? thou liest! Sir Alice Ford! These knights
	will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the
	article of thy gentry.

MISTRESS FORD	We burn daylight: here, read, read; perceive how I
	might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat
	men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of
	men's liking: and yet he would not swear; praised
	women's modesty; and gave such orderly and
	well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I
	would have sworn his disposition would have gone to
	the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere
	and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to
	the tune of 'Green Sleeves.' What tempest, I trow,
	threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his
	belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged
	on him? I think the best way were to entertain him
	with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted
	him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?

MISTRESS PAGE	Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and
	Ford differs! To thy great comfort in this mystery
	of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy
	letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I
	protest, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a
	thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for
	different names--sure, more,--and these are of the
	second edition: he will print them, out of doubt;
	for he cares not what he puts into the press, when
	he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess,
	and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, I will find you
	twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very
	words. What doth he think of us?

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, I know not: it makes me almost ready to
	wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain
	myself like one that I am not acquainted withal;
	for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I
	know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury.

MISTRESS FORD	'Boarding,' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him
	above deck.

MISTRESS PAGE	So will I	if he come under my hatches, I'll never
	to sea again. Let's be revenged on him: let's
	appoint him a meeting; give him a show of comfort in
	his suit and lead him on with a fine-baited delay,
	till he hath pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I will consent to act any villany against him,
	that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O,
	that my husband saw this letter! it would give
	eternal food to his jealousy.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, look where he comes; and my good man too: he's
	as far from jealousy as I am from giving him cause;
	and that I hope is an unmeasurable distance.

MISTRESS FORD	You are the happier woman.

MISTRESS PAGE	Let's consult together against this greasy knight.
	Come hither.

	[They retire]

	[Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with NYM]

FORD	Well, I hope it be not so.

PISTOL	Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs:
	Sir John affects thy wife.

FORD	Why, sir, my wife is not young.

PISTOL	He wooes both high and low, both rich and poor,
	Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
	He loves the gallimaufry: Ford, perpend.

FORD	Love my wife!

PISTOL	With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,
	Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels:
	O, odious is the name!

FORD	What name, sir?

PISTOL	The horn, I say. Farewell.
	Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night:
	Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds do sing.
	Away, Sir Corporal Nym!
	Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.

	[Exit]

FORD	[Aside]  I will be patient; I will find out this.

NYM	[To PAGE]  And this is true; I like not the humour
	of lying. He hath wronged me in some humours: I
	should have borne the humoured letter to her; but I
	have a sword and it shall bite upon my necessity.
	He loves your wife; there's the short and the long.
	My name is Corporal Nym; I speak and I avouch; 'tis
	true: my name is Nym and Falstaff loves your wife.
	Adieu. I love not the humour of bread and cheese,
	and there's the humour of it. Adieu.

	[Exit]

PAGE	'The humour of it,' quoth a'! here's a fellow
	frights English out of his wits.

FORD	I will seek out Falstaff.

PAGE	I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.

FORD	If I do find it: well.

PAGE	I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest
	o' the town commended him for a true man.

FORD	'Twas a good sensible fellow: well.

PAGE	How now, Meg!

	[MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward]

MISTRESS PAGE	Whither go you, George? Hark you.

MISTRESS FORD	How now, sweet Frank! why art thou melancholy?

FORD	I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home, go.

MISTRESS FORD	Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head. Now,
	will you go, Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George.

	[Aside to MISTRESS FORD]

	Look who comes yonder: she shall be our messenger
	to this paltry knight.

MISTRESS FORD	[Aside to MISTRESS PAGE]  Trust me, I thought on her:
	she'll fit it.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS PAGE	You are come to see my daughter Anne?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?

MISTRESS PAGE	Go in with us and see: we have an hour's talk with
	you.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

PAGE	How now, Master Ford!

FORD	You heard what this knave told me, did you not?

PAGE	Yes: and you heard what the other told me?

FORD	Do you think there is truth in them?

PAGE	Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would
	offer it: but these that accuse him in his intent
	towards our wives are a yoke of his discarded men;
	very rogues, now they be out of service.

FORD	Were they his men?

PAGE	Marry, were they.

FORD	I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at
	the Garter?

PAGE	Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage
	towards my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and
	what he gets more of her than sharp words, let it
	lie on my head.

FORD	I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to
	turn them together. A man may be too confident: I
	would have nothing lie on my head: I cannot be thus satisfied.

PAGE	Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes:
	there is either liquor in his pate or money in his
	purse when he looks so merrily.

	[Enter Host]

	How now, mine host!

Host	How now, bully-rook! thou'rt a gentleman.
	Cavaleiro-justice, I say!

	[Enter SHALLOW]

SHALLOW	I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and
	twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go
	with us? we have sport in hand.

Host	Tell him, cavaleiro-justice; tell him, bully-rook.

SHALLOW	Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh
	the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.

FORD	Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with you.

	[Drawing him aside]

Host	What sayest thou, my bully-rook?

SHALLOW	[To PAGE]  Will you go with us to behold it? My
	merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons;
	and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places;
	for, believe me, I hear the parson is no jester.
	Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be.

	[They converse apart]

Host	Hast thou no suit against my knight, my
	guest-cavaleire?

FORD	None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle of
	burnt sack to give me recourse to him and tell him
	my name is Brook; only for a jest.

Host	My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress;
	--said I well?--and thy name shall be Brook. It is
	a merry knight. Will you go, An-heires?

SHALLOW	Have with you, mine host.

PAGE	I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in
	his rapier.

SHALLOW	Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these times
	you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and
	I know not what: 'tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis
	here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my long
	sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.

Host	Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag?

PAGE	Have with you. I would rather hear them scold than fight.

	[Exeunt Host, SHALLOW, and PAGE]

FORD	Though Page be a secure fool, an stands so firmly
	on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my
	opinion so easily: she was in his company at Page's
	house; and what they made there, I know not. Well,
	I will look further into't: and I have a disguise
	to sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not
	my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE II	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL]


FALSTAFF	I will not lend thee a penny.

PISTOL	Why, then the world's mine oyster.
	Which I with sword will open.

FALSTAFF	Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should
	lay my countenance to pawn; I have grated upon my
	good friends for three reprieves for you and your
	coach-fellow Nym; or else you had looked through
	the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in
	hell for swearing to gentlemen my friends, you were
	good soldiers and tall fellows; and when Mistress
	Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon
	mine honour thou hadst it not.

PISTOL	Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteen pence?

FALSTAFF	Reason, you rogue, reason: thinkest thou I'll
	endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more
	about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go. A short knife
	and a throng! To your manor of Pickt-hatch! Go.
	You'll not bear a letter for me, you rogue! you
	stand upon your honour! Why, thou unconfinable
	baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the
	terms of my honour precise: I, I, I myself
	sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand
	and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to
	shuffle, to hedge and to lurch; and yet you, rogue,
	will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain
	looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your
	bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your
	honour! You will not do it, you!

PISTOL	I do relent: what would thou more of man?

	[Enter ROBIN]

ROBIN	Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.

FALSTAFF	Let her approach.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Give your worship good morrow.

FALSTAFF	Good morrow, good wife.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Not so, an't please your worship.

FALSTAFF	Good maid, then.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I'll be sworn,
	As my mother was, the first hour I was born.

FALSTAFF	I do believe the swearer. What with me?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?

FALSTAFF	Two thousand, fair woman: and I'll vouchsafe thee
	the hearing.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	There is one Mistress Ford, sir:--I pray, come a
	little nearer this ways:--I myself dwell with master
	Doctor Caius,--

FALSTAFF	Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Your worship says very true: I pray your worship,
	come a little nearer this ways.

FALSTAFF	I warrant thee, nobody hears; mine own people, mine
	own people.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Are they so? God bless them and make them his servants!

FALSTAFF	Well, Mistress Ford; what of her?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord Lord! your
	worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you and all
	of us, I pray!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, this is the short and the long of it; you
	have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis
	wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when the
	court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her
	to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and
	lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches, I warrant
	you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift
	after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so
	rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in
	such alligant terms; and in such wine and sugar of
	the best and the fairest, that would have won any
	woman's heart; and, I warrant you, they could never
	get an eye-wink of her: I had myself twenty angels
	given me this morning; but I defy all angels, in
	any such sort, as they say, but in the way of
	honesty: and, I warrant you, they could never get
	her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of
	them all: and yet there has been earls, nay, which
	is more, pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.

FALSTAFF	But what says she to me? be brief, my good
	she-Mercury.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, she hath received your letter, for the which
	she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you
	to notify that her husband will be absence from his
	house between ten and eleven.

FALSTAFF	Ten and eleven?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see the
	picture, she says, that you wot of: Master Ford,
	her husband, will be from home. Alas! the sweet
	woman leads an ill life with him: he's a very
	jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life with
	him, good heart.

FALSTAFF	Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I will
	not fail her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Why, you say well. But I have another messenger to
	your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty
	commendations to you too: and let me tell you in
	your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, and
	one, I tell you, that will not miss you morning nor
	evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the
	other: and she bade me tell your worship that her
	husband is seldom from home; but she hopes there
	will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote upon
	a man: surely I think you have charms, la; yes, in truth.

FALSTAFF	Not I, I assure thee: setting the attractions of my
	good parts aside I have no other charms.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Blessing on your heart for't!

FALSTAFF	But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and
	Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	That were a jest indeed! they have not so little
	grace, I hope: that were a trick indeed! but
	Mistress Page would desire you to send her your
	little page, of all loves: her husband has a
	marvellous infection to the little page; and truly
	Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in
	Windsor leads a better life than she does: do what
	she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go
	to bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as
	she will: and truly she deserves it; for if there
	be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must
	send her your page; no remedy.

FALSTAFF	Why, I will.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Nay, but do so, then: and, look you, he may come and
	go between you both; and in any case have a
	nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and
	the boy never need to understand any thing; for
	'tis not good that children should know any
	wickedness: old folks, you know, have discretion,
	as they say, and know the world.

FALSTAFF	Fare thee well: commend me to them both: there's
	my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with
	this woman.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY and ROBIN]

	This news distracts me!

PISTOL	This punk is one of Cupid's carriers:
	Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights:
	Give fire: she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all!

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	Sayest thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll make
	more of thy old body than I have done. Will they
	yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense
	of so much money, be now a gainer? Good body, I
	thank thee. Let them say 'tis grossly done; so it be
	fairly done, no matter.

	[Enter BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would fain
	speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath
	sent your worship a morning's draught of sack.

FALSTAFF	Brook is his name?

BARDOLPH	Ay, sir.

FALSTAFF	Call him in.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

	Such Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such
	liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress Ford and Mistress Page
	have I encompassed you? go to; via!

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised]

FORD	Bless you, sir!

FALSTAFF	And you, sir! Would you speak with me?

FORD	I make bold to press with so little preparation upon
	you.

FALSTAFF	You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave, drawer.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

FORD	Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook.

FALSTAFF	Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you.

FORD	Good Sir John, I sue for yours: not to charge you;
	for I must let you understand I think myself in
	better plight for a lender than you are: the which
	hath something embolden'd me to this unseasoned
	intrusion; for they say, if money go before, all
	ways do lie open.

FALSTAFF	Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.

FORD	Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me:
	if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or
	half, for easing me of the carriage.

FALSTAFF	Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter.

FORD	I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing.

FALSTAFF	Speak, good Master Brook: I shall be glad to be
	your servant.

FORD	Sir, I hear you are a scholar,--I will be brief
	with you,--and you have been a man long known to me,
	though I had never so good means, as desire, to make
	myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a
	thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine
	own imperfection: but, good Sir John, as you have
	one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded,
	turn another into the register of your own; that I
	may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you
	yourself know how easy it is to be such an offender.

FALSTAFF	Very well, sir; proceed.

FORD	There is a gentlewoman in this town; her husband's
	name is Ford.

FALSTAFF	Well, sir.

FORD	I have long loved her, and, I protest to you,
	bestowed much on her; followed her with a doting
	observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her;
	fee'd every slight occasion that could but niggardly
	give me sight of her; not only bought many presents
	to give her, but have given largely to many to know
	what she would have given; briefly, I have pursued
	her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the
	wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I have
	merited, either in my mind or, in my means, meed,
	I am sure, I have received none; unless experience
	be a jewel that I have purchased at an infinite
	rate, and that hath taught me to say this:

	'Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
	Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.'

FALSTAFF	Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands?

FORD	Never.

FALSTAFF	Have you importuned her to such a purpose?

FORD	Never.

FALSTAFF	Of what quality was your love, then?

FORD	Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so
	that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place
	where I erected it.

FALSTAFF	To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?

FORD	When I have told you that, I have told you all.
	Some say, that though she appear honest to me, yet in
	other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that
	there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir
	John, here is the heart of my purpose: you are a
	gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable
	discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your
	place and person, generally allowed for your many
	war-like, court-like, and learned preparations.

FALSTAFF	O, sir!

FORD	Believe it, for you know it. There is money; spend
	it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only
	give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as
	to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this
	Ford's wife: use your art of wooing; win her to
	consent to you: if any man may, you may as soon as
	any.

FALSTAFF	Would it apply well to the vehemency of your
	affection, that I should win what you would enjoy?
	Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously.

FORD	O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on
	the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my
	soul dares not present itself: she is too bright to
	be looked against. Now, could I could come to her
	with any detection in my hand, my desires had
	instance and argument to commend themselves: I
	could drive her then from the ward of her purity,
	her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand
	other her defences, which now are too too strongly
	embattled against me. What say you to't, Sir John?

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will first make bold with your
	money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a
	gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife.

FORD	O good sir!

FALSTAFF	I say you shall.

FORD	Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none.

FALSTAFF	Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want
	none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her
	own appointment; even as you came in to me, her
	assistant or go-between parted from me: I say I
	shall be with her between ten and eleven; for at
	that time the jealous rascally knave her husband
	will be forth. Come you to me at night; you shall
	know how I speed.

FORD	I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford,
	sir?

FALSTAFF	Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him not:
	yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the
	jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the
	which his wife seems to me well-favored. I will
	use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer;
	and there's my harvest-home.

FORD	I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him
	if you saw him.

FALSTAFF	Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will
	stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my
	cudgel: it shall hang like a meteor o'er the
	cuckold's horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I
	will predominate over the peasant, and thou shalt
	lie with his wife. Come to me soon at night.
	Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style;
	thou, Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and
	cuckold. Come to me soon at night.

	[Exit]

FORD	What a damned Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is
	ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is
	improvident jealousy? my wife hath sent to him; the
	hour is fixed; the match is made. Would any man
	have thought this? See the hell of having a false
	woman! My bed shall be abused, my coffers
	ransacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not
	only receive this villanous wrong, but stand under
	the adoption of abominable terms, and by him that
	does me this wrong. Terms! names! Amaimon sounds
	well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are
	devils' additions, the names of fiends: but
	Cuckold! Wittol!--Cuckold! the devil himself hath
	not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass: he
	will trust his wife; he will not be jealous. I will
	rather trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh
	the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my
	aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling
	gelding, than my wife with herself; then she plots,
	then she ruminates, then she devises; and what they
	think in their hearts they may effect, they will
	break their hearts but they will effect. God be
	praised for my jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour.
	I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on
	Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it;
	better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
	Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold!

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE III	A field near Windsor.


	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS and RUGBY]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Jack Rugby!

RUGBY	Sir?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat is de clock, Jack?

RUGBY	'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promised to meet.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come; he
	has pray his Pible well, dat he is no come: by gar,
	Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come.

RUGBY	He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill
	him, if he came.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him.
	Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.

RUGBY	Alas, sir, I cannot fence.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Villany, take your rapier.

RUGBY	Forbear; here's company.

	[Enter Host, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE]

Host	Bless thee, bully doctor!

SHALLOW	Save you, Master Doctor Caius!

PAGE	Now, good master doctor!

SLENDER	Give you good morrow, sir.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?

Host	To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee
	traverse; to see thee here, to see thee there; to
	see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy
	distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is
	he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says my
	AEsculapius? my Galen? my heart of elder? ha! is
	he dead, bully stale? is he dead?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de vorld; he
	is not show his face.

Host	Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece, my boy!

DOCTOR CAIUS	I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay six or
	seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come.

SHALLOW	He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is a curer of
	souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should
	fight, you go against the hair of your professions.
	Is it not true, Master Page?

PAGE	Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great
	fighter, though now a man of peace.

SHALLOW	Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old and of
	the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to
	make one. Though we are justices and doctors and
	churchmen, Master Page, we have some salt of our
	youth in us; we are the sons of women, Master Page.

PAGE	'Tis true, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor
	Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am sworn of
	the peace: you have showed yourself a wise
	physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise
	and patient churchman. You must go with me, master doctor.

Host	Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Mock-vater! vat is dat?

Host	Mock-water, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, den, I have as mush mock-vater as de
	Englishman. Scurvy jack-dog priest! by gar, me
	vill cut his ears.

Host	He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat?

Host	That is, he will make thee amends.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me;
	for, by gar, me vill have it.

Host	And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Me tank you for dat.

Host	And, moreover, bully,--but first, master guest, and
	Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender, go you
	through the town to Frogmore.

	[Aside to them]

PAGE	Sir Hugh is there, is he?

Host	He is there: see what humour he is in; and I will
	bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?

SHALLOW	We will do it.


PAGE	|
	|
SHALLOW	|  Adieu, good master doctor.
	|
SLENDER	|


	[Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a
	jack-an-ape to Anne Page.

Host	Let him die: sheathe thy impatience, throw cold
	water on thy choler: go about the fields with me
	through Frogmore: I will bring thee where Mistress
	Anne Page is, at a farm-house a-feasting; and thou
	shalt woo her. Cried I aim? said I well?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me dank you for dat: by gar, I love you;
	and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl,
	de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients.

Host	For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne
	Page. Said I well?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, 'tis good; vell said.

Host	Let us wag, then.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Come at my heels, Jack Rugby.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE I	A field near Frogmore.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you now, good master Slender's serving-man,
	and friend Simple by your name, which way have you
	looked for Master Caius, that calls himself doctor of physic?

SIMPLE	Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward, every
	way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town
	way.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I most fehemently desire you you will also look that
	way.

SIMPLE	I will, sir.

	[Exit]

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and
	trempling of mind! I shall be glad if he have
	deceived me. How melancholies I am! I will knog
	his urinals about his knave's costard when I have
	good opportunities for the ork. 'Pless my soul!

	[Sings]

	To shallow rivers, to whose falls
	Melodious birds sings madrigals;
	There will we make our peds of roses,
	And a thousand fragrant posies.
	To shallow--

	Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.

	[Sings]

	Melodious birds sing madrigals--
	When as I sat in Pabylon--
	And a thousand vagram posies.
	To shallow &c.

	[Re-enter SIMPLE]

SIMPLE	Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.

SIR HUGH EVANS	He's welcome.

	[Sings]

	To shallow rivers, to whose falls-
	Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?

SIMPLE	No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master
	Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over
	the stile, this way.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it in your arms.

	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

SHALLOW	How now, master Parson! Good morrow, good Sir Hugh.
	Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student
	from his book, and it is wonderful.

SLENDER	[Aside]  Ah, sweet Anne Page!

PAGE	'Save you, good Sir Hugh!

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!

SHALLOW	What, the sword and the word! do you study them
	both, master parson?

PAGE	And youthful still! in your doublet and hose this
	raw rheumatic day!

SIR HUGH EVANS	There is reasons and causes for it.

PAGE	We are come to you to do a good office, master parson.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Fery well: what is it?

PAGE	Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike
	having received wrong by some person, is at most
	odds with his own gravity and patience that ever you
	saw.

SHALLOW	I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
	heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, so
	wide of his own respect.

SIR HUGH EVANS	What is he?

PAGE	I think you know him; Master Doctor Caius, the
	renowned French physician.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as
	lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.

PAGE	Why?

SIR HUGH EVANS	He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen,
	--and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave as you
	would desires to be acquainted withal.

PAGE	I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

SHALLOW	[Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!

SHALLOW	It appears so by his weapons. Keep them asunder:
	here comes Doctor Caius.

	[Enter Host, DOCTOR CAIUS, and RUGBY]

PAGE	Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon.

SHALLOW	So do you, good master doctor.

Host	Disarm them, and let them question: let them keep
	their limbs whole and hack our English.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.
	Vherefore vill you not meet-a me?

SIR HUGH EVANS	[Aside to DOCTOR CAIUS]  Pray you, use your patience:
	in good time.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

SIR HUGH EVANS	[Aside to DOCTOR CAIUS]  Pray you let us not be
	laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you
	in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.

	[Aloud]

	I will knog your urinals about your knave's cockscomb
	for missing your meetings and appointments.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Diable! Jack Rugby,--mine host de Jarteer,--have I
	not stay for him to kill him? have I not, at de place
	I did appoint?

SIR HUGH EVANS	As I am a Christians soul now, look you, this is the
	place appointed: I'll be judgement by mine host of
	the Garter.

Host	Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,
	soul-curer and body-curer!

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, dat is very good; excellent.

Host	Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter. Am I
	politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I
	lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions and the
	motions. Shall I lose my parson, my priest, my Sir
	Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the
	no-verbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so. Give me
	thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have
	deceived you both; I have directed you to wrong
	places: your hearts are mighty, your skins are
	whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay
	their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace;
	follow, follow, follow.

SHALLOW	Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.

SLENDER	[Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!

	[Exeunt SHALLOW, SLENDER, PAGE, and Host]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ha, do I perceive dat? have you make-a de sot of
	us, ha, ha?

SIR HUGH EVANS	This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I
	desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog
	our prains together to be revenge on this same
	scall, scurvy cogging companion, the host of the Garter.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me
	where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you, follow.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE II	A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were wont to
	be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether
	had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?

ROBIN	I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man
	than follow him like a dwarf.

MISTRESS PAGE	O, you are a flattering boy: now I see you'll be a courtier.

	[Enter FORD]

FORD	Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?

MISTRESS PAGE	Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?

FORD	Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want
	of company. I think, if your husbands were dead,
	you two would marry.

MISTRESS PAGE	Be sure of that,--two other husbands.

FORD	Where had you this pretty weather-cock?

MISTRESS PAGE	I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my
	husband had him of. What do you call your knight's
	name, sirrah?

ROBIN	Sir John Falstaff.

FORD	Sir John Falstaff!

MISTRESS PAGE	He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such a
	league between my good man and he! Is your wife at
	home indeed?

FORD	Indeed she is.

MISTRESS PAGE	By your leave, sir: I am sick till I see her.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

FORD	Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? hath he any
	thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them.
	Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as
	easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve
	score. He pieces out his wife's inclination; he
	gives her folly motion and advantage: and now she's
	going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A
	man may hear this shower sing in the wind. And
	Falstaff's boy with her! Good plots, they are laid;
	and our revolted wives share damnation together.
	Well; I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck
	the borrowed veil of modesty from the so seeming
	Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure and
	wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings all
	my neighbours shall cry aim.

	[Clock heard]

	The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me
	search: there I shall find Falstaff: I shall be
	rather praised for this than mocked; for it is as
	positive as the earth is firm that Falstaff is
	there: I will go.

	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, Host,
	SIR HUGH EVANS, DOCTOR CAIUS, and RUGBY]


SHALLOW	|
	|
PAGE	|  Well met, Master Ford.
	|
&C	|


FORD	Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer at home;
	and I pray you all go with me.

SHALLOW	I must excuse myself, Master Ford.

SLENDER	And so must I, sir: we have appointed to dine with
	Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for
	more money than I'll speak of.

SHALLOW	We have lingered about a match between Anne Page and
	my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have our answer.

SLENDER	I hope I have your good will, father Page.

PAGE	You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you:
	but my wife, master doctor, is for you altogether.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me: my nursh-a
	Quickly tell me so mush.

Host	What say you to young Master Fenton? he capers, he
	dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he
	speaks holiday, he smells April and May: he will
	carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his buttons; he
	will carry't.

PAGE	Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is
	of no having: he kept company with the wild prince
	and Poins; he is of too high a region; he knows too
	much. No, he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes
	with the finger of my substance: if he take her,
	let him take her simply; the wealth I have waits on
	my consent, and my consent goes not that way.

FORD	I beseech you heartily, some of you go home with me
	to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have
	sport; I will show you a monster. Master doctor,
	you shall go; so shall you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.

SHALLOW	Well, fare you well: we shall have the freer wooing
	at Master Page's.

	[Exeunt SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.

	[Exit RUGBY]

Host	Farewell, my hearts: I will to my honest knight
	Falstaff, and drink canary with him.

	[Exit]

FORD	[Aside]  I think I shall drink in pipe wine first
	with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?

All	Have with you to see this monster.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE III	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS FORD	What, John! What, Robert!

MISTRESS PAGE	Quickly, quickly! is the buck-basket--

MISTRESS FORD	I warrant. What, Robin, I say!

	[Enter Servants with a basket]

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, come, come.

MISTRESS FORD	Here, set it down.

MISTRESS PAGE	Give your men the charge; we must be brief.

MISTRESS FORD	Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be
	ready here hard by in the brew-house: and when I
	suddenly call you, come forth, and without any pause
	or staggering take this basket on your shoulders:
	that done, trudge with it in all haste, and carry
	it among the whitsters in Datchet-mead, and there
	empty it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames side.

MISTRESS PAGE	You will do it?

MISTRESS FORD	I ha' told them over and over; they lack no
	direction. Be gone, and come when you are called.

	[Exeunt Servants]

MISTRESS PAGE	Here comes little Robin.

	[Enter ROBIN]

MISTRESS FORD	How now, my eyas-musket! what news with you?

ROBIN	My master, Sir John, is come in at your back-door,
	Mistress Ford, and requests your company.

MISTRESS PAGE	You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?

ROBIN	Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your
	being here and hath threatened to put me into
	everlasting liberty if I tell you of it; for he
	swears he'll turn me away.

MISTRESS PAGE	Thou'rt a good boy: this secrecy of thine shall be
	a tailor to thee and shall make thee a new doublet
	and hose. I'll go hide me.

MISTRESS FORD	Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone.

	[Exit ROBIN]

	Mistress Page, remember you your cue.

MISTRESS PAGE	I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.

	[Exit]

MISTRESS FORD	Go to, then: we'll use this unwholesome humidity,
	this gross watery pumpion; we'll teach him to know
	turtles from jays.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let
	me die, for I have lived long enough: this is the
	period of my ambition: O this blessed hour!

MISTRESS FORD	O sweet Sir John!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
	Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I would
	thy husband were dead: I'll speak it before the
	best lord; I would make thee my lady.

MISTRESS FORD	I your lady, Sir John! alas, I should be a pitiful lady!

FALSTAFF	Let the court of France show me such another. I see
	how thine eye would emulate the diamond: thou hast
	the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the
	ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of
	Venetian admittance.

MISTRESS FORD	A plain kerchief, Sir John: my brows become nothing
	else; nor that well neither.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so: thou
	wouldst make an absolute courtier; and the firm
	fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion
	to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale. I see
	what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, Nature
	thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it.

MISTRESS FORD	Believe me, there is no such thing in me.

FALSTAFF	What made me love thee? let that persuade thee
	there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I
	cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a
	many of these lisping hawthorn-buds, that come like
	women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury
	in simple time; I cannot: but I love thee; none
	but thee; and thou deservest it.

MISTRESS FORD	Do not betray me, sir. I fear you love Mistress Page.

FALSTAFF	Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the
	Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek
	of a lime-kiln.

MISTRESS FORD	Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you shall one
	day find it.

FALSTAFF	Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not
	be in that mind.

ROBIN	[Within]  Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's
	Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and
	looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

FALSTAFF	She shall not see me: I will ensconce me behind the arras.

MISTRESS FORD	Pray you, do so: she's a very tattling woman.

	[FALSTAFF hides himself]

	[Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

	What's the matter? how now!

MISTRESS PAGE	O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're shamed,
	you're overthrown, you're undone for ever!

MISTRESS FORD	What's the matter, good Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	O well-a-day, Mistress Ford! having an honest man
	to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!

MISTRESS FORD	What cause of suspicion?

MISTRESS PAGE	What cause of suspicion! Out pon you! how am I
	mistook in you!

MISTRESS FORD	Why, alas, what's the matter?

MISTRESS PAGE	Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all the
	officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that
	he says is here now in the house by your consent, to
	take an ill advantage of his assence: you are undone.

MISTRESS FORD	'Tis not so, I hope.

MISTRESS PAGE	Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such a man
	here! but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,
	with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a
	one. I come before to tell you. If you know
	yourself clear, why, I am glad of it; but if you
	have a friend here convey, convey him out. Be not
	amazed; call all your senses to you; defend your
	reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever.

MISTRESS FORD	What shall I do? There is a gentleman my dear
	friend; and I fear not mine own shame so much as his
	peril: I had rather than a thousand pound he were
	out of the house.

MISTRESS PAGE	For shame! never stand 'you had rather' and 'you
	had rather:' your husband's here at hand, bethink
	you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot
	hide him. O, how have you deceived me! Look, here
	is a basket: if he be of any reasonable stature, he
	may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as
	if it were going to bucking: or--it is whiting-time
	--send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.

MISTRESS FORD	He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?

FALSTAFF	[Coming forward]  Let me see't, let me see't, O, let
	me see't! I'll in, I'll in. Follow your friend's
	counsel. I'll in.

MISTRESS PAGE	What, Sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?

FALSTAFF	I love thee. Help me away. Let me creep in here.
	I'll never--

	[Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]

MISTRESS PAGE	Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,
	Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!

MISTRESS FORD	What, John! Robert! John!

	[Exit ROBIN]

	[Re-enter Servants]

	Go take up these clothes here quickly. Where's the
	cowl-staff? look, how you drumble! Carry them to
	the laundress in Datchet-meat; quickly, come.

	[Enter FORD, PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause,
	why then make sport at me; then let me be your jest;
	I deserve it. How now! whither bear you this?

Servant	To the laundress, forsooth.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? You
	were best meddle with buck-washing.

FORD	Buck! I would I could wash myself of the buck!
	Buck, buck, buck! Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck;
	and of the season too, it shall appear.

	[Exeunt Servants with the basket]

	Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my
	dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my
	chambers; search, seek, find out: I'll warrant
	we'll unkennel the fox. Let me stop this way first.

	[Locking the door]

	So, now uncape.

PAGE	Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much.

FORD	True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen: you shall see
	sport anon: follow me, gentlemen.

	[Exit]

SIR HUGH EVANS	This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not
	jealous in France.

PAGE	Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search.

	[Exeunt PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Is there not a double excellency in this?

MISTRESS FORD	I know not which pleases me better, that my husband
	is deceived, or Sir John.

MISTRESS PAGE	What a taking was he in when your husband asked who
	was in the basket!

MISTRESS FORD	I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so
	throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the same
	strain were in the same distress.

MISTRESS FORD	I think my husband hath some special suspicion of
	Falstaff's being here; for I never saw him so gross
	in his jealousy till now.

MISTRESS PAGE	I will lay a plot to try that; and we will yet have
	more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute disease will
	scarce obey this medicine.

MISTRESS FORD	Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress
	Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the
	water; and give him another hope, to betray him to
	another punishment?

MISTRESS PAGE	We will do it: let him be sent for to-morrow,
	eight o'clock, to have amends.

	[Re-enter FORD, PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	I cannot find him: may be the knave bragged of that
	he could not compass.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Aside to MISTRESS FORD]  Heard you that?

MISTRESS FORD	You use me well, Master Ford, do you?

FORD	Ay, I do so.

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven make you better than your thoughts!

FORD	Amen!

MISTRESS PAGE	You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.

FORD	Ay, ay; I must bear it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	If there be any pody in the house, and in the
	chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses,
	heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment!

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, nor I too: there is no bodies.

PAGE	Fie, fie, Master Ford! are you not ashamed? What
	spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I
	would not ha' your distemper in this kind for the
	wealth of Windsor Castle.

FORD	'Tis my fault, Master Page: I suffer for it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife is as
	honest a 'omans as I will desires among five
	thousand, and five hundred too.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.

FORD	Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in
	the Park: I pray you, pardon me; I will hereafter
	make known to you why I have done this. Come,
	wife; come, Mistress Page. I pray you, pardon me;
	pray heartily, pardon me.

PAGE	Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock
	him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house
	to breakfast: after, we'll a-birding together; I
	have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so?

FORD	Any thing.

SIR HUGH EVANS	If there is one, I shall make two in the company.

DOCTOR CAIUS	If dere be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.

FORD	Pray you, go, Master Page.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you now, remembrance tomorrow on the lousy
	knave, mine host.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart!

SIR HUGH EVANS	A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE IV	A room in PAGE'S house.


	[Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE]

FENTON	I see I cannot get thy father's love;
	Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.

ANNE PAGE	Alas, how then?

FENTON	                  Why, thou must be thyself.
	He doth object I am too great of birth--,
	And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,
	I seek to heal it only by his wealth:
	Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
	My riots past, my wild societies;
	And tells me 'tis a thing impossible
	I should love thee but as a property.

ANNE PAGE	May be he tells you true.

FENTON	No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
	Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth
	Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne:
	Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
	Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags;
	And 'tis the very riches of thyself
	That now I aim at.

ANNE PAGE	                  Gentle Master Fenton,
	Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir:
	If opportunity and humblest suit
	Cannot attain it, why, then,--hark you hither!

	[They converse apart]

	[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

SHALLOW	Break their talk, Mistress Quickly: my kinsman shall
	speak for himself.

SLENDER	I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: 'slid, 'tis but
	venturing.

SHALLOW	Be not dismayed.

SLENDER	No, she shall not dismay me: I care not for that,
	but that I am afeard.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Hark ye; Master Slender would speak a word with you.

ANNE PAGE	I come to him.

	[Aside]

	This is my father's choice.
	O, what a world of vile ill-favor'd faults
	Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a-year!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you.

SHALLOW	She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father!

SLENDER	I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell you
	good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress
	Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of
	a pen, good uncle.

SHALLOW	Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.

SLENDER	Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in
	Gloucestershire.

SHALLOW	He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.

SLENDER	Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the
	degree of a squire.

SHALLOW	He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure.

ANNE PAGE	Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.

SHALLOW	Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that good
	comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave you.

ANNE PAGE	Now, Master Slender,--

SLENDER	Now, good Mistress Anne,--

ANNE PAGE	What is your will?

SLENDER	My will! 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest
	indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I
	am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.

ANNE PAGE	I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?

SLENDER	Truly, for mine own part, I would little or nothing
	with you. Your father and my uncle hath made
	motions: if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be
	his dole! They can tell you how things go better
	than I can: you may ask your father; here he comes.

	[Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE]

PAGE	Now, Master Slender: love him, daughter Anne.
	Why, how now! what does Master Fenton here?
	You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house:
	I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of.

FENTON	Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.

MISTRESS PAGE	Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.

PAGE	She is no match for you.

FENTON	Sir, will you hear me?

PAGE	No, good Master Fenton.
	Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, in.
	Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.

	[Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Speak to Mistress Page.

FENTON	Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
	In such a righteous fashion as I do,
	Perforce, against all cheques, rebukes and manners,
	I must advance the colours of my love
	And not retire: let me have your good will.

ANNE PAGE	Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.

MISTRESS PAGE	I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	That's my master, master doctor.

ANNE PAGE	Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth
	And bowl'd to death with turnips!

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master Fenton,
	I will not be your friend nor enemy:
	My daughter will I question how she loves you,
	And as I find her, so am I affected.
	Till then farewell, sir: she must needs go in;
	Her father will be angry.

FENTON	Farewell, gentle mistress: farewell, Nan.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE and ANNE PAGE]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	This is my doing, now: 'Nay,' said I, 'will you cast
	away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on
	Master Fenton:' this is my doing.

FENTON	I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night
	Give my sweet Nan this ring: there's for thy pains.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Now heaven send thee good fortune!

	[Exit FENTON]

	A kind heart he hath: a woman would run through
	fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I
	would my master had Mistress Anne; or I would
	Master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would Master
	Fenton had her; I will do what I can for them all
	three; for so I have promised, and I'll be as good
	as my word; but speciously for Master Fenton. Well,
	I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff from
	my two mistresses: what a beast am I to slack it!

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE V	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, I say,--

BARDOLPH	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in't.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

	Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a
	barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the
	Thames? Well, if I be served such another trick,
	I'll have my brains ta'en out and buttered, and give
	them to a dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues
	slighted me into the river with as little remorse as
	they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies,
	fifteen i' the litter: and you may know by my size
	that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the
	bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had
	been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and
	shallow,--a death that I abhor; for the water swells
	a man; and what a thing should I have been when I
	had been swelled! I should have been a mountain of mummy.

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH with sack]

BARDOLPH	Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you.

FALSTAFF	Let me pour in some sack to the Thames water; for my
	belly's as cold as if I had swallowed snowballs for
	pills to cool the reins. Call her in.

BARDOLPH	Come in, woman!

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By your leave; I cry you mercy: give your worship
	good morrow.

FALSTAFF	Take away these chalices. Go brew me a pottle of
	sack finely.

BARDOLPH	With eggs, sir?

FALSTAFF	Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]
	How now!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress Ford.

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was thrown
	into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Alas the day! good heart, that was not her fault:
	she does so take on with her men; they mistook their erection.

FALSTAFF	So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn
	your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning
	a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her
	between eight and nine: I must carry her word
	quickly: she'll make you amends, I warrant you.

FALSTAFF	Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and bid her
	think what a man is: let her consider his frailty,
	and then judge of my merit.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I will tell her.

FALSTAFF	Do so. Between nine and ten, sayest thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Eight and nine, sir.

FALSTAFF	Well, be gone: I will not miss her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Peace be with you, sir.

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me word
	to stay within: I like his money well. O, here he comes.

	[Enter FORD]

FORD	Bless you, sir!

FALSTAFF	Now, master Brook, you come to know what hath passed
	between me and Ford's wife?

FORD	That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will not lie to you: I was at her
	house the hour she appointed me.

FORD	And sped you, sir?

FALSTAFF	Very ill-favoredly, Master Brook.

FORD	How so, sir? Did she change her determination?

FALSTAFF	No, Master Brook; but the peaking Cornuto her
	husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual
	'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our
	encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested,
	and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy;
	and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither
	provoked and instigated by his distemper, and,
	forsooth, to search his house for his wife's love.

FORD	What, while you were there?

FALSTAFF	While I was there.

FORD	And did he search for you, and could not find you?

FALSTAFF	You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes
	in one Mistress Page; gives intelligence of Ford's
	approach; and, in her invention and Ford's wife's
	distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.

FORD	A buck-basket!

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed me in with foul
	shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy
	napkins; that, Master Brook, there was the rankest
	compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril.

FORD	And how long lay you there?

FALSTAFF	Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have
	suffered to bring this woman to evil for your good.
	Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's
	knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their
	mistress to carry me in the name of foul clothes to
	Datchet-lane: they took me on their shoulders; met
	the jealous knave their master in the door, who
	asked them once or twice what they had in their
	basket: I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave
	would have searched it; but fate, ordaining he
	should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well: on went he
	for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But
	mark the sequel, Master Brook: I suffered the pangs
	of three several deaths; first, an intolerable
	fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten
	bell-wether; next, to be compassed, like a good
	bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to
	point, heel to head; and then, to be stopped in,
	like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes
	that fretted in their own grease: think of that,--a
	man of my kidney,--think of that,--that am as subject
	to heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution
	and thaw: it was a miracle to scape suffocation.
	And in the height of this bath, when I was more than
	half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be
	thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot,
	in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of
	that,--hissing hot,--think of that, Master Brook.

FORD	In good sadness, I am sorry that for my sake you
	have sufferd all this. My suit then is desperate;
	you'll undertake her no more?

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I have
	been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her
	husband is this morning gone a-birding: I have
	received from her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt
	eight and nine is the hour, Master Brook.

FORD	'Tis past eight already, sir.

FALSTAFF	Is it? I will then address me to my appointment.
	Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall
	know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be
	crowned with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall
	have her, Master Brook; Master Brook, you shall
	cuckold Ford.

	[Exit]

FORD	Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? do I
	sleep? Master Ford awake! awake, Master Ford!
	there's a hole made in your best coat, Master Ford.
	This 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have linen
	and buck-baskets! Well, I will proclaim myself
	what I am: I will now take the lecher; he is at my
	house; he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he
	should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse,
	nor into a pepper-box: but, lest the devil that
	guides him should aid him, I will search
	impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid,
	yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame:
	if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go
	with me: I'll be horn-mad.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE I	A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and
	WILLIAM PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sure he is by this, or will be presently: but,
	truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing
	into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.

MISTRESS PAGE	I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my young
	man here to school. Look, where his master comes;
	'tis a playing-day, I see.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS]

	How now, Sir Hugh! no school to-day?

SIR HUGH EVANS	No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Blessing of his heart!

MISTRESS PAGE	Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits nothing in
	the world at his book. I pray you, ask him some
	questions in his accidence.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.

MISTRESS PAGE	Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your
	master, be not afraid.

SIR HUGH EVANS	William, how many numbers is in nouns?

WILLIAM PAGE	Two.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Truly, I thought there had been one number more,
	because they say, ''Od's nouns.'

SIR HUGH EVANS	Peace your tattlings! What is 'fair,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	Pulcher.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Polecats! there are fairer things than polecats, sure.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You are a very simplicity 'oman: I pray you peace.
	What is 'lapis,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	A stone.

SIR HUGH EVANS	And what is 'a stone,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	A pebble.

SIR HUGH EVANS	No, it is 'lapis:' I pray you, remember in your prain.

WILLIAM PAGE	Lapis.

SIR HUGH EVANS	That is a good William. What is he, William, that
	does lend articles?

WILLIAM PAGE	Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be thus
	declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hic, haec, hoc.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark:
	genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?

WILLIAM PAGE	Accusativo, hinc.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you, have your remembrance, child,
	accusative, hung, hang, hog.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the focative
	case, William?

WILLIAM PAGE	O,--vocativo, O.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Remember, William; focative is caret.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And that's a good root.

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Oman, forbear.

MISTRESS PAGE	Peace!

SIR HUGH EVANS	What is your genitive case plural, William?

WILLIAM PAGE	Genitive case!

SIR HUGH EVANS	Ay.

WILLIAM PAGE	Genitive,--horum, harum, horum.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her! never name
	her, child, if she be a whore.

SIR HUGH EVANS	For shame, 'oman.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	You do ill to teach the child such words: he
	teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do
	fast enough of themselves, and to call 'horum:' fie upon you!

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no
	understandings for thy cases and the numbers of the
	genders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures as
	I would desires.

MISTRESS PAGE	Prithee, hold thy peace.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns.

WILLIAM PAGE	Forsooth, I have forgot.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is qui, quae, quod: if you forget your 'quies,'
	your 'quaes,' and your 'quods,' you must be
	preeches. Go your ways, and play; go.

MISTRESS PAGE	He is a better scholar than I thought he was.

SIR HUGH EVANS	He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.

MISTRESS PAGE	Adieu, good Sir Hugh.

	[Exit SIR HUGH EVANS]

	Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE II	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD]

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my
	sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love,
	and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not
	only, Mistress Ford, in the simple
	office of love, but in all the accoutrement,
	complement and ceremony of it. But are you
	sure of your husband now?

MISTRESS FORD	He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Within]  What, ho, gossip Ford! what, ho!

MISTRESS FORD	Step into the chamber, Sir John.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	How now, sweetheart! who's at home besides yourself?

MISTRESS FORD	Why, none but mine own people.

MISTRESS PAGE	Indeed!

MISTRESS FORD	No, certainly.

	[Aside to her]

	Speak louder.

MISTRESS PAGE	Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.

MISTRESS FORD	Why?

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again:
	he so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails
	against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's
	daughters, of what complexion soever; and so buffets
	himself on the forehead, crying, 'Peer out, peer
	out!' that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but
	tameness, civility and patience, to this his
	distemper he is in now: I am glad the fat knight is not here.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, does he talk of him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Of none but him; and swears he was carried out, the
	last time he searched for him, in a basket; protests
	to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and
	the rest of their company from their sport, to make
	another experiment of his suspicion: but I am glad
	the knight is not here; now he shall see his own foolery.

MISTRESS FORD	How near is he, Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	Hard by; at street end; he will be here anon.

MISTRESS FORD	I am undone! The knight is here.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why then you are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead
	man. What a woman are you!--Away with him, away
	with him! better shame than murder.

FORD	Which way should be go? how should I bestow him?
	Shall I put him into the basket again?

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I not go
	out ere he come?

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the door
	with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise
	you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?

FALSTAFF	What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney.

MISTRESS FORD	There they always use to discharge their
	birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole.

FALSTAFF	Where is it?

MISTRESS FORD	He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,
	coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an
	abstract for the remembrance of such places, and
	goes to them by his note: there is no hiding you in the house.

FALSTAFF	I'll go out then.

MISTRESS PAGE	If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir
	John. Unless you go out disguised--

MISTRESS FORD	How might we disguise him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's gown
	big enough for him otherwise he might put on a hat,
	a muffler and a kerchief, and so escape.

FALSTAFF	Good hearts, devise something: any extremity rather
	than a mischief.

MISTRESS FORD	My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a
	gown above.

MISTRESS PAGE	On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he
	is: and there's her thrummed hat and her muffler
	too. Run up, Sir John.

MISTRESS FORD	Go, go, sweet Sir John: Mistress Page and I will
	look some linen for your head.

MISTRESS PAGE	Quick, quick! we'll come dress you straight: put
	on the gown the while.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

MISTRESS FORD	I would my husband would meet him in this shape: he
	cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he swears
	she's a witch; forbade her my house and hath
	threatened to beat her.

MISTRESS PAGE	Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the
	devil guide his cudgel afterwards!

MISTRESS FORD	But is my husband coming?

MISTRESS PAGE	Ah, in good sadness, is he; and talks of the basket
	too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.

MISTRESS FORD	We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry the
	basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as
	they did last time.

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, but he'll be here presently: let's go dress him
	like the witch of Brentford.

MISTRESS FORD	I'll first direct my men what they shall do with the
	basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight.

	[Exit]

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse him enough.
	We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
	Wives may be merry, and yet honest too:
	We do not act that often jest and laugh;
	'Tis old, but true, Still swine eat all the draff.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter MISTRESS FORD with two Servants]

MISTRESS FORD	Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders:
	your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it
	down, obey him: quickly, dispatch.

	[Exit]

First Servant	Come, come, take it up.

Second Servant	Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.

First Servant	I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead.

	[Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any
	way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket,
	villain! Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket!
	O you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging, a
	pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the devil
	be shamed. What, wife, I say! Come, come forth!
	Behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching!

PAGE	Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go
	loose any longer; you must be pinioned.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad dog!

SHALLOW	Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.

FORD	So say I too, sir.

	[Re-enter MISTRESS FORD]

	Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford the honest
	woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that
	hath the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect
	without cause, mistress, do I?

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven be my witness you do, if you suspect me in
	any dishonesty.

FORD	Well said, brazen-face! hold it out. Come forth, sirrah!

	[Pulling clothes out of the basket]

PAGE	This passes!

MISTRESS FORD	Are you not ashamed? let the clothes alone.

FORD	I shall find you anon.

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your wife's
	clothes? Come away.

FORD	Empty the basket, I say!

MISTRESS FORD	Why, man, why?

FORD	Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed
	out of my house yesterday in this basket: why may
	not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is:
	my intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.
	Pluck me out all the linen.

MISTRESS FORD	If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's death.

PAGE	Here's no man.

SHALLOW	By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this
	wrongs you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the
	imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies.

FORD	Well, he's not here I seek for.

PAGE	No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.

FORD	Help to search my house this one time. If I find
	not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let
	me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of
	me, 'As jealous as Ford, Chat searched a hollow
	walnut for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me once more;
	once more search with me.

MISTRESS FORD	What, ho, Mistress Page! come you and the old woman
	down; my husband will come into the chamber.

FORD	Old woman! what old woman's that?

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford.

FORD	A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not
	forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does
	she? We are simple men; we do not know what's
	brought to pass under the profession of
	fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells,
	by the figure, and such daubery as this is, beyond
	our element we know nothing. Come down, you witch,
	you hag, you; come down, I say!

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, good, sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let him
	not strike the old woman.

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and
	MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.

FORD	I'll prat her.

	[Beating him]

	Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you
	polecat, you runyon! out, out! I'll conjure you,
	I'll fortune-tell you.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

MISTRESS PAGE	Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the
	poor woman.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.

FORD	Hang her, witch!

SIR HUGH EVANS	By the yea and no, I think the 'oman is a witch
	indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard;
	I spy a great peard under his muffler.

FORD	Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, follow;
	see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry out thus
	upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.

PAGE	Let's obey his humour a little further: come,
	gentlemen.

	[Exeunt FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he beat him most
	unpitifully, methought.

MISTRESS PAGE	I'll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o'er the
	altar; it hath done meritorious service.

MISTRESS FORD	What think you? may we, with the warrant of
	womanhood and the witness of a good conscience,
	pursue him with any further revenge?

MISTRESS PAGE	The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared out of
	him: if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with
	fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the
	way of waste, attempt us again.

MISTRESS FORD	Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the
	figures out of your husband's brains. If they can
	find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight
	shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be
	the ministers.

MISTRESS FORD	I'll warrant they'll have him publicly shamed: and
	methinks there would be no period to the jest,
	should he not be publicly shamed.

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, to the forge with it then; shape it: I would
	not have things cool.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter Host and BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your
	horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at
	court, and they are going to meet him.

Host	What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear
	not of him in the court. Let me speak with the
	gentlemen: they speak English?

BARDOLPH	Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.

Host	They shall have my horses; but I'll make them pay;
	I'll sauce them: they have had my house a week at
	command; I have turned away my other guests: they
	must come off; I'll sauce them. Come.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD,
	and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Tis one of the best discretions of a 'oman as ever
	I did look upon.

PAGE	And did he send you both these letters at an instant?

MISTRESS PAGE	Within a quarter of an hour.

FORD	Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou wilt;
	I rather will suspect the sun with cold
	Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour stand
	In him that was of late an heretic,
	As firm as faith.

PAGE	'Tis well, 'tis well; no more:
	Be not as extreme in submission
	As in offence.
	But let our plot go forward: let our wives
	Yet once again, to make us public sport,
	Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
	Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.

FORD	There is no better way than that they spoke of.

PAGE	How? to send him word they'll meet him in the park
	at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You say he has been thrown in the rivers and has
	been grievously peaten as an old 'oman: methinks
	there should be terrors in him that he should not
	come; methinks his flesh is punished, he shall have
	no desires.

PAGE	So think I too.

MISTRESS FORD	Devise but how you'll use him when he comes,
	And let us two devise to bring him thither.

MISTRESS PAGE	There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,
	Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
	Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
	Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
	And there he blasts the tree and takes the cattle
	And makes milch-kine yield blood and shakes a chain
	In a most hideous and dreadful manner:
	You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
	The superstitious idle-headed eld
	Received and did deliver to our age
	This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.

PAGE	Why, yet there want not many that do fear
	In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak:
	But what of this?

MISTRESS FORD	                  Marry, this is our device;
	That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us.

PAGE	Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come:
	And in this shape when you have brought him thither,
	What shall be done with him? what is your plot?

MISTRESS PAGE	That likewise have we thought upon, and thus:
	Nan Page my daughter and my little son
	And three or four more of their growth we'll dress
	Like urchins, ouphes and fairies, green and white,
	With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
	And rattles in their hands: upon a sudden,
	As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met,
	Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
	With some diffused song: upon their sight,
	We two in great amazedness will fly:
	Then let them all encircle him about
	And, fairy-like, to-pinch the unclean knight,
	And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,
	In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
	In shape profane.

MISTRESS FORD	                  And till he tell the truth,
	Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound
	And burn him with their tapers.

MISTRESS PAGE	The truth being known,
	We'll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit,
	And mock him home to Windsor.

FORD	The children must
	Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I will teach the children their behaviors; and I
	will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the
	knight with my taber.

FORD	That will be excellent. I'll go and buy them vizards.

MISTRESS PAGE	My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies,
	Finely attired in a robe of white.

PAGE	That silk will I go buy.

	[Aside]

		   And in that time
	Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away
	And marry her at Eton. Go send to Falstaff straight.

FORD	Nay I'll to him again in name of Brook
	He'll tell me all his purpose: sure, he'll come.

MISTRESS PAGE	Fear not you that. Go get us properties
	And tricking for our fairies.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Let us about it: it is admirable pleasures and fery
	honest knaveries.

	[Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Go, Mistress Ford,
	Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind.

	[Exit MISTRESS FORD]

	I'll to the doctor: he hath my good will,
	And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
	That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;
	And he my husband best of all affects.
	The doctor is well money'd, and his friends
	Potent at court: he, none but he, shall have her,
	Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE V	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter Host and SIMPLE]

Host	What wouldst thou have, boor? what: thick-skin?
	speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.

SIMPLE	Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff
	from Master Slender.

Host	There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his
	standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about
	with the story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go
	knock and call; hell speak like an Anthropophaginian
	unto thee: knock, I say.

SIMPLE	There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into his
	chamber: I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come
	down; I come to speak with her, indeed.

Host	Ha! a fat woman! the knight may be robbed: I'll
	call. Bully knight! bully Sir John! speak from
	thy lungs military: art thou there? it is thine
	host, thine Ephesian, calls.

FALSTAFF	[Above]  How now, mine host!

Host	Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of
	thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her
	descend; my chambers are honourable: fie! privacy?
	fie!

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with
	me; but she's gone.

SIMPLE	Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
	Brentford?

FALSTAFF	Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell: what would you with her?

SIMPLE	My master, sir, Master Slender, sent to her, seeing
	her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether
	one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the
	chain or no.

FALSTAFF	I spake with the old woman about it.

SIMPLE	And what says she, I pray, sir?

FALSTAFF	Marry, she says that the very same man that
	beguiled Master Slender of his chain cozened him of
	it.

SIMPLE	I would I could have spoken with the woman herself;
	I had other things to have spoken with her too from
	him.

FALSTAFF	What are they? let us know.

Host	Ay, come; quick.

SIMPLE	I may not conceal them, sir.

Host	Conceal them, or thou diest.

SIMPLE	Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress Anne
	Page; to know if it were my master's fortune to
	have her or no.

FALSTAFF	'Tis, 'tis his fortune.

SIMPLE	What, sir?

FALSTAFF	To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me so.

SIMPLE	May I be bold to say so, sir?

FALSTAFF	Ay, sir; like who more bold.

SIMPLE	I thank your worship: I shall make my master glad
	with these tidings.

	[Exit]

Host	Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was
	there a wise woman with thee?

FALSTAFF	Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath taught
	me more wit than ever I learned before in my life;
	and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for
	my learning.

	[Enter BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Out, alas, sir! cozenage, mere cozenage!

Host	Where be my horses? speak well of them, varletto.

BARDOLPH	Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I came
	beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of
	them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away,
	like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.

Host	They are gone but to meet the duke, villain: do not
	say they be fled; Germans are honest men.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Where is mine host?

Host	What is the matter, sir?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Have a care of your entertainments: there is a
	friend of mine come to town tells me there is three
	cozen-germans that has cozened all the hosts of
	Readins, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and
	money. I tell you for good will, look you: you
	are wise and full of gibes and vlouting-stocks, and
	'tis not convenient you should be cozened. Fare you well.

	[Exit]

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vere is mine host de Jarteer?

Host	Here, master doctor, in perplexity and doubtful dilemma.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a me dat
	you make grand preparation for a duke de Jamany: by
	my trot, dere is no duke dat the court is know to
	come. I tell you for good vill: adieu.

	[Exit]

Host	Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight. I am
	undone! Fly, run, hue and cry, villain! I am undone!

	[Exeunt Host and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	I would all the world might be cozened; for I have
	been cozened and beaten too. If it should come to
	the ear of the court, how I have been transformed
	and how my transformation hath been washed and
	cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat drop by
	drop and liquor fishermen's boots with me; I warrant
	they would whip me with their fine wits till I were
	as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered
	since I forswore myself at primero. Well, if my
	wind were but long enough to say my prayers, I would repent.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

	Now, whence come you?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	From the two parties, forsooth.

FALSTAFF	The devil take one party and his dam the other! and
	so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered more
	for their sakes, more than the villanous inconstancy
	of man's disposition is able to bear.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant;
	speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart,
	is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a
	white spot about her.

FALSTAFF	What tellest thou me of black and blue? I was
	beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow;
	and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of
	Brentford: but that my admirable dexterity of wit,
	my counterfeiting the action of an old woman,
	delivered me, the knave constable had set me i' the
	stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber: you
	shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, to your
	content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good
	hearts, what ado here is to bring you together!
	Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well, that
	you are so crossed.

FALSTAFF	Come up into my chamber.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Another room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FENTON and Host]

Host	Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy: I
	will give over all.

FENTON	Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,
	And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee
	A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.

Host	I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will at the
	least keep your counsel.

FENTON	From time to time I have acquainted you
	With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;
	Who mutually hath answer'd my affection,
	So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
	Even to my wish: I have a letter from her
	Of such contents as you will wonder at;
	The mirth whereof so larded with my matter,
	That neither singly can be manifested,
	Without the show of both; fat Falstaff
	Hath a great scene: the image of the jest
	I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host.
	To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
	Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen;
	The purpose why, is here: in which disguise,
	While other jests are something rank on foot,
	Her father hath commanded her to slip
	Away with Slender and with him at Eton
	Immediately to marry: she hath consented: Now, sir,
	Her mother, ever strong against that match
	And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed
	That he shall likewise shuffle her away,
	While other sports are tasking of their minds,
	And at the deanery, where a priest attends,
	Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot
	She seemingly obedient likewise hath
	Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests:
	Her father means she shall be all in white,
	And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
	To take her by the hand and bid her go,
	She shall go with him: her mother hath intended,
	The better to denote her to the doctor,
	For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,
	That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed,
	With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;
	And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
	To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,
	The maid hath given consent to go with him.

Host	Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

FENTON	Both, my good host, to go along with me:
	And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar
	To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one,
	And, in the lawful name of marrying,
	To give our hearts united ceremony.

Host	Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar:
	Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.

FENTON	So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
	Besides, I'll make a present recompense.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE I	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

FALSTAFF	Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll hold. This is
	the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd
	numbers. Away I go. They say there is divinity in
	odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do what I can to
	get you a pair of horns.

FALSTAFF	Away, I say; time wears: hold up your head, and mince.

	[Exit MISTRESS QUICKLY]

	[Enter FORD]

	How now, Master Brook! Master Brook, the matter
	will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the
	Park about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall
	see wonders.

FORD	Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me
	you had appointed?

FALSTAFF	I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a poor
	old man: but I came from her, Master Brook, like a
	poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband,
	hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him,
	Master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell
	you: he beat me grievously, in the shape of a
	woman; for in the shape of man, Master Brook, I fear
	not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because I know
	also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along
	with me: I'll tell you all, Master Brook. Since I
	plucked geese, played truant and whipped top, I knew
	not what 'twas to be beaten till lately. Follow
	me: I'll tell you strange things of this knave
	Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I
	will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow.
	Strange things in hand, Master Brook! Follow.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE II	Windsor Park.


	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

PAGE	Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle-ditch till we
	see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender,
	my daughter.

SLENDER	Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her and we have a
	nay-word how to know one another: I come to her in
	white, and cry 'mum;' she cries 'budget;' and by
	that we know one another.

SHALLOW	That's good too: but what needs either your 'mum'
	or her 'budget?' the white will decipher her well
	enough. It hath struck ten o'clock.

PAGE	The night is dark; light and spirits will become it
	well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil
	but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.
	Let's away; follow me.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE III	A street leading to the Park.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
	DOCTOR CAIUS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Master doctor, my daughter is in green: when you
	see your time, take her by the band, away with her
	to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before
	into the Park: we two must go together.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I know vat I have to do. Adieu.

MISTRESS PAGE	Fare you well, sir.

	[Exit DOCTOR CAIUS]

	My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of
	Falstaff as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying
	my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little
	chiding than a great deal of heart-break.

MISTRESS FORD	Where is Nan now and her troop of fairies, and the
	Welsh devil Hugh?

MISTRESS PAGE	They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's oak,
	with obscured lights; which, at the very instant of
	Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once
	display to the night.

MISTRESS FORD	That cannot choose but amaze him.

MISTRESS PAGE	If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if he be
	amazed, he will every way be mocked.

MISTRESS FORD	We'll betray him finely.

MISTRESS PAGE	Against such lewdsters and their lechery
	Those that betray them do no treachery.

MISTRESS FORD	The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE IV	Windsor Park.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS, disguised, with others as Fairies]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts:
	be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and
	when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you:
	come, come; trib, trib.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the Park.


	[Enter FALSTAFF disguised as Herne]

FALSTAFF	The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
	draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!
	Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love
	set on thy horns. O powerful love! that, in some
	respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, a man
	a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love
	of Leda. O omnipotent Love! how near the god drew
	to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in
	the form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly fault! And
	then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think
	on 't, Jove; a foul fault! When gods have hot
	backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a
	Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the
	forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can
	blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here? my
	doe?

	[Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS FORD	Sir John! art thou there, my deer? my male deer?

FALSTAFF	My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain
	potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green
	Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits and snow eringoes; let
	there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.

MISTRESS FORD	Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.

FALSTAFF	Divide me like a bribe buck, each a haunch: I will
	keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow
	of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands.
	Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the hunter?
	Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes
	restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome!

	[Noise within]

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas, what noise?

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven forgive our sins

FALSTAFF	What should this be?


MISTRESS FORD	|
	|  Away, away!
MISTRESS PAGE	|


	[They run off]

FALSTAFF	I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the
	oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would
	never else cross me thus.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS, disguised as before; PISTOL,
	as Hobgoblin; MISTRESS QUICKLY, ANNE PAGE, and
	others, as Fairies, with tapers]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
	You moonshine revellers and shades of night,
	You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
	Attend your office and your quality.
	Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.

PISTOL	Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.
	Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap:
	Where fires thou find'st unraked and hearths unswept,
	There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry:
	Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery.

FALSTAFF	They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die:
	I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.

	[Lies down upon his face]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Where's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid
	That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,
	Raise up the organs of her fantasy;
	Sleep she as sound as careless infancy:
	But those as sleep and think not on their sins,
	Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides and shins.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	About, about;
	Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out:
	Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room:
	That it may stand till the perpetual doom,
	In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit,
	Worthy the owner, and the owner it.
	The several chairs of order look you scour
	With juice of balm and every precious flower:
	Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest,
	With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
	And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
	Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring:
	The expressure that it bears, green let it be,
	More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
	And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write
	In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white;
	Let sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery,
	Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee:
	Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
	Away; disperse: but till 'tis one o'clock,
	Our dance of custom round about the oak
	Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set
	And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
	To guide our measure round about the tree.
	But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth.

FALSTAFF	Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he
	transform me to a piece of cheese!

PISTOL	Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	With trial-fire touch me his finger-end:
	If he be chaste, the flame will back descend
	And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
	It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

PISTOL	A trial, come.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Come, will this wood take fire?

	[They burn him with their tapers]

FALSTAFF	Oh, Oh, Oh!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
	About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
	And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
	
	SONG.
	Fie on sinful fantasy!
	Fie on lust and luxury!
	Lust is but a bloody fire,
	Kindled with unchaste desire,
	Fed in heart, whose flames aspire
	As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
	Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
	Pinch him for his villany;
	Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
	Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out.

	[During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR CAIUS
	comes one way, and steals away a boy in green;
	SLENDER another way, and takes off a boy in white;
	and FENTON comes and steals away ANN PAGE.
	A noise of hunting is heard within. All the
	Fairies run away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's
	head, and rises]

	[Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, and MISTRESS FORD]

PAGE	Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now
	Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn?

MISTRESS PAGE	I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher
	Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
	See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes
	Become the forest better than the town?

FORD	Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook,
	Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his
	horns, Master Brook: and, Master Brook, he hath
	enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his
	cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be
	paid to Master Brook; his horses are arrested for
	it, Master Brook.

MISTRESS FORD	Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet.
	I will never take you for my love again; but I will
	always count you my deer.

FALSTAFF	I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.

FORD	Ay, and an ox too: both the proofs are extant.

FALSTAFF	And these are not fairies? I was three or four
	times in the thought they were not fairies: and yet
	the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my
	powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a
	received belief, in despite of the teeth of all
	rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now
	how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon
	ill employment!

SIR HUGH EVANS	Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your
	desires, and fairies will not pinse you.

FORD	Well said, fairy Hugh.

SIR HUGH EVANS	And leave your jealousies too, I pray you.

FORD	I will never mistrust my wife again till thou art
	able to woo her in good English.

FALSTAFF	Have I laid my brain in the sun and dried it, that
	it wants matter to prevent so gross o'erreaching as
	this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? shall I
	have a coxcomb of frize? 'Tis time I were choked
	with a piece of toasted cheese.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all putter.

FALSTAFF	'Seese' and 'putter'! have I lived to stand at the
	taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This
	is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking
	through the realm.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why Sir John, do you think, though we would have the
	virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders
	and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,
	that ever the devil could have made you our delight?

FORD	What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?

MISTRESS PAGE	A puffed man?

PAGE	Old, cold, withered and of intolerable entrails?

FORD	And one that is as slanderous as Satan?

PAGE	And as poor as Job?

FORD	And as wicked as his wife?

SIR HUGH EVANS	And given to fornications, and to taverns and sack
	and wine and metheglins, and to drinkings and
	swearings and starings, pribbles and prabbles?

FALSTAFF	Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I
	am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh
	flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use
	me as you will.

FORD	Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one
	Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to
	whom you should have been a pander: over and above
	that you have suffered, I think to repay that money
	will be a biting affliction.

PAGE	Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a posset
	to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to
	laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: tell her
	Master Slender hath married her daughter.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Aside]  Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my
	daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife.

	[Enter SLENDER]

SLENDER	Whoa ho! ho, father Page!

PAGE	Son, how now! how now, son! have you dispatched?

SLENDER	Dispatched! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire
	know on't; would I were hanged, la, else.

PAGE	Of what, son?

SLENDER	I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page,
	and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been
	i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he
	should have swinged me. If I did not think it had
	been Anne Page, would I might never stir!--and 'tis
	a postmaster's boy.

PAGE	Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.

SLENDER	What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took
	a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for
	all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had
	him.

PAGE	Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how
	you should know my daughter by her garments?

SLENDER	I went to her in white, and cried 'mum,' and she
	cried 'budget,' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet
	it was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.

MISTRESS PAGE	Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose;
	turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is
	now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened: I ha'
	married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy;
	it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, did you take her in green?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor.

	[Exit]

FORD	This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?

PAGE	My heart misgives me: here comes Master Fenton.

	[Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE]

	How now, Master Fenton!

ANNE PAGE	Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!

PAGE	Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender?

MISTRESS PAGE	Why went you not with master doctor, maid?

FENTON	You do amaze her: hear the truth of it.
	You would have married her most shamefully,
	Where there was no proportion held in love.
	The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
	Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
	The offence is holy that she hath committed;
	And this deceit loses the name of craft,
	Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
	Since therein she doth evitate and shun
	A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
	Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.

FORD	Stand not amazed; here is no remedy:
	In love the heavens themselves do guide the state;
	Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.

FALSTAFF	I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to
	strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.

PAGE	Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!
	What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced.

FALSTAFF	When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased.

MISTRESS PAGE	Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,
	Heaven give you many, many merry days!
	Good husband, let us every one go home,
	And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
	Sir John and all.

FORD	                  Let it be so. Sir John,
	To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word
	For he tonight shall lie with Mistress Ford.

	[Exeunt]
	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


THESEUS	Duke of Athens.

EGEUS	father to Hermia.


LYSANDER	|
	|  in love with Hermia.
DEMETRIUS	|


PHILOSTRATE	master of the revels to Theseus.

QUINCE	a carpenter.

SNUG	a joiner.

BOTTOM	a weaver.

FLUTE	a bellows-mender.

SNOUT	a tinker.

STARVELING	a tailor.

HIPPOLYTA	queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus.

HERMIA	daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.

HELENA	in love with Demetrius.

OBERON	king of the fairies.

TITANIA	queen of the fairies.

PUCK	or Robin Goodfellow.


PEASEBLOSSOM	|
	|
COBWEB	|
	|  fairies.
MOTH	|
	|
MUSTARDSEED	|


	Other fairies attending their King and Queen.

	Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.

SCENE	Athens, and a wood near it.




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT I



SCENE I	Athens. The palace of THESEUS.


	[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and
	Attendants]

THESEUS	Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
	Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
	Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
	This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
	Like to a step-dame or a dowager
	Long withering out a young man revenue.

HIPPOLYTA	Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
	Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
	And then the moon, like to a silver bow
	New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
	Of our solemnities.

THESEUS	Go, Philostrate,
	Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
	Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
	Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
	The pale companion is not for our pomp.

	[Exit PHILOSTRATE]

	Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
	And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
	But I will wed thee in another key,
	With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

	[Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS]

EGEUS	Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

THESEUS	Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

EGEUS	Full of vexation come I, with complaint
	Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
	Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
	This man hath my consent to marry her.
	Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
	This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
	Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
	And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
	Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
	With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
	And stolen the impression of her fantasy
	With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
	Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
	Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:
	With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,
	Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
	To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
	Be it so she; will not here before your grace
	Consent to marry with Demetrius,
	I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,
	As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
	Which shall be either to this gentleman
	Or to her death, according to our law
	Immediately provided in that case.

THESEUS	What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:
	To you your father should be as a god;
	One that composed your beauties, yea, and one
	To whom you are but as a form in wax
	By him imprinted and within his power
	To leave the figure or disfigure it.
	Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA	So is Lysander.

THESEUS	                  In himself he is;
	But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
	The other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA	I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

THESEUS	Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

HERMIA	I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
	I know not by what power I am made bold,
	Nor how it may concern my modesty,
	In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
	But I beseech your grace that I may know
	The worst that may befall me in this case,
	If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS	Either to die the death or to abjure
	For ever the society of men.
	Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
	Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
	Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
	You can endure the livery of a nun,
	For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
	To live a barren sister all your life,
	Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
	Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
	To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
	But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
	Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
	Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

HERMIA	So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
	Ere I will my virgin patent up
	Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
	My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

THESEUS	Take time to pause; and, by the nest new moon--
	The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
	For everlasting bond of fellowship--
	Upon that day either prepare to die
	For disobedience to your father's will,
	Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
	Or on Diana's altar to protest
	For aye austerity and single life.

DEMETRIUS	Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
	Thy crazed title to my certain right.

LYSANDER	You have her father's love, Demetrius;
	Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

EGEUS	Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
	And what is mine my love shall render him.
	And she is mine, and all my right of her
	I do estate unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER	I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
	As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
	My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
	If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
	And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
	I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
	Why should not I then prosecute my right?
	Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
	Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
	And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
	Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
	Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

THESEUS	I must confess that I have heard so much,
	And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
	But, being over-full of self-affairs,
	My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
	And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
	I have some private schooling for you both.
	For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
	To fit your fancies to your father's will;
	Or else the law of Athens yields you up--
	Which by no means we may extenuate--
	To death, or to a vow of single life.
	Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
	Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
	I must employ you in some business
	Against our nuptial and confer with you
	Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

EGEUS	With duty and desire we follow you.

	[Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA]

LYSANDER	How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
	How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA	Belike for want of rain, which I could well
	Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

LYSANDER	Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
	Could ever hear by tale or history,
	The course of true love never did run smooth;
	But, either it was different in blood,--

HERMIA	O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.

LYSANDER	Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--

HERMIA	O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

LYSANDER	Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--

HERMIA	O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

LYSANDER	Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
	War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
	Making it momentany as a sound,
	Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
	Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
	That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
	And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
	The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
	So quick bright things come to confusion.

HERMIA	If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
	It stands as an edict in destiny:
	Then let us teach our trial patience,
	Because it is a customary cross,
	As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
	Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.

LYSANDER	A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.
	I have a widow aunt, a dowager
	Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
	From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
	And she respects me as her only son.
	There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
	And to that place the sharp Athenian law
	Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
	Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
	And in the wood, a league without the town,
	Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
	To do observance to a morn of May,
	There will I stay for thee.

HERMIA	My good Lysander!
	I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,
	By his best arrow with the golden head,
	By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
	By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
	And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,
	When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
	By all the vows that ever men have broke,
	In number more than ever women spoke,
	In that same place thou hast appointed me,
	To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER	Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

	[Enter HELENA]

HERMIA	God speed fair Helena! whither away?

HELENA	Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
	Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
	Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air
	More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
	When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
	Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,
	Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
	My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
	My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
	Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
	The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
	O, teach me how you look, and with what art
	You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

HERMIA	I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

HELENA	O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HERMIA	I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

HELENA	O that my prayers could such affection move!

HERMIA	The more I hate, the more he follows me.

HELENA	The more I love, the more he hateth me.

HERMIA	His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA	None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

HERMIA	Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
	Lysander and myself will fly this place.
	Before the time I did Lysander see,
	Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:
	O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
	That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

LYSANDER	Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
	To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
	Her silver visage in the watery glass,
	Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
	A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,
	Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

HERMIA	And in the wood, where often you and I
	Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
	Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
	There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
	And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
	To seek new friends and stranger companies.
	Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;
	And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
	Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
	From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.

LYSANDER	I will, my Hermia.

	[Exit HERMIA]

	Helena, adieu:
	As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

	[Exit]

HELENA	How happy some o'er other some can be!
	Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
	But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
	He will not know what all but he do know:
	And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
	So I, admiring of his qualities:
	Things base and vile, folding no quantity,
	Love can transpose to form and dignity:
	Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
	And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:
	Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;
	Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:
	And therefore is Love said to be a child,
	Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.
	As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
	So the boy Love is perjured every where:
	For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
	He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;
	And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
	So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.
	I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
	Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
	Pursue her; and for this intelligence
	If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
	But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
	To have his sight thither and back again.

	[Exit]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT I



SCENE II	Athens. QUINCE'S house.


	[Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and
	STARVELING]

QUINCE	Is all our company here?

BOTTOM	You were best to call them generally, man by man,
	according to the scrip.

QUINCE	Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is
	thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our
	interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his
	wedding-day at night.

BOTTOM	First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats
	on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow
	to a point.

QUINCE	Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and
	most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

BOTTOM	A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a
	merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your
	actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

QUINCE	Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.

BOTTOM	Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

QUINCE	You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

BOTTOM	What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

QUINCE	A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

BOTTOM	That will ask some tears in the true performing of
	it: if I do it, let the audience look to their
	eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some
	measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a
	tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to
	tear a cat in, to make all split.
	The raging rocks
	And shivering shocks
	Shall break the locks
	Of prison gates;
	And Phibbus' car
	Shall shine from far
	And make and mar
	The foolish Fates.
	This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.
	This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is
	more condoling.

QUINCE	Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

FLUTE	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

FLUTE	What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

QUINCE	It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

FLUTE	Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

QUINCE	That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and
	you may speak as small as you will.

BOTTOM	An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I'll
	speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Thisne,
	Thisne;' 'Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,
	and lady dear!'

QUINCE	No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.

BOTTOM	Well, proceed.

QUINCE	Robin Starveling, the tailor.

STARVELING	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
	Tom Snout, the tinker.

SNOUT	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	You, Pyramus' father: myself, Thisby's father:
	Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part: and, I
	hope, here is a play fitted.

SNUG	Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it
	be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

QUINCE	You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

BOTTOM	Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will
	do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar,
	that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again,
	let him roar again.'

QUINCE	An you should do it too terribly, you would fright
	the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;
	and that were enough to hang us all.

ALL	That would hang us, every mother's son.

BOTTOM	I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the
	ladies out of their wits, they would have no more
	discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my
	voice so that I will roar you as gently as any
	sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any
	nightingale.

QUINCE	You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a
	sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a
	summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man:
	therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

BOTTOM	Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best
	to play it in?

QUINCE	Why, what you will.

BOTTOM	I will discharge it in either your straw-colour
	beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain
	beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your
	perfect yellow.

QUINCE	Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and
	then you will play bare-faced. But, masters, here
	are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request
	you and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night;
	and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the
	town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse, for if
	we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with
	company, and our devices known. In the meantime I
	will draw a bill of properties, such as our play
	wants. I pray you, fail me not.

BOTTOM	We will meet; and there we may rehearse most
	obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.

QUINCE	At the duke's oak we meet.

BOTTOM	Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.

	[Exeunt]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT II



SCENE I	A wood near Athens.


	[Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK]

PUCK	How now, spirit! whither wander you?

Fairy	     Over hill, over dale,
	Thorough bush, thorough brier,
	Over park, over pale,
	Thorough flood, thorough fire,
	I do wander everywhere,
	Swifter than the moon's sphere;
	And I serve the fairy queen,
	To dew her orbs upon the green.
	The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
	In their gold coats spots you see;
	Those be rubies, fairy favours,
	In those freckles live their savours:
	I must go seek some dewdrops here
	And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
	Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:
	Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

PUCK	The king doth keep his revels here to-night:
	Take heed the queen come not within his sight;
	For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
	Because that she as her attendant hath
	A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;
	She never had so sweet a changeling;
	And jealous Oberon would have the child
	Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;
	But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
	Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:
	And now they never meet in grove or green,
	By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
	But, they do square, that all their elves for fear
	Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

Fairy	Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
	Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
	Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
	That frights the maidens of the villagery;
	Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern
	And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
	And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
	Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
	Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
	You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
	Are not you he?

PUCK	                  Thou speak'st aright;
	I am that merry wanderer of the night.
	I jest to Oberon and make him smile
	When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
	Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:
	And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
	In very likeness of a roasted crab,
	And when she drinks, against her lips I bob
	And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.
	The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
	Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
	Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
	And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;
	And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,
	And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear
	A merrier hour was never wasted there.
	But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

Fairy	And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

	[Enter, from one side, OBERON, with his train;
	from the other, TITANIA, with hers]

OBERON	Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

TITANIA	What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:
	I have forsworn his bed and company.

OBERON	Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?

TITANIA	Then I must be thy lady: but I know
	When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,
	And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
	Playing on pipes of corn and versing love
	To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
	Come from the farthest Steppe of India?
	But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
	Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,
	To Theseus must be wedded, and you come
	To give their bed joy and prosperity.

OBERON	How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,
	Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
	Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
	Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
	From Perigenia, whom he ravished?
	And make him with fair AEgle break his faith,
	With Ariadne and Antiopa?

TITANIA	These are the forgeries of jealousy:
	And never, since the middle summer's spring,
	Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,
	By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
	Or in the beached margent of the sea,
	To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
	But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
	Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
	As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
	Contagious fogs; which falling in the land
	Have every pelting river made so proud
	That they have overborne their continents:
	The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
	The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
	Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;
	The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
	And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
	The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,
	And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
	For lack of tread are undistinguishable:
	The human mortals want their winter here;
	No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
	Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
	Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
	That rheumatic diseases do abound:
	And thorough this distemperature we see
	The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
	Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
	And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
	An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
	Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
	The childing autumn, angry winter, change
	Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
	By their increase, now knows not which is which:
	And this same progeny of evils comes
	From our debate, from our dissension;
	We are their parents and original.

OBERON	Do you amend it then; it lies in you:
	Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
	I do but beg a little changeling boy,
	To be my henchman.

TITANIA	                  Set your heart at rest:
	The fairy land buys not the child of me.
	His mother was a votaress of my order:
	And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
	Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,
	And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,
	Marking the embarked traders on the flood,
	When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive
	And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
	Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
	Following,--her womb then rich with my young squire,--
	Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
	To fetch me trifles, and return again,
	As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
	But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
	And for her sake do I rear up her boy,
	And for her sake I will not part with him.

OBERON	How long within this wood intend you stay?

TITANIA	Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.
	If you will patiently dance in our round
	And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
	If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

OBERON	Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

TITANIA	Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!
	We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.

	[Exit TITANIA with her train]

OBERON	Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
	Till I torment thee for this injury.
	My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest
	Since once I sat upon a promontory,
	And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
	Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
	That the rude sea grew civil at her song
	And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
	To hear the sea-maid's music.

PUCK	I remember.

OBERON	That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
	Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
	Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took
	At a fair vestal throned by the west,
	And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
	As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
	But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
	Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon,
	And the imperial votaress passed on,
	In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
	Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
	It fell upon a little western flower,
	Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
	And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
	Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew'd thee once:
	The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid
	Will make or man or woman madly dote
	Upon the next live creature that it sees.
	Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again
	Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

PUCK	I'll put a girdle round about the earth
	In forty minutes.

	[Exit]

OBERON	                  Having once this juice,
	I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
	And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.
	The next thing then she waking looks upon,
	Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
	On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,
	She shall pursue it with the soul of love:
	And ere I take this charm from off her sight,
	As I can take it with another herb,
	I'll make her render up her page to me.
	But who comes here? I am invisible;
	And I will overhear their conference.

	[Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA, following him]

DEMETRIUS	I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
	Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
	The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
	Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;
	And here am I, and wode within this wood,
	Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
	Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

HELENA	You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
	But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
	Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,
	And I shall have no power to follow you.

DEMETRIUS	Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
	Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
	Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?

HELENA	And even for that do I love you the more.
	I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
	The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
	Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
	Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
	Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
	What worser place can I beg in your love,--
	And yet a place of high respect with me,--
	Than to be used as you use your dog?

DEMETRIUS	Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
	For I am sick when I do look on thee.

HELENA	And I am sick when I look not on you.

DEMETRIUS	You do impeach your modesty too much,
	To leave the city and commit yourself
	Into the hands of one that loves you not;
	To trust the opportunity of night
	And the ill counsel of a desert place
	With the rich worth of your virginity.

HELENA	Your virtue is my privilege: for that
	It is not night when I do see your face,
	Therefore I think I am not in the night;
	Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
	For you in my respect are all the world:
	Then how can it be said I am alone,
	When all the world is here to look on me?

DEMETRIUS	I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
	And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

HELENA	The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
	Run when you will, the story shall be changed:
	Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
	The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
	Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,
	When cowardice pursues and valour flies.

DEMETRIUS	I will not stay thy questions; let me go:
	Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
	But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

HELENA	Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
	You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
	Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:
	We cannot fight for love, as men may do;
	We should be wood and were not made to woo.

	[Exit DEMETRIUS]

	I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,
	To die upon the hand I love so well.

	[Exit]

OBERON	Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,
	Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.

	[Re-enter PUCK]

	Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

PUCK	Ay, there it is.

OBERON	I pray thee, give it me.
	I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
	Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
	Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
	With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
	There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
	Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
	And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
	Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:
	And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
	And make her full of hateful fantasies.
	Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:
	A sweet Athenian lady is in love
	With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;
	But do it when the next thing he espies
	May be the lady: thou shalt know the man
	By the Athenian garments he hath on.
	Effect it with some care, that he may prove
	More fond on her than she upon her love:
	And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.

PUCK	Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

	[Exeunt]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT II



SCENE II	Another part of the wood.


	[Enter TITANIA, with her train]

TITANIA	Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
	Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
	Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,
	Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
	To make my small elves coats, and some keep back
	The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders
	At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
	Then to your offices and let me rest.

	[The Fairies sing]

	You spotted snakes with double tongue,
	Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
	Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
	Come not near our fairy queen.
	Philomel, with melody
	Sing in our sweet lullaby;
	Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
	Never harm,
	Nor spell nor charm,
	Come our lovely lady nigh;
	So, good night, with lullaby.
	Weaving spiders, come not here;
	Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
	Beetles black, approach not near;
	Worm nor snail, do no offence.
	Philomel, with melody, &c.

Fairy	Hence, away! now all is well:
	One aloof stand sentinel.

	[Exeunt Fairies. TITANIA sleeps]

	[Enter OBERON and squeezes the flower on TITANIA's eyelids]

OBERON	What thou seest when thou dost wake,
	Do it for thy true-love take,
	Love and languish for his sake:
	Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
	Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
	In thy eye that shall appear
	When thou wakest, it is thy dear:
	Wake when some vile thing is near.

	[Exit]

	[Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA]

LYSANDER	Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;
	And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:
	We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
	And tarry for the comfort of the day.

HERMIA	Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed;
	For I upon this bank will rest my head.

LYSANDER	One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
	One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.

HERMIA	Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
	Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

LYSANDER	O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
	Love takes the meaning in love's conference.
	I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit
	So that but one heart we can make of it;
	Two bosoms interchained with an oath;
	So then two bosoms and a single troth.
	Then by your side no bed-room me deny;
	For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

HERMIA	Lysander riddles very prettily:
	Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
	If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.
	But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
	Lie further off; in human modesty,
	Such separation as may well be said
	Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
	So far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend:
	Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!

LYSANDER	Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
	And then end life when I end loyalty!
	Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!

HERMIA	With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd!

	[They sleep]

	[Enter PUCK]

PUCK	Through the forest have I gone.
	But Athenian found I none,
	On whose eyes I might approve
	This flower's force in stirring love.
	Night and silence.--Who is here?
	Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
	This is he, my master said,
	Despised the Athenian maid;
	And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
	On the dank and dirty ground.
	Pretty soul! she durst not lie
	Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
	Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
	All the power this charm doth owe.
	When thou wakest, let love forbid
	Sleep his seat on thy eyelid:
	So awake when I am gone;
	For I must now to Oberon.

	[Exit]

	[Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running]

HELENA	Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.

DEMETRIUS	I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

HELENA	O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so.

DEMETRIUS	Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.

	[Exit]

HELENA	O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
	The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
	Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;
	For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
	How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:
	If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.
	No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
	For beasts that meet me run away for fear:
	Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
	Do, as a monster fly my presence thus.
	What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
	Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?
	But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!
	Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
	Lysander if you live, good sir, awake.

LYSANDER	[Awaking]  And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
	Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,
	That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
	Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
	Is that vile name to perish on my sword!

HELENA	Do not say so, Lysander; say not so
	What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
	Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content.

LYSANDER	Content with Hermia! No; I do repent
	The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
	Not Hermia but Helena I love:
	Who will not change a raven for a dove?
	The will of man is by his reason sway'd;
	And reason says you are the worthier maid.
	Things growing are not ripe until their season
	So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
	And touching now the point of human skill,
	Reason becomes the marshal to my will
	And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook
	Love's stories written in love's richest book.

HELENA	Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
	When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
	Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
	That I did never, no, nor never can,
	Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
	But you must flout my insufficiency?
	Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
	In such disdainful manner me to woo.
	But fare you well: perforce I must confess
	I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
	O, that a lady, of one man refused.
	Should of another therefore be abused!

	[Exit]

LYSANDER	She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there:
	And never mayst thou come Lysander near!
	For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
	The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
	Or as tie heresies that men do leave
	Are hated most of those they did deceive,
	So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
	Of all be hated, but the most of me!
	And, all my powers, address your love and might
	To honour Helen and to be her knight!

	[Exit]

HERMIA	[Awaking]  Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best
	To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!
	Ay me, for pity! what a dream was here!
	Lysander, look how I do quake with fear:
	Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
	And you sat smiling at his cruel pray.
	Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord!
	What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?
	Alack, where are you speak, an if you hear;
	Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
	No? then I well perceive you all not nigh
	Either death or you I'll find immediately.

	[Exit]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT III



SCENE I	The wood. TITANIA lying asleep.


	[Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and
	STARVELING]

BOTTOM	Are we all met?

QUINCE	Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place
	for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our
	stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we
	will do it in action as we will do it before the duke.

BOTTOM	Peter Quince,--

QUINCE	What sayest thou, bully Bottom?

BOTTOM	There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and
	Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must
	draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
	cannot abide. How answer you that?

SNOUT	By'r lakin, a parlous fear.

STARVELING	I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.

BOTTOM	Not a whit: I have a device to make all well.
	Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to
	say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that
	Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more
	better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not
	Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them
	out of fear.

QUINCE	Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be
	written in eight and six.

BOTTOM	No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.

SNOUT	Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?

STARVELING	I fear it, I promise you.

BOTTOM	Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to
	bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a
	most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful
	wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to
	look to 't.

SNOUT	Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.

BOTTOM	Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must
	be seen through the lion's neck: and he himself
	must speak through, saying thus, or to the same
	defect,--'Ladies,'--or 'Fair-ladies--I would wish
	You,'--or 'I would request you,'--or 'I would
	entreat you,--not to fear, not to tremble: my life
	for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it
	were pity of my life: no I am no such thing; I am a
	man as other men are;' and there indeed let him name
	his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.

QUINCE	Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things;
	that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for,
	you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.

SNOUT	Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?

BOTTOM	A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find
	out moonshine, find out moonshine.

QUINCE	Yes, it doth shine that night.

BOTTOM	Why, then may you leave a casement of the great
	chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon
	may shine in at the casement.

QUINCE	Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns
	and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to
	present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is
	another thing: we must have a wall in the great
	chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did
	talk through the chink of a wall.

SNOUT	You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?

BOTTOM	Some man or other must present Wall: and let him
	have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast
	about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his
	fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus
	and Thisby whisper.

QUINCE	If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down,
	every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
	Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your
	speech, enter into that brake: and so every one
	according to his cue.

	[Enter PUCK behind]

PUCK	What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
	So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
	What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;
	An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.

QUINCE	Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.

BOTTOM	Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--

QUINCE	Odours, odours.

BOTTOM	--odours savours sweet:
	So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
	But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,
	And by and by I will to thee appear.

	[Exit]

PUCK	A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here.

	[Exit]

FLUTE	Must I speak now?

QUINCE	Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes
	but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.

FLUTE	Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
	Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
	Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,
	As true as truest horse that yet would never tire,
	I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

QUINCE	'Ninus' tomb,' man: why, you must not speak that
	yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your
	part at once, cues and all Pyramus enter: your cue
	is past; it is, 'never tire.'

FLUTE	O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would
	never tire.

	[Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head]

BOTTOM	If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.

QUINCE	O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,
	masters! fly, masters! Help!

	[Exeunt QUINCE, SNUG, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING]

PUCK	I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
	Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier:
	Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
	A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
	And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
	Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.

	[Exit]

BOTTOM	Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to
	make me afeard.

	[Re-enter SNOUT]

SNOUT	O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?

BOTTOM	What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do
	you?

	[Exit SNOUT]

	[Re-enter QUINCE]

QUINCE	Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art
	translated.

	[Exit]

BOTTOM	I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me;
	to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir
	from this place, do what they can: I will walk up
	and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear
	I am not afraid.

	[Sings]

	The ousel cock so black of hue,
	With orange-tawny bill,
	The throstle with his note so true,
	The wren with little quill,--

TITANIA	[Awaking]  What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

BOTTOM	[Sings]

	The finch, the sparrow and the lark,
	The plain-song cuckoo gray,
	Whose note full many a man doth mark,
	And dares not answer nay;--
	for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish
	a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry
	'cuckoo' never so?

TITANIA	I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
	Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
	So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
	And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
	On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

BOTTOM	Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason
	for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and
	love keep little company together now-a-days; the
	more the pity that some honest neighbours will not
	make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

TITANIA	Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

BOTTOM	Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out
	of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

TITANIA	Out of this wood do not desire to go:
	Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
	I am a spirit of no common rate;
	The summer still doth tend upon my state;
	And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
	I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
	And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
	And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
	And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
	That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
	Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

	[Enter PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, and MUSTARDSEED]

PEASEBLOSSOM	Ready.

COBWEB	     And I.

MOTH	          And I.

MUSTARDSEED	                  And I.

ALL	Where shall we go?

TITANIA	Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
	Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
	Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
	With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
	The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
	And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs
	And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
	To have my love to bed and to arise;
	And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies
	To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
	Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

PEASEBLOSSOM	Hail, mortal!

COBWEB	Hail!

MOTH	Hail!

MUSTARDSEED	Hail!

BOTTOM	I cry your worship's mercy, heartily: I beseech your
	worship's name.

COBWEB	Cobweb.

BOTTOM	I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
	Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with
	you. Your name, honest gentleman?

PEASEBLOSSOM	Peaseblossom.

BOTTOM	I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your
	mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good
	Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more
	acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?

MUSTARDSEED	Mustardseed.

BOTTOM	Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well:
	that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath
	devoured many a gentleman of your house: I promise
	you your kindred had made my eyes water ere now. I
	desire your more acquaintance, good Master
	Mustardseed.

TITANIA	Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
	The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;
	And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
	Lamenting some enforced chastity.
	Tie up my love's tongue bring him silently.

	[Exeunt]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT III



SCENE II	Another part of the wood.


	[Enter OBERON]

OBERON	I wonder if Titania be awaked;
	Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
	Which she must dote on in extremity.

	[Enter PUCK]

	Here comes my messenger.
		   How now, mad spirit!
	What night-rule now about this haunted grove?

PUCK	My mistress with a monster is in love.
	Near to her close and consecrated bower,
	While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
	A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
	That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
	Were met together to rehearse a play
	Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day.
	The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
	Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
	Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake
	When I did him at this advantage take,
	An ass's nole I fixed on his head:
	Anon his Thisbe must be answered,
	And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
	As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
	Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
	Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
	Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
	So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;
	And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
	He murder cries and help from Athens calls.
	Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears
	thus strong,
	Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
	For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
	Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all
	things catch.
	I led them on in this distracted fear,
	And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
	When in that moment, so it came to pass,
	Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.

OBERON	This falls out better than I could devise.
	But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes
	With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?

PUCK	I took him sleeping,--that is finish'd too,--
	And the Athenian woman by his side:
	That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.

	[Enter HERMIA and DEMETRIUS]

OBERON	Stand close: this is the same Athenian.

PUCK	This is the woman, but not this the man.

DEMETRIUS	O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
	Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

HERMIA	Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,
	For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse,
	If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
	Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
	And kill me too.
	The sun was not so true unto the day
	As he to me: would he have stolen away
	From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon
	This whole earth may be bored and that the moon
	May through the centre creep and so displease
	Her brother's noontide with Antipodes.
	It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him;
	So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

DEMETRIUS	So should the murder'd look, and so should I,
	Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty:
	Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
	As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

HERMIA	What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
	Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

DEMETRIUS	I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

HERMIA	Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds
	Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
	Henceforth be never number'd among men!
	O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake!
	Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake,
	And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!
	Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
	An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
	Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

DEMETRIUS	You spend your passion on a misprised mood:
	I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
	Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

HERMIA	I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.

DEMETRIUS	An if I could, what should I get therefore?

HERMIA	A privilege never to see me more.
	And from thy hated presence part I so:
	See me no more, whether he be dead or no.

	[Exit]

DEMETRIUS	There is no following her in this fierce vein:
	Here therefore for a while I will remain.
	So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
	For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe:
	Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
	If for his tender here I make some stay.

	[Lies down and sleeps]

OBERON	What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite
	And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight:
	Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
	Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true.

PUCK	Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding troth,
	A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

OBERON	About the wood go swifter than the wind,
	And Helena of Athens look thou find:
	All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,
	With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear:
	By some illusion see thou bring her here:
	I'll charm his eyes against she do appear.

PUCK	I go, I go; look how I go,
	Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

	[Exit]

OBERON	   Flower of this purple dye,
	Hit with Cupid's archery,
	Sink in apple of his eye.
	When his love he doth espy,
	Let her shine as gloriously
	As the Venus of the sky.
	When thou wakest, if she be by,
	Beg of her for remedy.

	[Re-enter PUCK]

PUCK	   Captain of our fairy band,
	Helena is here at hand;
	And the youth, mistook by me,
	Pleading for a lover's fee.
	Shall we their fond pageant see?
	Lord, what fools these mortals be!

OBERON	Stand aside: the noise they make
	Will cause Demetrius to awake.

PUCK	Then will two at once woo one;
	That must needs be sport alone;
	And those things do best please me
	That befal preposterously.

	[Enter LYSANDER and HELENA]

LYSANDER	Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
	Scorn and derision never come in tears:
	Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
	In their nativity all truth appears.
	How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
	Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

HELENA	You do advance your cunning more and more.
	When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
	These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er?
	Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
	Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
	Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.

LYSANDER	I had no judgment when to her I swore.

HELENA	Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.

LYSANDER	Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

DEMETRIUS	[Awaking]  O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
	To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
	Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
	Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
	That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,
	Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
	When thou hold'st up thy hand: O, let me kiss
	This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

HELENA	O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
	To set against me for your merriment:
	If you we re civil and knew courtesy,
	You would not do me thus much injury.
	Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
	But you must join in souls to mock me too?
	If you were men, as men you are in show,
	You would not use a gentle lady so;
	To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
	When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
	You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
	And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
	A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
	To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
	With your derision! none of noble sort
	Would so offend a virgin, and extort
	A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

LYSANDER	You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
	For you love Hermia; this you know I know:
	And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
	In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;
	And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
	Whom I do love and will do till my death.

HELENA	Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

DEMETRIUS	Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:
	If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone.
	My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
	And now to Helen is it home return'd,
	There to remain.

LYSANDER	                  Helen, it is not so.

DEMETRIUS	Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
	Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
	Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

	[Re-enter HERMIA]

HERMIA	Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
	The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
	Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
	It pays the hearing double recompense.
	Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
	Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound
	But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

LYSANDER	Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?

HERMIA	What love could press Lysander from my side?

LYSANDER	Lysander's love, that would not let him bide,
	Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
	Than all you fiery oes and eyes of light.
	Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,
	The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?

HERMIA	You speak not as you think: it cannot be.

HELENA	Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
	Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three
	To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.
	Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
	Have you conspired, have you with these contrived
	To bait me with this foul derision?
	Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
	The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
	When we have chid the hasty-footed time
	For parting us,--O, is it all forgot?
	All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?
	We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
	Have with our needles created both one flower,
	Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
	Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
	As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds,
	Had been incorporate. So we grow together,
	Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
	But yet an union in partition;
	Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
	So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
	Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
	Due but to one and crowned with one crest.
	And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
	To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
	It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:
	Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
	Though I alone do feel the injury.

HERMIA	I am amazed at your passionate words.
	I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.

HELENA	Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
	To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
	And made your other love, Demetrius,
	Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
	To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
	Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
	To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
	Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
	And tender me, forsooth, affection,
	But by your setting on, by your consent?
	What thought I be not so in grace as you,
	So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
	But miserable most, to love unloved?
	This you should pity rather than despise.

HERNIA	I understand not what you mean by this.

HELENA	Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
	Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;
	Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up:
	This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
	If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
	You would not make me such an argument.
	But fare ye well: 'tis partly my own fault;
	Which death or absence soon shall remedy.

LYSANDER	Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse:
	My love, my life my soul, fair Helena!

HELENA	O excellent!

HERMIA	                  Sweet, do not scorn her so.

DEMETRIUS	If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

LYSANDER	Thou canst compel no more than she entreat:
	Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.
	Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do:
	I swear by that which I will lose for thee,
	To prove him false that says I love thee not.

DEMETRIUS	I say I love thee more than he can do.

LYSANDER	If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

DEMETRIUS	Quick, come!

HERMIA	Lysander, whereto tends all this?

LYSANDER	Away, you Ethiope!

DEMETRIUS	                  No, no; he'll [        ]
	Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,
	But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!

LYSANDER	Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,
	Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!

HERMIA	Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?
	Sweet love,--

LYSANDER	Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out!
	Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence!

HERMIA	Do you not jest?

HELENA	Yes, sooth; and so do you.

LYSANDER	Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

DEMETRIUS	I would I had your bond, for I perceive
	A weak bond holds you: I'll not trust your word.

LYSANDER	What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
	Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.

HERMIA	What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
	Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!
	Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?
	I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
	Since night you loved me; yet since night you left
	me:
	Why, then you left me--O, the gods forbid!--
	In earnest, shall I say?

LYSANDER	Ay, by my life;
	And never did desire to see thee more.
	Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
	Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest
	That I do hate thee and love Helena.

HERMIA	O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!
	You thief of love! what, have you come by night
	And stolen my love's heart from him?

HELENA	Fine, i'faith!
	Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
	No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
	Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
	Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!

HERMIA	Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.
	Now I perceive that she hath made compare
	Between our statures; she hath urged her height;
	And with her personage, her tall personage,
	Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.
	And are you grown so high in his esteem;
	Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
	How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;
	How low am I? I am not yet so low
	But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

HELENA	I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
	Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;
	I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
	I am a right maid for my cowardice:
	Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
	Because she is something lower than myself,
	That I can match her.

HERMIA	Lower! hark, again.

HELENA	Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
	I evermore did love you, Hermia,
	Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
	Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
	I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
	He follow'd you; for love I follow'd him;
	But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me
	To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
	And now, so you will let me quiet go,
	To Athens will I bear my folly back
	And follow you no further: let me go:
	You see how simple and how fond I am.

HERMIA	Why, get you gone: who is't that hinders you?

HELENA	A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.

HERMIA	What, with Lysander?

HELENA	With Demetrius.

LYSANDER	Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.

DEMETRIUS	No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

HELENA	O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!
	She was a vixen when she went to school;
	And though she be but little, she is fierce.

HERMIA	'Little' again! nothing but 'low' and 'little'!
	Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
	Let me come to her.

LYSANDER	Get you gone, you dwarf;
	You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;
	You bead, you acorn.

DEMETRIUS	You are too officious
	In her behalf that scorns your services.
	Let her alone: speak not of Helena;
	Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend
	Never so little show of love to her,
	Thou shalt aby it.

LYSANDER	                  Now she holds me not;
	Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,
	Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

DEMETRIUS	Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole.

	[Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS]

HERMIA	You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you:
	Nay, go not back.

HELENA	                  I will not trust you, I,
	Nor longer stay in your curst company.
	Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,
	My legs are longer though, to run away.

	[Exit]

HERMIA	I am amazed, and know not what to say.

	[Exit]

OBERON	This is thy negligence: still thou mistakest,
	Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.

PUCK	Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
	Did not you tell me I should know the man
	By the Athenian garment be had on?
	And so far blameless proves my enterprise,
	That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes;
	And so far am I glad it so did sort
	As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

OBERON	Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight:
	Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
	The starry welkin cover thou anon
	With drooping fog as black as Acheron,
	And lead these testy rivals so astray
	As one come not within another's way.
	Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
	Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
	And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
	And from each other look thou lead them thus,
	Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
	With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:
	Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye;
	Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
	To take from thence all error with his might,
	And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
	When they next wake, all this derision
	Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision,
	And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
	With league whose date till death shall never end.
	Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
	I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy;
	And then I will her charmed eye release
	From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.

PUCK	My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
	For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
	And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;
	At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
	Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,
	That in crossways and floods have burial,
	Already to their wormy beds are gone;
	For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
	They willfully themselves exile from light
	And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

OBERON	But we are spirits of another sort:
	I with the morning's love have oft made sport,
	And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
	Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,
	Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
	Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.
	But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:
	We may effect this business yet ere day.

	[Exit]

PUCK	   Up and down, up and down,
	I will lead them up and down:
	I am fear'd in field and town:
	Goblin, lead them up and down.
	Here comes one.

	[Re-enter LYSANDER]

LYSANDER	Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now.

PUCK	Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou?

LYSANDER	I will be with thee straight.

PUCK	Follow me, then,
	To plainer ground.

	[Exit LYSANDER, as following the voice]

	[Re-enter DEMETRIUS]

DEMETRIUS	                  Lysander! speak again:
	Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
	Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

PUCK	Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
	Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
	And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;
	I'll whip thee with a rod: he is defiled
	That draws a sword on thee.

DEMETRIUS	Yea, art thou there?

PUCK	Follow my voice: we'll try no manhood here.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter LYSANDER]

LYSANDER	He goes before me and still dares me on:
	When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
	The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I:
	I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly;
	That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
	And here will rest me.

	[Lies down]

	Come, thou gentle day!
	For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
	I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite.

	[Sleeps]

	[Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS]

PUCK	Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest thou not?

DEMETRIUS	Abide me, if thou darest; for well I wot
	Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place,
	And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.
	Where art thou now?

PUCK	Come hither: I am here.

DEMETRIUS	Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear,
	If ever I thy face by daylight see:
	Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
	To measure out my length on this cold bed.
	By day's approach look to be visited.

	[Lies down and sleeps]

	[Re-enter HELENA]

HELENA	O weary night, O long and tedious night,
	Abate thy hour! Shine comforts from the east,
	That I may back to Athens by daylight,
	From these that my poor company detest:
	And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
	Steal me awhile from mine own company.

	[Lies down and sleeps]

PUCK	Yet but three? Come one more;
	Two of both kinds make up four.
	Here she comes, curst and sad:
	Cupid is a knavish lad,
	Thus to make poor females mad.

	[Re-enter HERMIA]

HERMIA	Never so weary, never so in woe,
	Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers,
	I can no further crawl, no further go;
	My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
	Here will I rest me till the break of day.
	Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!

	[Lies down and sleeps]

PUCK	                  On the ground
	Sleep sound:
	I'll apply
	To your eye,
	Gentle lover, remedy.

	[Squeezing the juice on LYSANDER's eyes]

	When thou wakest,
	Thou takest
	True delight
	In the sight
	Of thy former lady's eye:
	And the country proverb known,
	That every man should take his own,
	In your waking shall be shown:
	Jack shall have Jill;
	Nought shall go ill;
	The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.

	[Exit]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT IV



SCENE I	The same. LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA
	lying asleep.


	[Enter TITANIA and BOTTOM; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH,
	MUSTARDSEED, and other Fairies attending; OBERON
	behind unseen]

TITANIA	Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
	While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
	And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
	And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

BOTTOM	Where's Peaseblossom?

PEASEBLOSSOM	Ready.

BOTTOM	Scratch my head Peaseblossom. Where's Mounsieur Cobweb?

COBWEB	Ready.

BOTTOM	Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your
	weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped
	humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good
	mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret
	yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and,
	good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not;
	I would be loath to have you overflown with a
	honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed?

MUSTARDSEED	Ready.

BOTTOM	Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you,
	leave your courtesy, good mounsieur.

MUSTARDSEED	What's your Will?

BOTTOM	Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb
	to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur; for
	methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I
	am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me,
	I must scratch.

TITANIA	What, wilt thou hear some music,
	my sweet love?

BOTTOM	I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let's have
	the tongs and the bones.

TITANIA	Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.

BOTTOM	Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your good
	dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle
	of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

TITANIA	I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
	The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

BOTTOM	I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas.
	But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I
	have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

TITANIA	Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
	Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.

	[Exeunt fairies]

	So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
	Gently entwist; the female ivy so
	Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
	O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!

	[They sleep]

	[Enter PUCK]

OBERON	[Advancing]  Welcome, good Robin.
	See'st thou this sweet sight?
	Her dotage now I do begin to pity:
	For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
	Seeking sweet favours from this hateful fool,
	I did upbraid her and fall out with her;
	For she his hairy temples then had rounded
	With a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
	And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
	Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,
	Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes
	Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
	When I had at my pleasure taunted her
	And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
	I then did ask of her her changeling child;
	Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
	To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
	And now I have the boy, I will undo
	This hateful imperfection of her eyes:
	And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
	From off the head of this Athenian swain;
	That, he awaking when the other do,
	May all to Athens back again repair
	And think no more of this night's accidents
	But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
	But first I will release the fairy queen.
	Be as thou wast wont to be;
	See as thou wast wont to see:
	Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
	Hath such force and blessed power.
	Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.

TITANIA	My Oberon! what visions have I seen!
	Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

OBERON	There lies your love.

TITANIA	How came these things to pass?
	O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!

OBERON	Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.
	Titania, music call; and strike more dead
	Than common sleep of all these five the sense.

TITANIA	Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep!

	[Music, still]

PUCK	Now, when thou wakest, with thine
	own fool's eyes peep.

OBERON	Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me,
	And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
	Now thou and I are new in amity,
	And will to-morrow midnight solemnly
	Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
	And bless it to all fair prosperity:
	There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
	Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.

PUCK	Fairy king, attend, and mark:
	I do hear the morning lark.

OBERON	Then, my queen, in silence sad,
	Trip we after the night's shade:
	We the globe can compass soon,
	Swifter than the wandering moon.

TITANIA	Come, my lord, and in our flight
	Tell me how it came this night
	That I sleeping here was found
	With these mortals on the ground.

	[Exeunt]

	[Horns winded within]

	[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train]

THESEUS	Go, one of you, find out the forester;
	For now our observation is perform'd;
	And since we have the vaward of the day,
	My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
	Uncouple in the western valley; let them go:
	Dispatch, I say, and find the forester.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top,
	And mark the musical confusion
	Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

HIPPOLYTA	I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
	When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
	With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear
	Such gallant chiding: for, besides the groves,
	The skies, the fountains, every region near
	Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard
	So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

THESEUS	My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
	So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung
	With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
	Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;
	Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
	Each under each. A cry more tuneable
	Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
	In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:
	Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs are these?

EGEUS	My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;
	And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;
	This Helena, old Nedar's Helena:
	I wonder of their being here together.

THESEUS	No doubt they rose up early to observe
	The rite of May, and hearing our intent,
	Came here in grace our solemnity.
	But speak, Egeus; is not this the day
	That Hermia should give answer of her choice?

EGEUS	It is, my lord.

THESEUS	Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.

	[Horns and shout within. LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS,
	HELENA, and HERMIA wake and start up]

	Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past:
	Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?

LYSANDER	Pardon, my lord.

THESEUS	                  I pray you all, stand up.
	I know you two are rival enemies:
	How comes this gentle concord in the world,
	That hatred is so far from jealousy,
	To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

LYSANDER	My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
	Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear,
	I cannot truly say how I came here;
	But, as I think,--for truly would I speak,
	And now do I bethink me, so it is,--
	I came with Hermia hither: our intent
	Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,
	Without the peril of the Athenian law.

EGEUS	Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:
	I beg the law, the law, upon his head.
	They would have stolen away; they would, Demetrius,
	Thereby to have defeated you and me,
	You of your wife and me of my consent,
	Of my consent that she should be your wife.

DEMETRIUS	My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
	Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
	And I in fury hither follow'd them,
	Fair Helena in fancy following me.
	But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,--
	But by some power it is,--my love to Hermia,
	Melted as the snow, seems to me now
	As the remembrance of an idle gaud
	Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
	And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
	The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
	Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
	Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia:
	But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food;
	But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
	Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
	And will for evermore be true to it.

THESEUS	Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:
	Of this discourse we more will hear anon.
	Egeus, I will overbear your will;
	For in the temple by and by with us
	These couples shall eternally be knit:
	And, for the morning now is something worn,
	Our purposed hunting shall be set aside.
	Away with us to Athens; three and three,
	We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.
	Come, Hippolyta.

	[Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train]

DEMETRIUS	These things seem small and undistinguishable,
HERMIA	Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
	When every thing seems double.

HELENA	So methinks:
	And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
	Mine own, and not mine own.

DEMETRIUS	Are you sure
	That we are awake? It seems to me
	That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
	The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

HERMIA	Yea; and my father.

HELENA	And Hippolyta.

LYSANDER	And he did bid us follow to the temple.

DEMETRIUS	Why, then, we are awake: let's follow him
	And by the way let us recount our dreams.

	[Exeunt]

BOTTOM	[Awaking]  When my cue comes, call me, and I will
	answer: my next is, 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho!
	Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout,
	the tinker! Starveling! God's my life, stolen
	hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare
	vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to
	say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go
	about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there
	is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and
	methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if
	he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye
	of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not
	seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue
	to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream
	was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of
	this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream,
	because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the
	latter end of a play, before the duke:
	peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall
	sing it at her death.

	[Exit]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT IV



SCENE II	Athens. QUINCE'S house.


	[Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING]

QUINCE	Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he come home yet?

STARVELING	He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is
	transported.

FLUTE	If he come not, then the play is marred: it goes
	not forward, doth it?

QUINCE	It is not possible: you have not a man in all
	Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.

FLUTE	No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft
	man in Athens.

QUINCE	Yea and the best person too; and he is a very
	paramour for a sweet voice.

FLUTE	You must say 'paragon:' a paramour is, God bless us,
	a thing of naught.

	[Enter SNUG]

SNUG	Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and
	there is two or three lords and ladies more married:
	if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made
	men.

FLUTE	O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a
	day during his life; he could not have 'scaped
	sixpence a day: an the duke had not given him
	sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged;
	he would have deserved it: sixpence a day in
	Pyramus, or nothing.

	[Enter BOTTOM]

BOTTOM	Where are these lads? where are these hearts?

QUINCE	Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!

BOTTOM	Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not
	what; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I
	will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.

QUINCE	Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

BOTTOM	Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that
	the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together,
	good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your
	pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look
	o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our
	play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have
	clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion
	pair his nails, for they shall hang out for the
	lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions
	nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I
	do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet
	comedy. No more words: away! go, away!

	[Exeunt]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT V



SCENE I	Athens. The palace of THESEUS.


	[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, Lords and
	Attendants]

HIPPOLYTA	'Tis strange my Theseus, that these
	lovers speak of.

THESEUS	More strange than true: I never may believe
	These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
	Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
	Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
	More than cool reason ever comprehends.
	The lunatic, the lover and the poet
	Are of imagination all compact:
	One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
	That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
	Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
	The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
	Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
	And as imagination bodies forth
	The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
	Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
	A local habitation and a name.
	Such tricks hath strong imagination,
	That if it would but apprehend some joy,
	It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
	Or in the night, imagining some fear,
	How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

HIPPOLYTA	But all the story of the night told over,
	And all their minds transfigured so together,
	More witnesseth than fancy's images
	And grows to something of great constancy;
	But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

THESEUS	Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.

	[Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA]

	Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love
	Accompany your hearts!

LYSANDER	More than to us
	Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!

THESEUS	Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,
	To wear away this long age of three hours
	Between our after-supper and bed-time?
	Where is our usual manager of mirth?
	What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
	To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
	Call Philostrate.

PHILOSTRATE	                  Here, mighty Theseus.

THESEUS	Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?
	What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
	The lazy time, if not with some delight?

PHILOSTRATE	There is a brief how many sports are ripe:
	Make choice of which your highness will see first.

	[Giving a paper]

THESEUS	[Reads]  'The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
	By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'
	We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
	In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

	[Reads]

	'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
	Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'
	That is an old device; and it was play'd
	When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

	[Reads]

	'The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
	Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.'
	That is some satire, keen and critical,
	Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

	[Reads]

	'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
	And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.'
	Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
	That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
	How shall we find the concord of this discord?

PHILOSTRATE	A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
	Which is as brief as I have known a play;
	But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
	Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
	There is not one word apt, one player fitted:
	And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
	For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
	Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,
	Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
	The passion of loud laughter never shed.

THESEUS	What are they that do play it?

PHILOSTRATE	Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
	Which never labour'd in their minds till now,
	And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories
	With this same play, against your nuptial.

THESEUS	And we will hear it.

PHILOSTRATE	No, my noble lord;
	It is not for you: I have heard it over,
	And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
	Unless you can find sport in their intents,
	Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
	To do you service.

THESEUS	                  I will hear that play;
	For never anything can be amiss,
	When simpleness and duty tender it.
	Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.

	[Exit PHILOSTRATE]

HIPPOLYTA	I love not to see wretchedness o'er charged
	And duty in his service perishing.

THESEUS	Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.

HIPPOLYTA	He says they can do nothing in this kind.

THESEUS	The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
	Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:
	And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
	Takes it in might, not merit.
	Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
	To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
	Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
	Make periods in the midst of sentences,
	Throttle their practised accent in their fears
	And in conclusion dumbly have broke off,
	Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
	Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome;
	And in the modesty of fearful duty
	I read as much as from the rattling tongue
	Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
	Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
	In least speak most, to my capacity.

	[Re-enter PHILOSTRATE]

PHILOSTRATE	So please your grace, the Prologue is address'd.

THESEUS	Let him approach.

	[Flourish of trumpets]

	[Enter QUINCE for the Prologue]

Prologue	If we offend, it is with our good will.
	That you should think, we come not to offend,
	But with good will. To show our simple skill,
	That is the true beginning of our end.
	Consider then we come but in despite.
	We do not come as minding to contest you,
	Our true intent is. All for your delight
	We are not here. That you should here repent you,
	The actors are at hand and by their show
	You shall know all that you are like to know.

THESEUS	This fellow doth not stand upon points.

LYSANDER	He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows
	not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not
	enough to speak, but to speak true.

HIPPOLYTA	Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child
	on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

THESEUS	His speech, was like a tangled chain; nothing
	impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

	[Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion]

Prologue	Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
	But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
	This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
	This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
	This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
	Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;
	And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are content
	To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.
	This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
	Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,
	By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
	To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
	This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,
	The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
	Did scare away, or rather did affright;
	And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,
	Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
	Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,
	And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain:
	Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
	He bravely broach'd is boiling bloody breast;
	And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
	His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
	Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain
	At large discourse, while here they do remain.

	[Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine]

THESEUS	I wonder if the lion be to speak.

DEMETRIUS	No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.

Wall	In this same interlude it doth befall
	That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;
	And such a wall, as I would have you think,
	That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
	Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
	Did whisper often very secretly.
	This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show
	That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
	And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
	Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

THESEUS	Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?

DEMETRIUS	It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
	discourse, my lord.

	[Enter Pyramus]

THESEUS	Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

Pyramus	O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!
	O night, which ever art when day is not!
	O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,
	I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!
	And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
	That stand'st between her father's ground and mine!
	Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
	Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!

	[Wall holds up his fingers]

	Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
	But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
	O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!
	Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!

THESEUS	The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

Pyramus	No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'Deceiving me'
	is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to
	spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will
	fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.

	[Enter Thisbe]

Thisbe	O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
	For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
	My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,
	Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

Pyramus	I see a voice: now will I to the chink,
	To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby!

Thisbe	My love thou art, my love I think.

Pyramus	Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;
	And, like Limander, am I trusty still.

Thisbe	And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

Pyramus	Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

Thisbe	As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

Pyramus	O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!

Thisbe	I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.

Pyramus	Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?

Thisbe	'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay.

	[Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe]

Wall	Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
	And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.

	[Exit]

THESEUS	Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.

DEMETRIUS	No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear
	without warning.

HIPPOLYTA	This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.

THESEUS	The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst
	are no worse, if imagination amend them.

HIPPOLYTA	It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

THESEUS	If we imagine no worse of them than they of
	themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here
	come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.

	[Enter Lion and Moonshine]

Lion	You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
	The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
	May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
	When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
	Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
	A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam;
	For, if I should as lion come in strife
	Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.

THESEUS	A very gentle beast, of a good conscience.

DEMETRIUS	The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

LYSANDER	This lion is a very fox for his valour.

THESEUS	True; and a goose for his discretion.

DEMETRIUS	Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his
	discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

THESEUS	His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour;
	for the goose carries not the fox. It is well:
	leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon.

Moonshine	This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;--

DEMETRIUS	He should have worn the horns on his head.

THESEUS	He is no crescent, and his horns are
	invisible within the circumference.

Moonshine	This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
	Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.

THESEUS	This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man
	should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else the
	man i' the moon?

DEMETRIUS	He dares not come there for the candle; for, you
	see, it is already in snuff.

HIPPOLYTA	I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!

THESEUS	It appears, by his small light of discretion, that
	he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all
	reason, we must stay the time.

LYSANDER	Proceed, Moon.

Moonshine	All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the
	lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this
	thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.

DEMETRIUS	Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all
	these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

	[Enter Thisbe]

Thisbe	This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?

Lion	[Roaring]  Oh--

	[Thisbe runs off]

DEMETRIUS	Well roared, Lion.

THESEUS	Well run, Thisbe.

HIPPOLYTA	Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a
	good grace.

	[The Lion shakes Thisbe's mantle, and exit]

THESEUS	Well moused, Lion.

LYSANDER	And so the lion vanished.

DEMETRIUS	And then came Pyramus.

	[Enter Pyramus]

Pyramus	Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
	I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
	For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
	I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
	But stay, O spite!
	But mark, poor knight,
	What dreadful dole is here!
	Eyes, do you see?
	How can it be?
	O dainty duck! O dear!
	Thy mantle good,
	What, stain'd with blood!
	Approach, ye Furies fell!
	O Fates, come, come,
	Cut thread and thrum;
	Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

THESEUS	This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would
	go near to make a man look sad.

HIPPOLYTA	Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

Pyramus	O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
	Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear:
	Which is--no, no--which was the fairest dame
	That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd
	with cheer.
	Come, tears, confound;
	Out, sword, and wound
	The pap of Pyramus;
	Ay, that left pap,
	Where heart doth hop:

	[Stabs himself]

	Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
	Now am I dead,
	Now am I fled;
	My soul is in the sky:
	Tongue, lose thy light;
	Moon take thy flight:

	[Exit Moonshine]

	Now die, die, die, die, die.

	[Dies]

DEMETRIUS	No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

LYSANDER	Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

THESEUS	With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and
	prove an ass.

HIPPOLYTA	How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes
	back and finds her lover?

THESEUS	She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and
	her passion ends the play.

	[Re-enter Thisbe]

HIPPOLYTA	Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
	Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

DEMETRIUS	A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
	Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;
	she for a woman, God bless us.

LYSANDER	She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

DEMETRIUS	And thus she means, videlicet:--

Thisbe	          Asleep, my love?
	What, dead, my dove?
	O Pyramus, arise!
	Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
	Dead, dead? A tomb
	Must cover thy sweet eyes.
	These My lips,
	This cherry nose,
	These yellow cowslip cheeks,
	Are gone, are gone:
	Lovers, make moan:
	His eyes were green as leeks.
	O Sisters Three,
	Come, come to me,
	With hands as pale as milk;
	Lay them in gore,
	Since you have shore
	With shears his thread of silk.
	Tongue, not a word:
	Come, trusty sword;
	Come, blade, my breast imbrue:

	[Stabs herself]

	And, farewell, friends;
	Thus Thisby ends:
	Adieu, adieu, adieu.

	[Dies]

THESEUS	Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

DEMETRIUS	Ay, and Wall too.

BOTTOM	[Starting up]  No assure you; the wall is down that
	parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the
	epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two
	of our company?

THESEUS	No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no
	excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all
	dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he
	that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself
	in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine
	tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably
	discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your
	epilogue alone.

	[A dance]

	The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:
	Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
	I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn
	As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
	This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
	The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
	A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
	In nightly revels and new jollity.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter PUCK]

PUCK	     Now the hungry lion roars,
	And the wolf behowls the moon;
	Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
	All with weary task fordone.
	Now the wasted brands do glow,
	Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
	Puts the wretch that lies in woe
	In remembrance of a shroud.
	Now it is the time of night
	That the graves all gaping wide,
	Every one lets forth his sprite,
	In the church-way paths to glide:
	And we fairies, that do run
	By the triple Hecate's team,
	From the presence of the sun,
	Following darkness like a dream,
	Now are frolic: not a mouse
	Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
	I am sent with broom before,
	To sweep the dust behind the door.

	[Enter OBERON and TITANIA with their train]

OBERON	     Through the house give gathering light,
	By the dead and drowsy fire:
	Every elf and fairy sprite
	Hop as light as bird from brier;
	And this ditty, after me,
	Sing, and dance it trippingly.

TITANIA	First, rehearse your song by rote
	To each word a warbling note:
	Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
	Will we sing, and bless this place.

	[Song and dance]

OBERON	Now, until the break of day,
	Through this house each fairy stray.
	To the best bride-bed will we,
	Which by us shall blessed be;
	And the issue there create
	Ever shall be fortunate.
	So shall all the couples three
	Ever true in loving be;
	And the blots of Nature's hand
	Shall not in their issue stand;
	Never mole, hare lip, nor scar,
	Nor mark prodigious, such as are
	Despised in nativity,
	Shall upon their children be.
	With this field-dew consecrate,
	Every fairy take his gait;
	And each several chamber bless,
	Through this palace, with sweet peace;
	And the owner of it blest
	Ever shall in safety rest.
	Trip away; make no stay;
	Meet me all by break of day.

	[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train]

PUCK	If we shadows have offended,
	Think but this, and all is mended,
	That you have but slumber'd here
	While these visions did appear.
	And this weak and idle theme,
	No more yielding but a dream,
	Gentles, do not reprehend:
	if you pardon, we will mend:
	And, as I am an honest Puck,
	If we have unearned luck
	Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
	We will make amends ere long;
	Else the Puck a liar call;
	So, good night unto you all.
	Give me your hands, if we be friends,
	And Robin shall restore amends.
	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DON PEDRO	prince of Arragon.

DON JOHN	his bastard brother.

CLAUDIO	a young lord of Florence.

BENEDICK	a young lord of Padua.

LEONATO	governor of Messina.

ANTONIO	his brother.

BALTHASAR	attendant on Don Pedro.


CONRADE	|
	|  followers of Don John.
BORACHIO	|


FRIAR FRANCIS:

DOGBERRY	a constable.

VERGES	a headborough.
	A Sexton.
	A Boy.

HERO	daughter to Leonato.

BEATRICE	niece to Leonato.


MARGARET	|
	|  gentlewomen attending on Hero.
URSULA	|


	Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. (Lord:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Watchman:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)


SCENE	Messina.




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT I



SCENE I	Before LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a
	Messenger]

LEONATO	I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon
	comes this night to Messina.

Messenger	He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off
	when I left him.

LEONATO	How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Messenger	But few of any sort, and none of name.

LEONATO	A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings
	home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath
	bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.

Messenger	Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by
	Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the
	promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb,
	the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better
	bettered expectation than you must expect of me to
	tell you how.

LEONATO	He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much
	glad of it.

Messenger	I have already delivered him letters, and there
	appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could
	not show itself modest enough without a badge of
	bitterness.

LEONATO	Did he break out into tears?

Messenger	In great measure.

LEONATO	A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces
	truer than those that are so washed. How much
	better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

BEATRICE	I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the
	wars or no?

Messenger	I know none of that name, lady: there was none such
	in the army of any sort.

LEONATO	What is he that you ask for, niece?

HERO	My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Messenger	O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

BEATRICE	He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged
	Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, reading
	the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged
	him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he
	killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath
	he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.

LEONATO	Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;
	but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Messenger	He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

BEATRICE	You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it:
	he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an
	excellent stomach.

Messenger	And a good soldier too, lady.

BEATRICE	And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?

Messenger	A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all
	honourable virtues.

BEATRICE	It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:
	but for the stuffing,--well, we are all mortal.

LEONATO	You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a
	kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her:
	they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit
	between them.

BEATRICE	Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last
	conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and
	now is the whole man governed with one: so that if
	he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him
	bear it for a difference between himself and his
	horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,
	to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his
	companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

Messenger	Is't possible?

BEATRICE	Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as
	the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the
	next block.

Messenger	I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

BEATRICE	No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray
	you, who is his companion? Is there no young
	squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Messenger	He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

BEATRICE	O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he
	is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker
	runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if
	he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a
	thousand pound ere a' be cured.

Messenger	I will hold friends with you, lady.

BEATRICE	Do, good friend.

LEONATO	You will never run mad, niece.

BEATRICE	No, not till a hot January.

Messenger	Don Pedro is approached.

	[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK,
	and BALTHASAR]

DON PEDRO	Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your
	trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid
	cost, and you encounter it.

LEONATO	Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of
	your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should
	remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides
	and happiness takes his leave.

DON PEDRO	You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this
	is your daughter.

LEONATO	Her mother hath many times told me so.

BENEDICK	Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?

LEONATO	Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.

DON PEDRO	You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this
	what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers
	herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an
	honourable father.

BENEDICK	If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
	have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as
	like him as she is.

BEATRICE	I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
	Benedick: nobody marks you.

BENEDICK	What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?

BEATRICE	Is it possible disdain should die while she hath
	such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
	Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
	in her presence.

BENEDICK	Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I
	am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I
	would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard
	heart; for, truly, I love none.

BEATRICE	A dear happiness to women: they would else have
	been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God
	and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I
	had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man
	swear he loves me.

BENEDICK	God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some
	gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate
	scratched face.

BEATRICE	Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such
	a face as yours were.

BENEDICK	Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

BEATRICE	A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

BENEDICK	I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and
	so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's
	name; I have done.

BEATRICE	You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.

DON PEDRO	That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio
	and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath
	invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at
	the least a month; and he heartily prays some
	occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no
	hypocrite, but prays from his heart.

LEONATO	If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.

	[To DON JOHN]

	Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to
	the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.

DON JOHN	I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank
	you.

LEONATO	Please it your grace lead on?

DON PEDRO	Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.

	[Exeunt all except BENEDICK and CLAUDIO]

CLAUDIO	Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?

BENEDICK	I noted her not; but I looked on her.

CLAUDIO	Is she not a modest young lady?

BENEDICK	Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for
	my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak
	after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?

CLAUDIO	No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.

BENEDICK	Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high
	praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little
	for a great praise: only this commendation I can
	afford her, that were she other than she is, she
	were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I
	do not like her.

CLAUDIO	Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me
	truly how thou likest her.

BENEDICK	Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?

CLAUDIO	Can the world buy such a jewel?

BENEDICK	Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this
	with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack,
	to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a
	rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take
	you, to go in the song?

CLAUDIO	In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I
	looked on.

BENEDICK	I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such
	matter: there's her cousin, an she were not
	possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty
	as the first of May doth the last of December. But I
	hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you?

CLAUDIO	I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the
	contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

BENEDICK	Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world
	one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion?
	Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?
	Go to, i' faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck
	into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away
	Sundays. Look Don Pedro is returned to seek you.

	[Re-enter DON PEDRO]

DON PEDRO	What secret hath held you here, that you followed
	not to Leonato's?

BENEDICK	I would your grace would constrain me to tell.

DON PEDRO	I charge thee on thy allegiance.

BENEDICK	You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb
	man; I would have you think so; but, on my
	allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. He is
	in love. With who? now that is your grace's part.
	Mark how short his answer is;--With Hero, Leonato's
	short daughter.

CLAUDIO	If this were so, so were it uttered.

BENEDICK	Like the old tale, my lord: 'it is not so, nor
	'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be
	so.'

CLAUDIO	If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it
	should be otherwise.

DON PEDRO	Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.

CLAUDIO	You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

DON PEDRO	By my troth, I speak my thought.

CLAUDIO	And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.

BENEDICK	And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.

CLAUDIO	That I love her, I feel.

DON PEDRO	That she is worthy, I know.

BENEDICK	That I neither feel how she should be loved nor
	know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that
	fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the stake.

DON PEDRO	Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite
	of beauty.

CLAUDIO	And never could maintain his part but in the force
	of his will.

BENEDICK	That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she
	brought me up, I likewise give her most humble
	thanks: but that I will have a recheat winded in my
	forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick,
	all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do
	them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the
	right to trust none; and the fine is, for the which
	I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.

DON PEDRO	I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.

BENEDICK	With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord,
	not with love: prove that ever I lose more blood
	with love than I will get again with drinking, pick
	out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me
	up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of
	blind Cupid.

DON PEDRO	Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou
	wilt prove a notable argument.

BENEDICK	If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot
	at me; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on
	the shoulder, and called Adam.

DON PEDRO	Well, as time shall try: 'In time the savage bull
	doth bear the yoke.'

BENEDICK	The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible
	Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and set
	them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted,
	and in such great letters as they write 'Here is
	good horse to hire,' let them signify under my sign
	'Here you may see Benedick the married man.'

CLAUDIO	If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.

DON PEDRO	Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in
	Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

BENEDICK	I look for an earthquake too, then.

DON PEDRO	Well, you temporize with the hours. In the
	meantime, good Signior Benedick, repair to
	Leonato's: commend me to him and tell him I will
	not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made
	great preparation.

BENEDICK	I have almost matter enough in me for such an
	embassage; and so I commit you--

CLAUDIO	To the tuition of God: From my house, if I had it,--

DON PEDRO	The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick.

BENEDICK	Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your
	discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and
	the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere
	you flout old ends any further, examine your
	conscience: and so I leave you.

	[Exit]

CLAUDIO	My liege, your highness now may do me good.

DON PEDRO	My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,
	And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
	Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

CLAUDIO	Hath Leonato any son, my lord?

DON PEDRO	No child but Hero; she's his only heir.
	Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

CLAUDIO	O, my lord,
	When you went onward on this ended action,
	I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
	That liked, but had a rougher task in hand
	Than to drive liking to the name of love:
	But now I am return'd and that war-thoughts
	Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
	Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
	All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
	Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars.

DON PEDRO	Thou wilt be like a lover presently
	And tire the hearer with a book of words.
	If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,
	And I will break with her and with her father,
	And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end
	That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?

CLAUDIO	How sweetly you do minister to love,
	That know love's grief by his complexion!
	But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
	I would have salved it with a longer treatise.

DON PEDRO	What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
	The fairest grant is the necessity.
	Look, what will serve is fit: 'tis once, thou lovest,
	And I will fit thee with the remedy.
	I know we shall have revelling to-night:
	I will assume thy part in some disguise
	And tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
	And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart
	And take her hearing prisoner with the force
	And strong encounter of my amorous tale:
	Then after to her father will I break;
	And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
	In practise let us put it presently.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT I



SCENE II	A room in LEONATO's house.


	[Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, meeting]

LEONATO	How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your son?
	hath he provided this music?

ANTONIO	He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell
	you strange news that you yet dreamt not of.

LEONATO	Are they good?

ANTONIO	As the event stamps them: but they have a good
	cover; they show well outward. The prince and Count
	Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine
	orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine:
	the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my
	niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it
	this night in a dance: and if he found her
	accordant, he meant to take the present time by the
	top and instantly break with you of it.

LEONATO	Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?

ANTONIO	A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and
	question him yourself.

LEONATO	No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear
	itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal,
	that she may be the better prepared for an answer,
	if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of it.

	[Enter Attendants]

	Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you
	mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your
	skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT I



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter DON JOHN and CONRADE]

CONRADE	What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out
	of measure sad?

DON JOHN	There is no measure in the occasion that breeds;
	therefore the sadness is without limit.

CONRADE	You should hear reason.

DON JOHN	And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it?

CONRADE	If not a present remedy, at least a patient
	sufferance.

DON JOHN	I wonder that thou, being, as thou sayest thou art,
	born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral
	medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide
	what I am: I must be sad when I have cause and smile
	at no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and wait
	for no man's leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and
	tend on no man's business, laugh when I am merry and
	claw no man in his humour.

CONRADE	Yea, but you must not make the full show of this
	till you may do it without controlment. You have of
	late stood out against your brother, and he hath
	ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is
	impossible you should take true root but by the
	fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful
	that you frame the season for your own harvest.

DON JOHN	I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in
	his grace, and it better fits my blood to be
	disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob
	love from any: in this, though I cannot be said to
	be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied
	but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with
	a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I
	have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my
	mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do
	my liking: in the meantime let me be that I am and
	seek not to alter me.

CONRADE	Can you make no use of your discontent?

DON JOHN	I make all use of it, for I use it only.
	Who comes here?

	[Enter BORACHIO]

	What news, Borachio?

BORACHIO	I came yonder from a great supper: the prince your
	brother is royally entertained by Leonato: and I
	can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.

DON JOHN	Will it serve for any model to build mischief on?
	What is he for a fool that betroths himself to
	unquietness?

BORACHIO	Marry, it is your brother's right hand.

DON JOHN	Who? the most exquisite Claudio?

BORACHIO	Even he.

DON JOHN	A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks
	he?

BORACHIO	Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.

DON JOHN	A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?

BORACHIO	Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a
	musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand
	in hand in sad conference: I whipt me behind the
	arras; and there heard it agreed upon that the
	prince should woo Hero for himself, and having
	obtained her, give her to Count Claudio.

DON JOHN	Come, come, let us thither: this may prove food to
	my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the
	glory of my overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I
	bless myself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?

CONRADE	To the death, my lord.

DON JOHN	Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the
	greater that I am subdued. Would the cook were of
	my mind! Shall we go prove what's to be done?

BORACHIO	We'll wait upon your lordship.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT II



SCENE I	A hall in LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others]


LEONATO	Was not Count John here at supper?

ANTONIO	I saw him not.

BEATRICE	How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see
	him but I am heart-burned an hour after.

HERO	He is of a very melancholy disposition.

BEATRICE	He were an excellent man that were made just in the
	midway between him and Benedick: the one is too
	like an image and says nothing, and the other too
	like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling.

LEONATO	Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's
	mouth, and half Count John's melancholy in Signior
	Benedick's face,--

BEATRICE	With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money
	enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman
	in the world, if a' could get her good-will.

LEONATO	By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a
	husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

ANTONIO	In faith, she's too curst.

BEATRICE	Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's
	sending that way; for it is said, 'God sends a curst
	cow short horns;' but to a cow too curst he sends none.

LEONATO	So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.

BEATRICE	Just, if he send me no husband; for the which
	blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and
	evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a
	beard on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.

LEONATO	You may light on a husband that hath no beard.

BEATRICE	What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel
	and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that hath a
	beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no
	beard is less than a man: and he that is more than
	a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a
	man, I am not for him: therefore, I will even take
	sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his
	apes into hell.

LEONATO	Well, then, go you into hell?

BEATRICE	No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet
	me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and
	say 'Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to
	heaven; here's no place for you maids:' so deliver
	I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the
	heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and
	there live we as merry as the day is long.

ANTONIO	[To HERO]  Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled
	by your father.

BEATRICE	Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy
	and say 'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all
	that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else
	make another curtsy and say 'Father, as it please
	me.'

LEONATO	Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

BEATRICE	Not till God make men of some other metal than
	earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be
	overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to make
	an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?
	No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren;
	and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.

LEONATO	Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince
	do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

BEATRICE	The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be
	not wooed in good time: if the prince be too
	important, tell him there is measure in every thing
	and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero:
	wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig,
	a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot
	and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as
	fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a
	measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes
	repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into the
	cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

LEONATO	Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

BEATRICE	I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.

LEONATO	The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.

	[All put on their masks]

	[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR,
	DON JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA and others, masked]

DON PEDRO	Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

HERO	So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,
	I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.

DON PEDRO	With me in your company?

HERO	I may say so, when I please.

DON PEDRO	And when please you to say so?

HERO	When I like your favour; for God defend the lute
	should be like the case!

DON PEDRO	My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.

HERO	Why, then, your visor should be thatched.

DON PEDRO	Speak low, if you speak love.

	[Drawing her aside]

BALTHASAR	Well, I would you did like me.

MARGARET	So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many
	ill-qualities.

BALTHASAR	Which is one?

MARGARET	I say my prayers aloud.

BALTHASAR	I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.

MARGARET	God match me with a good dancer!

BALTHASAR	Amen.

MARGARET	And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is
	done! Answer, clerk.

BALTHASAR	No more words: the clerk is answered.

URSULA	I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.

ANTONIO	At a word, I am not.

URSULA	I know you by the waggling of your head.

ANTONIO	To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

URSULA	You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were
	the very man. Here's his dry hand up and down: you
	are he, you are he.

ANTONIO	At a word, I am not.

URSULA	Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your
	excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to,
	mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there's an
	end.

BEATRICE	Will you not tell me who told you so?

BENEDICK	No, you shall pardon me.

BEATRICE	Nor will you not tell me who you are?

BENEDICK	Not now.

BEATRICE	That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit
	out of the 'Hundred Merry Tales:'--well this was
	Signior Benedick that said so.

BENEDICK	What's he?

BEATRICE	I am sure you know him well enough.

BENEDICK	Not I, believe me.

BEATRICE	Did he never make you laugh?

BENEDICK	I pray you, what is he?

BEATRICE	Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull fool;
	only his gift is in devising impossible slanders:
	none but libertines delight in him; and the
	commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany;
	for he both pleases men and angers them, and then
	they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in
	the fleet: I would he had boarded me.

BENEDICK	When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.

BEATRICE	Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me;
	which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at,
	strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a
	partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no
	supper that night.

	[Music]

	We must follow the leaders.

BENEDICK	In every good thing.

BEATRICE	Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at
	the next turning.

	[Dance. Then exeunt all except DON JOHN, BORACHIO,
	and CLAUDIO]

DON JOHN	Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath
	withdrawn her father to break with him about it.
	The ladies follow her and but one visor remains.

BORACHIO	And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.

DON JOHN	Are not you Signior Benedick?

CLAUDIO	You know me well; I am he.

DON JOHN	Signior, you are very near my brother in his love:
	he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him
	from her: she is no equal for his birth: you may
	do the part of an honest man in it.

CLAUDIO	How know you he loves her?

DON JOHN	I heard him swear his affection.

BORACHIO	So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.

DON JOHN	Come, let us to the banquet.

	[Exeunt DON JOHN and BORACHIO]

CLAUDIO	Thus answer I in the name of Benedick,
	But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.
	'Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself.
	Friendship is constant in all other things
	Save in the office and affairs of love:
	Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;
	Let every eye negotiate for itself
	And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch
	Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
	This is an accident of hourly proof,
	Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

	[Re-enter BENEDICK]

BENEDICK	Count Claudio?

CLAUDIO	Yea, the same.

BENEDICK	Come, will you go with me?

CLAUDIO	Whither?

BENEDICK	Even to the next willow, about your own business,
	county. What fashion will you wear the garland of?
	about your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under
	your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear
	it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.

CLAUDIO	I wish him joy of her.

BENEDICK	Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier: so they
	sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would
	have served you thus?

CLAUDIO	I pray you, leave me.

BENEDICK	Ho! now you strike like the blind man: 'twas the
	boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

CLAUDIO	If it will not be, I'll leave you.

	[Exit]

BENEDICK	Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges.
	But that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not
	know me! The prince's fool! Ha? It may be I go
	under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I
	am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it
	is the base, though bitter, disposition of Beatrice
	that puts the world into her person and so gives me
	out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may.

	[Re-enter DON PEDRO]

DON PEDRO	Now, signior, where's the count? did you see him?

BENEDICK	Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame.
	I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a
	warren: I told him, and I think I told him true,
	that your grace had got the good will of this young
	lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree,
	either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or
	to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.

DON PEDRO	To be whipped! What's his fault?

BENEDICK	The flat transgression of a schoolboy, who, being
	overjoyed with finding a birds' nest, shows it his
	companion, and he steals it.

DON PEDRO	Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The
	transgression is in the stealer.

BENEDICK	Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made,
	and the garland too; for the garland he might have
	worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on
	you, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds' nest.

DON PEDRO	I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to
	the owner.

BENEDICK	If their singing answer your saying, by my faith,
	you say honestly.

DON PEDRO	The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the
	gentleman that danced with her told her she is much
	wronged by you.

BENEDICK	O, she misused me past the endurance of a block!
	an oak but with one green leaf on it would have
	answered her; my very visor began to assume life and
	scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been
	myself, that I was the prince's jester, that I was
	duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest
	with such impossible conveyance upon me that I stood
	like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at
	me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:
	if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,
	there were no living near her; she would infect to
	the north star. I would not marry her, though she
	were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before
	he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have
	turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make
	the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find
	her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God
	some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while
	she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a
	sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they
	would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror
	and perturbation follows her.

DON PEDRO	Look, here she comes.

	[Enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO]

BENEDICK	Will your grace command me any service to the
	world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now
	to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on;
	I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the
	furthest inch of Asia, bring you the length of
	Prester John's foot, fetch you a hair off the great
	Cham's beard, do you any embassage to the Pigmies,
	rather than hold three words' conference with this
	harpy. You have no employment for me?

DON PEDRO	None, but to desire your good company.

BENEDICK	O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I cannot
	endure my Lady Tongue.

	[Exit]

DON PEDRO	Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of
	Signior Benedick.

BEATRICE	Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave
	him use for it, a double heart for his single one:
	marry, once before he won it of me with false dice,
	therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.

DON PEDRO	You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

BEATRICE	So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I
	should prove the mother of fools. I have brought
	Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

DON PEDRO	Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?

CLAUDIO	Not sad, my lord.

DON PEDRO	How then? sick?

CLAUDIO	Neither, my lord.

BEATRICE	The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor
	well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and
	something of that jealous complexion.

DON PEDRO	I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;
	though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is
	false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and
	fair Hero is won: I have broke with her father,
	and his good will obtained: name the day of
	marriage, and God give thee joy!

LEONATO	Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my
	fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and an
	grace say Amen to it.

BEATRICE	Speak, count, 'tis your cue.

CLAUDIO	Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were
	but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as
	you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for
	you and dote upon the exchange.

BEATRICE	Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth
	with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

DON PEDRO	In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

BEATRICE	Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on
	the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his
	ear that he is in her heart.

CLAUDIO	And so she doth, cousin.

BEATRICE	Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the
	world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a
	corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

DON PEDRO	Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

BEATRICE	I would rather have one of your father's getting.
	Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your
	father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

DON PEDRO	Will you have me, lady?

BEATRICE	No, my lord, unless I might have another for
	working-days: your grace is too costly to wear
	every day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me: I
	was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

DON PEDRO	Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best
	becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in
	a merry hour.

BEATRICE	No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there
	was a star danced, and under that was I born.
	Cousins, God give you joy!

LEONATO	Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?

BEATRICE	I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's pardon.

	[Exit]

DON PEDRO	By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

LEONATO	There's little of the melancholy element in her, my
	lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps, and
	not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say,
	she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked
	herself with laughing.

DON PEDRO	She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

LEONATO	O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.

DON PEDRO	She were an excellent wife for Benedict.

LEONATO	O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,
	they would talk themselves mad.

DON PEDRO	County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

CLAUDIO	To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love
	have all his rites.

LEONATO	Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just
	seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all
	things answer my mind.

DON PEDRO	Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing:
	but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go
	dully by us. I will in the interim undertake one of
	Hercules' labours; which is, to bring Signior
	Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of
	affection the one with the other. I would fain have
	it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if
	you three will but minister such assistance as I
	shall give you direction.

LEONATO	My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten
	nights' watchings.

CLAUDIO	And I, my lord.

DON PEDRO	And you too, gentle Hero?

HERO	I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my
	cousin to a good husband.

DON PEDRO	And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that
	I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble
	strain, of approved valour and confirmed honesty. I
	will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she
	shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your
	two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in
	despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he
	shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,
	Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be
	ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me,
	and I will tell you my drift.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT II



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter DON JOHN and BORACHIO]

DON JOHN	It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the
	daughter of Leonato.

BORACHIO	Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.

DON JOHN	Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be
	medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him,
	and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges
	evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?

BORACHIO	Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no
	dishonesty shall appear in me.

DON JOHN	Show me briefly how.

BORACHIO	I think I told your lordship a year since, how much
	I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting
	gentlewoman to Hero.

DON JOHN	I remember.

BORACHIO	I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,
	appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber window.

DON JOHN	What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

BORACHIO	The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to
	the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that
	he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned
	Claudio--whose estimation do you mightily hold
	up--to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.

DON JOHN	What proof shall I make of that?

BORACHIO	Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,
	to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for any
	other issue?

DON JOHN	Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.

BORACHIO	Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and
	the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know
	that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the
	prince and Claudio, as,--in love of your brother's
	honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's
	reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the
	semblance of a maid,--that you have discovered
	thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial:
	offer them instances; which shall bear no less
	likelihood than to see me at her chamber-window,
	hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me
	Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night
	before the intended wedding,--for in the meantime I
	will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be
	absent,--and there shall appear such seeming truth
	of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy shall be called
	assurance and all the preparation overthrown.

DON JOHN	Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put
	it in practise. Be cunning in the working this, and
	thy fee is a thousand ducats.

BORACHIO	Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning
	shall not shame me.

DON JOHN	I will presently go learn their day of marriage.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT II



SCENE III	LEONATO'S orchard.


	[Enter BENEDICK]

BENEDICK	Boy!

	[Enter Boy]

Boy	Signior?

BENEDICK	In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hither
	to me in the orchard.

Boy	I am here already, sir.

BENEDICK	I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.

	[Exit Boy]

	I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much
	another man is a fool when he dedicates his
	behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at
	such shallow follies in others, become the argument
	of his own scorn by failing in love: and such a man
	is Claudio. I have known when there was no music
	with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he
	rather hear the tabour and the pipe: I have known
	when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a
	good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,
	carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to
	speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man
	and a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; his
	words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
	strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with
	these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not
	be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but
	I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster
	of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman
	is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am
	well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all
	graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in
	my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise,
	or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her;
	fair, or I'll   never look on her; mild, or come not
	near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good
	discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall
	be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and
	Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.

	[Withdraws]

	[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO]

DON PEDRO	Come, shall we hear this music?

CLAUDIO	Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
	As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!

DON PEDRO	See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

CLAUDIO	O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
	We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

	[Enter BALTHASAR with Music]

DON PEDRO	Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.

BALTHASAR	O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
	To slander music any more than once.

DON PEDRO	It is the witness still of excellency
	To put a strange face on his own perfection.
	I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

BALTHASAR	Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
	Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
	To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
	Yet will he swear he loves.

DON PEDRO	Now, pray thee, come;
	Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
	Do it in notes.

BALTHASAR	                  Note this before my notes;
	There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

DON PEDRO	Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
	Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing.
	[Air]

BENEDICK	Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it
	not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls out
	of men's bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when
	all's done.

	[The Song]

BALTHASAR	     Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
	Men were deceivers ever,
	One foot in sea and one on shore,
	To one thing constant never:
	Then sigh not so, but let them go,
	And be you blithe and bonny,
	Converting all your sounds of woe
	Into Hey nonny, nonny.

	Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
	Of dumps so dull and heavy;
	The fraud of men was ever so,
	Since summer first was leafy:
	Then sigh not so, &c.

DON PEDRO	By my troth, a good song.

BALTHASAR	And an ill singer, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.

BENEDICK	An he had been a dog that should have howled thus,
	they would have hanged him: and I pray God his bad
	voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the
	night-raven, come what plague could have come after
	it.

DON PEDRO	Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,
	get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we
	would have it at the Lady Hero's chamber-window.

BALTHASAR	The best I can, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Do so: farewell.

	[Exit BALTHASAR]

	Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of
	to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with
	Signior Benedick?

CLAUDIO	O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I did
	never think that lady would have loved any man.

LEONATO	No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she
	should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in
	all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor.

BENEDICK	Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

LEONATO	By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think
	of it but that she loves him with an enraged
	affection: it is past the infinite of thought.

DON PEDRO	May be she doth but counterfeit.

CLAUDIO	Faith, like enough.

LEONATO	O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of
	passion came so near the life of passion as she
	discovers it.

DON PEDRO	Why, what effects of passion shows she?

CLAUDIO	Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.

LEONATO	What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard
	my daughter tell you how.

CLAUDIO	She did, indeed.

DON PEDRO	How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I
	thought her spirit had been invincible against all
	assaults of affection.

LEONATO	I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially
	against Benedick.

BENEDICK	I should think this a gull, but that the
	white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,
	sure, hide himself in such reverence.

CLAUDIO	He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up.

DON PEDRO	Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

LEONATO	No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.

CLAUDIO	'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: 'Shall
	I,' says she, 'that have so oft encountered him
	with scorn, write to him that I love him?'

LEONATO	This says she now when she is beginning to write to
	him; for she'll be up twenty times a night, and
	there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a
	sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.

CLAUDIO	Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a
	pretty jest your daughter told us of.

LEONATO	O, when she had writ it and was reading it over, she
	found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

CLAUDIO	That.

LEONATO	O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;
	railed at herself, that she should be so immodest
	to write to one that she knew would flout her; 'I
	measure him,' says she, 'by my own spirit; for I
	should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I
	love him, I should.'

CLAUDIO	Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs,
	beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; 'O
	sweet Benedick! God give me patience!'

LEONATO	She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the
	ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter
	is sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrage
	to herself: it is very true.

DON PEDRO	It were good that Benedick knew of it by some
	other, if she will not discover it.

CLAUDIO	To what end? He would make but a sport of it and
	torment the poor lady worse.

DON PEDRO	An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an
	excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,
	she is virtuous.

CLAUDIO	And she is exceeding wise.

DON PEDRO	In every thing but in loving Benedick.

LEONATO	O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender
	a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath
	the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just
	cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

DON PEDRO	I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would
	have daffed all other respects and made her half
	myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear
	what a' will say.

LEONATO	Were it good, think you?

CLAUDIO	Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she
	will die, if he love her not, and she will die, ere
	she make her love known, and she will die, if he woo
	her, rather than she will bate one breath of her
	accustomed crossness.

DON PEDRO	She doth well: if she should make tender of her
	love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the
	man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

CLAUDIO	He is a very proper man.

DON PEDRO	He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

CLAUDIO	Before God! and, in my mind, very wise.

DON PEDRO	He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

CLAUDIO	And I take him to be valiant.

DON PEDRO	As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of
	quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he
	avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes
	them with a most Christian-like fear.

LEONATO	If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep peace:
	if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a
	quarrel with fear and trembling.

DON PEDRO	And so will he do; for the man doth fear God,
	howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests
	he will make. Well I am sorry for your niece. Shall
	we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

CLAUDIO	Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with
	good counsel.

LEONATO	Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her heart out first.

DON PEDRO	Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter:
	let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I
	could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see
	how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

LEONATO	My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

CLAUDIO	If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never
	trust my expectation.

DON PEDRO	Let there be the same net spread for her; and that
	must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The
	sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of
	another's dotage, and no such matter: that's the
	scene that I would see, which will be merely a
	dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.

	[Exeunt DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO]

BENEDICK	[Coming forward]  This can be no trick: the
	conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of
	this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it
	seems her affections have their full bent. Love me!
	why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured:
	they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive
	the love come from her; they say too that she will
	rather die than give any sign of affection. I did
	never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy
	are they that hear their detractions and can put
	them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a
	truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous; 'tis
	so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving
	me; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor
	no great argument of her folly, for I will be
	horribly in love with her. I may chance have some
	odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me,
	because I have railed so long against marriage: but
	doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat
	in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.
	Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of
	the brain awe a man from the career of his humour?
	No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would
	die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I
	were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day!
	she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in
	her.

	[Enter BEATRICE]

BEATRICE	Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

BENEDICK	Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

BEATRICE	I took no more pains for those thanks than you take
	pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would
	not have come.

BENEDICK	You take pleasure then in the message?

BEATRICE	Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's
	point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,
	signior: fare you well.

	[Exit]

BENEDICK	Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in
	to dinner;' there's a double meaning in that 'I took
	no more pains for those thanks than you took pains
	to thank me.' that's as much as to say, Any pains
	that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do
	not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not
	love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.

	[Exit]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE I	LEONATO'S garden.


	[Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA]

HERO	Good Margaret, run thee to the parlor;
	There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
	Proposing with the prince and Claudio:
	Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula
	Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse
	Is all of her; say that thou overheard'st us;
	And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
	Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,
	Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites,
	Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
	Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her,
	To listen our purpose.  This is thy office;
	Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.

MARGARET	I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

	[Exit]

HERO	Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
	As we do trace this alley up and down,
	Our talk must only be of Benedick.
	When I do name him, let it be thy part
	To praise him more than ever man did merit:
	My talk to thee must be how Benedick
	Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
	Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
	That only wounds by hearsay.

	[Enter BEATRICE, behind]

		       Now begin;
	For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
	Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

URSULA	The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
	Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
	And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
	So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
	Is couched in the woodbine coverture.
	Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

HERO	Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
	Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.

	[Approaching the bower]

	No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
	I know her spirits are as coy and wild
	As haggerds of the rock.

URSULA	But are you sure
	That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

HERO	So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.

URSULA	And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

HERO	They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;
	But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
	To wish him wrestle with affection,
	And never to let Beatrice know of it.

URSULA	Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
	Deserve as full as fortunate a bed
	As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

HERO	O god of love! I know he doth deserve
	As much as may be yielded to a man:
	But Nature never framed a woman's heart
	Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;
	Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
	Misprising what they look on, and her wit
	Values itself so highly that to her
	All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
	Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
	She is so self-endeared.

URSULA	Sure, I think so;
	And therefore certainly it were not good
	She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

HERO	Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
	How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,
	But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced,
	She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;
	If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique,
	Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
	If low, an agate very vilely cut;
	If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
	If silent, why, a block moved with none.
	So turns she every man the wrong side out
	And never gives to truth and virtue that
	Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

URSULA	Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

HERO	No, not to be so odd and from all fashions
	As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
	But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
	She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
	Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
	Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
	Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
	It were a better death than die with mocks,
	Which is as bad as die with tickling.

URSULA	Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.

HERO	No; rather I will go to Benedick
	And counsel him to fight against his passion.
	And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
	To stain my cousin with: one doth not know
	How much an ill word may empoison liking.

URSULA	O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
	She cannot be so much without true judgment--
	Having so swift and excellent a wit
	As she is prized to have--as to refuse
	So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.

HERO	He is the only man of Italy.
	Always excepted my dear Claudio.

URSULA	I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
	Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,
	For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,
	Goes foremost in report through Italy.

HERO	Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

URSULA	His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
	When are you married, madam?

HERO	Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in:
	I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel
	Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

URSULA	She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.

HERO	If it proves so, then loving goes by haps:
	Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

	[Exeunt HERO and URSULA]

BEATRICE	[Coming forward]
	What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
	Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
	Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
	No glory lives behind the back of such.
	And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,
	Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:
	If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
	To bind our loves up in a holy band;
	For others say thou dost deserve, and I
	Believe it better than reportingly.

	[Exit]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE II	A room in LEONATO'S house


	[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LEONATO]

DON PEDRO	I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and
	then go I toward Arragon.

CLAUDIO	I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
	vouchsafe me.

DON PEDRO	Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss
	of your marriage as to show a child his new coat
	and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold
	with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown
	of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all
	mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's
	bow-string and the little hangman dare not shoot at
	him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell and his
	tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his
	tongue speaks.

BENEDICK	Gallants, I am not as I have been.

LEONATO	So say I	methinks you are sadder.

CLAUDIO	I hope he be in love.

DON PEDRO	Hang him, truant! there's no true drop of blood in
	him, to be truly touched with love: if he be sad,
	he wants money.

BENEDICK	I have the toothache.

DON PEDRO	Draw it.

BENEDICK	Hang it!

CLAUDIO	You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

DON PEDRO	What! sigh for the toothache?

LEONATO	Where is but a humour or a worm.

BENEDICK	Well, every one can master a grief but he that has
	it.

CLAUDIO	Yet say I, he is in love.

DON PEDRO	There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be
	a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be
	a Dutchman today, a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the
	shape of two countries at once, as, a German from
	the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from
	the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy
	to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no
	fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.

CLAUDIO	If he be not in love with some woman, there is no
	believing old signs: a' brushes his hat o'
	mornings; what should that bode?

DON PEDRO	Hath any man seen him at the barber's?

CLAUDIO	No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him,
	and the old ornament of his cheek hath already
	stuffed tennis-balls.

LEONATO	Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

DON PEDRO	Nay, a' rubs himself with civet: can you smell him
	out by that?

CLAUDIO	That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.

DON PEDRO	The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

CLAUDIO	And when was he wont to wash his face?

DON PEDRO	Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear
	what they say of him.

CLAUDIO	Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into
	a lute-string and now governed by stops.

DON PEDRO	Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude,
	conclude he is in love.

CLAUDIO	Nay, but I know who loves him.

DON PEDRO	That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.

CLAUDIO	Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of
	all, dies for him.

DON PEDRO	She shall be buried with her face upwards.

BENEDICK	Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old
	signior, walk aside with me: I have studied eight
	or nine wise words to speak to you, which these
	hobby-horses must not hear.

	[Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO]

DON PEDRO	For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

CLAUDIO	'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this
	played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two
	bears will not bite one another when they meet.

	[Enter DON JOHN]

DON JOHN	My lord and brother, God save you!

DON PEDRO	Good den, brother.

DON JOHN	If your leisure served, I would speak with you.

DON PEDRO	In private?

DON JOHN	If it please you: yet Count Claudio may hear; for
	what I would speak of concerns him.

DON PEDRO	What's the matter?

DON JOHN	[To CLAUDIO]  Means your lordship to be married
	to-morrow?

DON PEDRO	You know he does.

DON JOHN	I know not that, when he knows what I know.

CLAUDIO	If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.

DON JOHN	You may think I love you not: let that appear
	hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will
	manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you
	well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect
	your ensuing marriage;--surely suit ill spent and
	labour ill bestowed.

DON PEDRO	Why, what's the matter?

DON JOHN	I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances
	shortened, for she has been too long a talking of,
	the lady is disloyal.

CLAUDIO	Who, Hero?

DON PEDRO	Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero:

CLAUDIO	Disloyal?

DON JOHN	The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I
	could say she were worse: think you of a worse
	title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till
	further warrant: go but with me to-night, you shall
	see her chamber-window entered, even the night
	before her wedding-day: if you love her then,
	to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour
	to change your mind.

CLAUDIO	May this be so?

DON PEDRO	I will not think it.

DON JOHN	If you dare not trust that you see, confess not
	that you know: if you will follow me, I will show
	you enough; and when you have seen more and heard
	more, proceed accordingly.

CLAUDIO	If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry
	her to-morrow in the congregation, where I should
	wed, there will I shame her.

DON PEDRO	And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join
	with thee to disgrace her.

DON JOHN	I will disparage her no farther till you are my
	witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and
	let the issue show itself.

DON PEDRO	O day untowardly turned!

CLAUDIO	O mischief strangely thwarting!

DON JOHN	O plague right well prevented! so will you say when
	you have seen the sequel.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE III	A street.


	[Enter DOGBERRY and VERGES with the Watch]

DOGBERRY	Are you good men and true?

VERGES	Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer
	salvation, body and soul.

DOGBERRY	Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if
	they should have any allegiance in them, being
	chosen for the prince's watch.

VERGES	Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.

DOGBERRY	First, who think you the most desertless man to be
	constable?

First Watchman	Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Seacole; for they can
	write and read.

DOGBERRY	Come hither, neighbour Seacole. God hath blessed
	you with a good name: to be a well-favoured man is
	the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

Second Watchman	Both which, master constable,--

DOGBERRY	You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well,
	for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make
	no boast of it; and for your writing and reading,
	let that appear when there is no need of such
	vanity. You are thought here to be the most
	senseless and fit man for the constable of the
	watch; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your
	charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are
	to bid any man stand, in the prince's name.

Second Watchman	How if a' will not stand?

DOGBERRY	Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and
	presently call the rest of the watch together and
	thank God you are rid of a knave.

VERGES	If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none
	of the prince's subjects.

DOGBERRY	True, and they are to meddle with none but the
	prince's subjects. You shall also make no noise in
	the streets; for, for the watch to babble and to
	talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.

Watchman	We will rather sleep than talk: we know what
	belongs to a watch.

DOGBERRY	Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet
	watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should
	offend: only, have a care that your bills be not
	stolen. Well, you are to call at all the
	ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.

Watchman	How if they will not?

DOGBERRY	Why, then, let them alone till they are sober: if
	they make you not then the better answer, you may
	say they are not the men you took them for.

Watchman	Well, sir.

DOGBERRY	If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue
	of your office, to be no true man; and, for such
	kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them,
	why the more is for your honesty.

Watchman	If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay
	hands on him?

DOGBERRY	Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they
	that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable
	way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him
	show himself what he is and steal out of your company.

VERGES	You have been always called a merciful man, partner.

DOGBERRY	Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more
	a man who hath any honesty in him.

VERGES	If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call
	to the nurse and bid her still it.

Watchman	How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?

DOGBERRY	Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake
	her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her
	lamb when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats.

VERGES	'Tis very true.

DOGBERRY	This is the end of the charge:--you, constable, are
	to present the prince's own person: if you meet the
	prince in the night, you may stay him.

VERGES	Nay, by'r our lady, that I think a' cannot.

DOGBERRY	Five shillings to one on't, with any man that knows
	the statutes, he may stay him: marry, not without
	the prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought
	to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a
	man against his will.

VERGES	By'r lady, I think it be so.

DOGBERRY	Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be
	any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your
	fellows' counsels and your own; and good night.
	Come, neighbour.

Watchman	Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here
	upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed.

DOGBERRY	One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch
	about Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being
	there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night.
	Adieu: be vigitant, I beseech you.

	[Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES]

	[Enter BORACHIO and CONRADE]

BORACHIO	What Conrade!

Watchman	[Aside]  Peace! stir not.

BORACHIO	Conrade, I say!

CONRADE	Here, man; I am at thy elbow.

BORACHIO	Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a
	scab follow.

CONRADE	I will owe thee an answer for that: and now forward
	with thy tale.

BORACHIO	Stand thee close, then, under this pent-house, for
	it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard,
	utter all to thee.

Watchman	[Aside]  Some treason, masters: yet stand close.

BORACHIO	Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.

CONRADE	Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?

BORACHIO	Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any
	villany should be so rich; for when rich villains
	have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what
	price they will.

CONRADE	I wonder at it.

BORACHIO	That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that
	the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is
	nothing to a man.

CONRADE	Yes, it is apparel.

BORACHIO	I mean, the fashion.

CONRADE	Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

BORACHIO	Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But
	seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion
	is?

Watchman	[Aside]  I know that Deformed; a' has been a vile
	thief this seven year; a' goes up and down like a
	gentleman: I remember his name.

BORACHIO	Didst thou not hear somebody?

CONRADE	No; 'twas the vane on the house.

BORACHIO	Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this
	fashion is? how giddily a' turns about all the hot
	bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty?
	sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers
	in the reeky painting, sometime like god Bel's
	priests in the old church-window, sometime like the
	shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry,
	where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?

CONRADE	All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears
	out more apparel than the man. But art not thou
	thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast
	shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

BORACHIO	Not so, neither: but know that I have to-night
	wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the
	name of Hero: she leans me out at her mistress'
	chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good
	night,--I tell this tale vilely:--I should first
	tell thee how the prince, Claudio and my master,
	planted and placed and possessed by my master Don
	John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter.

CONRADE	And thought they Margaret was Hero?

BORACHIO	Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but the
	devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly
	by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by
	the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly
	by my villany, which did confirm any slander that
	Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore
	he would meet her, as he was appointed, next morning
	at the temple, and there, before the whole
	congregation, shame her with what he saw o'er night
	and send her home again without a husband.

First Watchman	We charge you, in the prince's name, stand!

Second Watchman	Call up the right master constable. We have here
	recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that
	ever was known in the commonwealth.

First Watchman	And one Deformed is one of them: I know him; a'
	wears a lock.

CONRADE	Masters, masters,--

Second Watchman	You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.

CONRADE	Masters,--

First Watchman	Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us.

BORACHIO	We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken
	up of these men's bills.

CONRADE	A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE IV	HERO's apartment.


	[Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA]

HERO	Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire
	her to rise.

URSULA	I will, lady.

HERO	And bid her come hither.

URSULA	Well.

	[Exit]

MARGARET	Troth, I think your other rabato were better.

HERO	No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

MARGARET	By my troth, 's not so good; and I warrant your
	cousin will say so.

HERO	My cousin's a fool, and thou art another: I'll wear
	none but this.

MARGARET	I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair
	were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare
	fashion, i' faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan's
	gown that they praise so.

HERO	O, that exceeds, they say.

MARGARET	By my troth, 's but a night-gown in respect of
	yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced with
	silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves,
	and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel:
	but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent
	fashion, yours is worth ten on 't.

HERO	God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is
	exceeding heavy.

MARGARET	'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.

HERO	Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?

MARGARET	Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not
	marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord
	honourable without marriage? I think you would have
	me say, 'saving your reverence, a husband:' and bad
	thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend
	nobody: is there any harm in 'the heavier for a
	husband'? None, I think, and it be the right husband
	and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and not
	heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.

	[Enter BEATRICE]

HERO	Good morrow, coz.

BEATRICE	Good morrow, sweet Hero.

HERO	Why how now? do you speak in the sick tune?

BEATRICE	I am out of all other tune, methinks.

MARGARET	Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that goes without a
	burden: do you sing it, and I'll dance it.

BEATRICE	Ye light o' love, with your heels! then, if your
	husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall
	lack no barns.

MARGARET	O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

BEATRICE	'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; tis time you were
	ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho!

MARGARET	For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

BEATRICE	For the letter that begins them all, H.

MARGARET	Well, and you be not turned Turk, there's no more
	sailing by the star.

BEATRICE	What means the fool, trow?

MARGARET	Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!

HERO	These gloves the count sent me; they are an
	excellent perfume.

BEATRICE	I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell.

MARGARET	A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold.

BEATRICE	O, God help me! God help me! how long have you
	professed apprehension?

MARGARET	Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?

BEATRICE	It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your
	cap. By my troth, I am sick.

MARGARET	Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,
	and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.

HERO	There thou prickest her with a thistle.

BEATRICE	Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in
	this Benedictus.

MARGARET	Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I
	meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance
	that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, I am
	not such a fool to think what I list, nor I list
	not to think what I can, nor indeed I cannot think,
	if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you
	are in love or that you will be in love or that you
	can be in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and
	now is he become a man: he swore he would never
	marry, and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats
	his meat without grudging: and how you may be
	converted I know not, but methinks you look with
	your eyes as other women do.

BEATRICE	What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

MARGARET	Not a false gallop.

	[Re-enter URSULA]

URSULA	Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior
	Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the
	town, are come to fetch you to church.

HERO	Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE V	Another room in LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES]

LEONATO	What would you with me, honest neighbour?

DOGBERRY	Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you
	that decerns you nearly.

LEONATO	Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.

DOGBERRY	Marry, this it is, sir.

VERGES	Yes, in truth it is, sir.

LEONATO	What is it, my good friends?

DOGBERRY	Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the
	matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so
	blunt as, God help, I would desire they were; but,
	in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.

VERGES	Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living
	that is an old man and no honester than I.

DOGBERRY	Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.

LEONATO	Neighbours, you are tedious.

DOGBERRY	It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the
	poor duke's officers; but truly, for mine own part,
	if I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in
	my heart to bestow it all of your worship.

LEONATO	All thy tediousness on me, ah?

DOGBERRY	Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more than 'tis; for
	I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any
	man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I
	am glad to hear it.

VERGES	And so am I.

LEONATO	I would fain know what you have to say.

VERGES	Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your
	worship's presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant
	knaves as any in Messina.

DOGBERRY	A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they
	say, when the age is in, the wit is out: God help
	us! it is a world to see. Well said, i' faith,
	neighbour Verges: well, God's a good man; an two men
	ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest
	soul, i' faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever
	broke bread; but God is to be worshipped; all men
	are not alike; alas, good neighbour!

LEONATO	Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.

DOGBERRY	Gifts that God gives.

LEONATO	I must leave you.

DOGBERRY	One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed
	comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would
	have them this morning examined before your worship.

LEONATO	Take their examination yourself and bring it me: I
	am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you.

DOGBERRY	It shall be suffigance.

LEONATO	Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to
	her husband.

LEONATO	I'll wait upon them: I am ready.

	[Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger]

DOGBERRY	Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole;
	bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we
	are now to examination these men.

VERGES	And we must do it wisely.

DOGBERRY	We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's
	that shall drive some of them to a non-come: only
	get the learned writer to set down our
	excommunication and meet me at the gaol.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT IV



SCENE I	A church.


	[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, FRIAR FRANCIS,
	CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, and Attendants]

LEONATO	Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain
	form of marriage, and you shall recount their
	particular duties afterwards.

FRIAR FRANCIS	You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.

CLAUDIO	No.

LEONATO	To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.

HERO	I do.

FRIAR FRANCIS	If either of you know any inward impediment why you
	should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls,
	to utter it.

CLAUDIO	Know you any, Hero?

HERO	None, my lord.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Know you any, count?

LEONATO	I dare make his answer, none.

CLAUDIO	O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily
	do, not knowing what they do!

BENEDICK	How now! interjections? Why, then, some be of
	laughing, as, ah, ha, he!

CLAUDIO	Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave:
	Will you with free and unconstrained soul
	Give me this maid, your daughter?

LEONATO	As freely, son, as God did give her me.

CLAUDIO	And what have I to give you back, whose worth
	May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

DON PEDRO	Nothing, unless you render her again.

CLAUDIO	Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.
	There, Leonato, take her back again:
	Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
	She's but the sign and semblance of her honour.
	Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
	O, what authority and show of truth
	Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
	Comes not that blood as modest evidence
	To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
	All you that see her, that she were a maid,
	By these exterior shows? But she is none:
	She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
	Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

LEONATO	What do you mean, my lord?

CLAUDIO	Not to be married,
	Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

LEONATO	Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
	Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
	And made defeat of her virginity,--

CLAUDIO	I know what you would say: if I have known her,
	You will say she did embrace me as a husband,
	And so extenuate the 'forehand sin:
	No, Leonato,
	I never tempted her with word too large;
	But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
	Bashful sincerity and comely love.

HERO	And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?

CLAUDIO	Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it:
	You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
	As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;
	But you are more intemperate in your blood
	Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
	That rage in savage sensuality.

HERO	Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?

LEONATO	Sweet prince, why speak not you?

DON PEDRO	What should I speak?
	I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
	To link my dear friend to a common stale.

LEONATO	Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?

DON JOHN	Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

BENEDICK	This looks not like a nuptial.

HERO	True! O God!

CLAUDIO	Leonato, stand I here?
	Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother?
	Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own?

LEONATO	All this is so: but what of this, my lord?

CLAUDIO	Let me but move one question to your daughter;
	And, by that fatherly and kindly power
	That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

LEONATO	I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

HERO	O, God defend me! how am I beset!
	What kind of catechising call you this?

CLAUDIO	To make you answer truly to your name.

HERO	Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
	With any just reproach?

CLAUDIO	Marry, that can Hero;
	Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
	What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
	Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
	Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

HERO	I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato,
	I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,
	Myself, my brother and this grieved count
	Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night
	Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window
	Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
	Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
	A thousand times in secret.

DON JOHN	Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord,
	Not to be spoke of;
	There is not chastity enough in language
	Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,
	I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

CLAUDIO	O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been,
	If half thy outward graces had been placed
	About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
	But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
	Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
	For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
	And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
	To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
	And never shall it more be gracious.

LEONATO	Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?

	[HERO swoons]

BEATRICE	Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?

DON JOHN	Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
	Smother her spirits up.

	[Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, and CLAUDIO]

BENEDICK	How doth the lady?

BEATRICE	                  Dead, I think. Help, uncle!
	Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!

LEONATO	O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
	Death is the fairest cover for her shame
	That may be wish'd for.

BEATRICE	How now, cousin Hero!

FRIAR FRANCIS	Have comfort, lady.

LEONATO	Dost thou look up?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Yea, wherefore should she not?

LEONATO	Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing
	Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
	The story that is printed in her blood?
	Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
	For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
	Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
	Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
	Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one?
	Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
	O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
	Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
	Why had I not with charitable hand
	Took up a beggar's issue at my gates,
	Who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy,
	I might have said 'No part of it is mine;
	This shame derives itself from unknown loins'?
	But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised
	And mine that I was proud on, mine so much
	That I myself was to myself not mine,
	Valuing of her,--why, she, O, she is fallen
	Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
	Hath drops too few to wash her clean again
	And salt too little which may season give
	To her foul-tainted flesh!

BENEDICK	Sir, sir, be patient.
	For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
	I know not what to say.

BEATRICE	O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

BENEDICK	Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

BEATRICE	No, truly not; although, until last night,
	I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

LEONATO	Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made
	Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
	Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie,
	Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
	Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Hear me a little; for I have only been
	Silent so long and given way unto
	This course of fortune [           ]
	By noting of the lady I have mark'd
	A thousand blushing apparitions
	To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
	In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;
	And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
	To burn the errors that these princes hold
	Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
	Trust not my reading nor my observations,
	Which with experimental seal doth warrant
	The tenor of my book; trust not my age,
	My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
	If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
	Under some biting error.

LEONATO	Friar, it cannot be.
	Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
	Is that she will not add to her damnation
	A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
	Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
	That which appears in proper nakedness?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Lady, what man is he you are accused of?

HERO	They know that do accuse me; I know none:
	If I know more of any man alive
	Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
	Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father,
	Prove you that any man with me conversed
	At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
	Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
	Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!

FRIAR FRANCIS	There is some strange misprision in the princes.

BENEDICK	Two of them have the very bent of honour;
	And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
	The practise of it lives in John the bastard,
	Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

LEONATO	I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
	These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
	The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
	Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
	Nor age so eat up my invention,
	Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
	Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
	But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,
	Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
	Ability in means and choice of friends,
	To quit me of them throughly.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Pause awhile,
	And let my counsel sway you in this case.
	Your daughter here the princes left for dead:
	Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
	And publish it that she is dead indeed;
	Maintain a mourning ostentation
	And on your family's old monument
	Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites
	That appertain unto a burial.

LEONATO	What shall become of this? what will this do?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf
	Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
	But not for that dream I on this strange course,
	But on this travail look for greater birth.
	She dying, as it must so be maintain'd,
	Upon the instant that she was accused,
	Shall be lamented, pitied and excused
	Of every hearer: for it so falls out
	That what we have we prize not to the worth
	Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
	Why, then we rack the value, then we find
	The virtue that possession would not show us
	Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:
	When he shall hear she died upon his words,
	The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
	Into his study of imagination,
	And every lovely organ of her life
	Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
	More moving-delicate and full of life,
	Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
	Than when she lived indeed; then shall he mourn,
	If ever love had interest in his liver,
	And wish he had not so accused her,
	No, though he thought his accusation true.
	Let this be so, and doubt not but success
	Will fashion the event in better shape
	Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
	But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
	The supposition of the lady's death
	Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
	And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
	As best befits her wounded reputation,
	In some reclusive and religious life,
	Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries.

BENEDICK	Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
	And though you know my inwardness and love
	Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
	Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
	As secretly and justly as your soul
	Should with your body.

LEONATO	Being that I flow in grief,
	The smallest twine may lead me.

FRIAR FRANCIS	'Tis well consented: presently away;
	For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
	Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day
	Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and endure.

	[Exeunt all but BENEDICK and BEATRICE]

BENEDICK	Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

BEATRICE	Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

BENEDICK	I will not desire that.

BEATRICE	You have no reason; I do it freely.

BENEDICK	Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.

BEATRICE	Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!

BENEDICK	Is there any way to show such friendship?

BEATRICE	A very even way, but no such friend.

BENEDICK	May a man do it?

BEATRICE	It is a man's office, but not yours.

BENEDICK	I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is
	not that strange?

BEATRICE	As strange as the thing I know not. It were as
	possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as
	you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I
	confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.

BENEDICK	By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

BEATRICE	Do not swear, and eat it.

BENEDICK	I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make
	him eat it that says I love not you.

BEATRICE	Will you not eat your word?

BENEDICK	With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest
	I love thee.

BEATRICE	Why, then, God forgive me!

BENEDICK	What offence, sweet Beatrice?

BEATRICE	You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to
	protest I loved you.

BENEDICK	And do it with all thy heart.

BEATRICE	I love you with so much of my heart that none is
	left to protest.

BENEDICK	Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

BEATRICE	Kill Claudio.

BENEDICK	Ha! not for the wide world.

BEATRICE	You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

BENEDICK	Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

BEATRICE	I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in
	you: nay, I pray you, let me go.

BENEDICK	Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	In faith, I will go.

BENEDICK	We'll be friends first.

BEATRICE	You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.

BENEDICK	Is Claudio thine enemy?

BEATRICE	Is he not approved in the height a villain, that
	hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O
	that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they
	come to take hands; and then, with public
	accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,
	--O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart
	in the market-place.

BENEDICK	Hear me, Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying!

BENEDICK	Nay, but, Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.

BENEDICK	Beat--

BEATRICE	Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony,
	a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant,
	surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I
	had any friend would be a man for my sake! But
	manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into
	compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and
	trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules
	that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a
	man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

BENEDICK	Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.

BEATRICE	Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.

BENEDICK	Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?

BEATRICE	Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

BENEDICK	Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will
	kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand,
	Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you
	hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your
	cousin: I must say she is dead: and so, farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT IV



SCENE II	A prison.


	[Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and
	the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO]

DOGBERRY	Is our whole dissembly appeared?

VERGES	O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

Sexton	Which be the malefactors?

DOGBERRY	Marry, that am I and my partner.

VERGES	Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition to examine.

Sexton	But which are the offenders that are to be
	examined? let them come before master constable.

DOGBERRY	Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your
	name, friend?

BORACHIO	Borachio.

DOGBERRY	Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sirrah?

CONRADE	I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

DOGBERRY	Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do
	you serve God?


CONRADE	|
	|  Yea, sir, we hope.
BORACHIO	|


DOGBERRY	Write down, that they hope they serve God: and
	write God first; for God defend but God should go
	before such villains! Masters, it is proved already
	that you are little better than false knaves; and it
	will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer
	you for yourselves?

CONRADE	Marry, sir, we say we are none.

DOGBERRY	A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you: but I
	will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah; a
	word in your ear: sir, I say to you, it is thought
	you are false knaves.

BORACHIO	Sir, I say to you we are none.

DOGBERRY	Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they are both in a
	tale. Have you writ down, that they are none?

Sexton	Master constable, you go not the way to examine:
	you must call forth the watch that are their accusers.

DOGBERRY	Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let the watch
	come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince's
	name, accuse these men.

First Watchman	This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's
	brother, was a villain.

DOGBERRY	Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat
	perjury, to call a prince's brother villain.

BORACHIO	Master constable,--

DOGBERRY	Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look,
	I promise thee.

Sexton	What heard you him say else?

Second Watchman	Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of
	Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.

DOGBERRY	Flat burglary as ever was committed.

VERGES	Yea, by mass, that it is.

Sexton	What else, fellow?

First Watchman	And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to
	disgrace Hero before the whole assembly. and not marry her.

DOGBERRY	O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting
	redemption for this.

Sexton	What else?

Watchman	This is all.

Sexton	And this is more, masters, than you can deny.
	Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away;
	Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner
	refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly died.
	Master constable, let these men be bound, and
	brought to Leonato's: I will go before and show
	him their examination.

	[Exit]

DOGBERRY	Come, let them be opinioned.

VERGES	Let them be in the hands--

CONRADE	Off, coxcomb!

DOGBERRY	God's my life, where's the sexton? let him write
	down the prince's officer coxcomb. Come, bind them.
	Thou naughty varlet!

CONRADE	Away! you are an ass, you are an ass.

DOGBERRY	Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not
	suspect my years? O that he were here to write me
	down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an
	ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not
	that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of
	piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness.
	I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer,
	and, which is more, a householder, and, which is
	more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in
	Messina, and one that knows the law, go to; and a
	rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath
	had losses, and one that hath two gowns and every
	thing handsome about him. Bring him away. O that
	I had been writ down an ass!

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT V



SCENE I	Before LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO]

ANTONIO	If you go on thus, you will kill yourself:
	And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
	Against yourself.

LEONATO	                  I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
	Which falls into mine ears as profitless
	As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
	Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
	But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
	Bring me a father that so loved his child,
	Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
	And bid him speak of patience;
	Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine
	And let it answer every strain for strain,
	As thus for thus and such a grief for such,
	In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
	If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
	Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should groan,
	Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
	With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
	And I of him will gather patience.
	But there is no such man: for, brother, men
	Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
	Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
	Their counsel turns to passion, which before
	Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
	Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
	Charm ache with air and agony with words:
	No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
	To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
	But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
	To be so moral when he shall endure
	The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
	My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

ANTONIO	Therein do men from children nothing differ.

LEONATO	I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
	For there was never yet philosopher
	That could endure the toothache patiently,
	However they have writ the style of gods
	And made a push at chance and sufferance.

ANTONIO	Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
	Make those that do offend you suffer too.

LEONATO	There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so.
	My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;
	And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince
	And all of them that thus dishonour her.

ANTONIO	Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily.

	[Enter DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO]

DON PEDRO	Good den, good den.

CLAUDIO	Good day to both of you.

LEONATO	Hear you. my lords,--

DON PEDRO	We have some haste, Leonato.

LEONATO	Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:
	Are you so hasty now? well, all is one.

DON PEDRO	Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

ANTONIO	If he could right himself with quarreling,
	Some of us would lie low.

CLAUDIO	Who wrongs him?

LEONATO	Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:--
	Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;
	I fear thee not.

CLAUDIO	                  Marry, beshrew my hand,
	If it should give your age such cause of fear:
	In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

LEONATO	Tush, tush, man; never fleer and jest at me:
	I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
	As under privilege of age to brag
	What I have done being young, or what would do
	Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
	Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me
	That I am forced to lay my reverence by
	And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,
	Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
	I say thou hast belied mine innocent child;
	Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
	And she lies buried with her ancestors;
	O, in a tomb where never scandal slept,
	Save this of hers, framed by thy villany!

CLAUDIO	My villany?

LEONATO	          Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.

DON PEDRO	You say not right, old man.

LEONATO	My lord, my lord,
	I'll prove it on his body, if he dare,
	Despite his nice fence and his active practise,
	His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.

CLAUDIO	Away! I will not have to do with you.

LEONATO	Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child:
	If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

ANTONIO	He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:
	But that's no matter; let him kill one first;
	Win me and wear me; let him answer me.
	Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me:
	Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence;
	Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

LEONATO	Brother,--

ANTONIO	Content yourself. God knows I loved my niece;
	And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains,
	That dare as well answer a man indeed
	As I dare take a serpent by the tongue:
	Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!

LEONATO	Brother Antony,--

ANTONIO	Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,
	And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,--
	Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,
	That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,
	Go anticly, show outward hideousness,
	And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
	How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
	And this is all.

LEONATO	But, brother Antony,--

ANTONIO	Come, 'tis no matter:
	Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.

DON PEDRO	Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
	My heart is sorry for your daughter's death:
	But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing
	But what was true and very full of proof.

LEONATO	My lord, my lord,--

DON PEDRO	I will not hear you.

LEONATO	No? Come, brother; away! I will be heard.

ANTONIO	And shall, or some of us will smart for it.

	[Exeunt LEONATO and ANTONIO]

DON PEDRO	See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.

	[Enter BENEDICK]

CLAUDIO	Now, signior, what news?

BENEDICK	Good day, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part
	almost a fray.

CLAUDIO	We had like to have had our two noses snapped off
	with two old men without teeth.

DON PEDRO	Leonato and his brother. What thinkest thou? Had
	we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them.

BENEDICK	In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came
	to seek you both.

CLAUDIO	We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are
	high-proof melancholy and would fain have it beaten
	away. Wilt thou use thy wit?

BENEDICK	It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it?

DON PEDRO	Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

CLAUDIO	Never any did so, though very many have been beside
	their wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the
	minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.

DON PEDRO	As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou
	sick, or angry?

CLAUDIO	What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat,
	thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

BENEDICK	Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you
	charge it against me. I pray you choose another subject.

CLAUDIO	Nay, then, give him another staff: this last was
	broke cross.

DON PEDRO	By this light, he changes more and more: I think
	he be angry indeed.

CLAUDIO	If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.

BENEDICK	Shall I speak a word in your ear?

CLAUDIO	God bless me from a challenge!

BENEDICK	[Aside to CLAUDIO]  You are a villain; I jest not:
	I will make it good how you dare, with what you
	dare, and when you dare. Do me right, or I will
	protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet
	lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me
	hear from you.

CLAUDIO	Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

DON PEDRO	What, a feast, a feast?

CLAUDIO	I' faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf's
	head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most
	curiously, say my knife's naught. Shall I not find
	a woodcock too?

BENEDICK	Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

DON PEDRO	I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the
	other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: 'True,'
	said she, 'a fine little one.' 'No,' said I, 'a
	great wit:' 'Right,' says she, 'a great gross one.'
	'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit:' 'Just,' said she, 'it
	hurts nobody.' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman
	is wise:' 'Certain,' said she, 'a wise gentleman.'
	'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the tongues:' 'That I
	believe,' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me on
	Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning;
	there's a double tongue; there's two tongues.' Thus
	did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular
	virtues: yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou
	wast the properest man in Italy.

CLAUDIO	For the which she wept heartily and said she cared
	not.

DON PEDRO	Yea, that she did: but yet, for all that, an if she
	did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly:
	the old man's daughter told us all.

CLAUDIO	All, all; and, moreover, God saw him when he was
	hid in the garden.

DON PEDRO	But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on
	the sensible Benedick's head?

CLAUDIO	Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick the
	married man'?

BENEDICK	Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave
	you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests
	as braggarts do their blades, which God be thanked,
	hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank
	you: I must discontinue your company: your brother
	the bastard is fled from Messina: you have among
	you killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord
	Lackbeard there, he and I shall meet: and, till
	then, peace be with him.

	[Exit]

DON PEDRO	He is in earnest.

CLAUDIO	In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for
	the love of Beatrice.

DON PEDRO	And hath challenged thee.

CLAUDIO	Most sincerely.

DON PEDRO	What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his
	doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

CLAUDIO	He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a
	doctor to such a man.

DON PEDRO	But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my heart, and
	be sad. Did he not say, my brother was fled?

	[Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and the Watch, with CONRADE
	and BORACHIO]

DOGBERRY	Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she
	shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay,
	an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to.

DON PEDRO	How now? two of my brother's men bound! Borachio
	one!

CLAUDIO	Hearken after their offence, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Officers, what offence have these men done?

DOGBERRY	Marry, sir, they have committed false report;
	moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily,
	they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have
	belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust
	things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

DON PEDRO	First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I
	ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why
	they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay
	to their charge.

CLAUDIO	Rightly reasoned, and in his own division: and, by
	my troth, there's one meaning well suited.

DON PEDRO	Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus
	bound to your answer? this learned constable is
	too cunning to be understood: what's your offence?

BORACHIO	Sweet prince, let me go no farther to mine answer:
	do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have
	deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms
	could not discover, these shallow fools have brought
	to light: who in the night overheard me confessing
	to this man how Don John your brother incensed me
	to slander the Lady Hero, how you were brought into
	the orchard and saw me court Margaret in Hero's
	garments, how you disgraced her, when you should
	marry her: my villany they have upon record; which
	I had rather seal with my death than repeat over
	to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my
	master's false accusation; and, briefly, I desire
	nothing but the reward of a villain.

DON PEDRO	Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

CLAUDIO	I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it.

DON PEDRO	But did my brother set thee on to this?

BORACHIO	Yea, and paid me richly for the practise of it.

DON PEDRO	He is composed and framed of treachery:
	And fled he is upon this villany.

CLAUDIO	Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
	In the rare semblance that I loved it first.

DOGBERRY	Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our
	sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter:
	and, masters, do not forget to specify, when time
	and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

VERGES	Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the
	Sexton too.

	[Re-enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, with the Sexton]

LEONATO	Which is the villain? let me see his eyes,
	That, when I note another man like him,
	I may avoid him: which of these is he?

BORACHIO	If you would know your wronger, look on me.

LEONATO	Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
	Mine innocent child?

BORACHIO	Yea, even I alone.

LEONATO	No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
	Here stand a pair of honourable men;
	A third is fled, that had a hand in it.
	I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death:
	Record it with your high and worthy deeds:
	'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

CLAUDIO	I know not how to pray your patience;
	Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
	Impose me to what penance your invention
	Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not
	But in mistaking.

DON PEDRO	                  By my soul, nor I:
	And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
	I would bend under any heavy weight
	That he'll enjoin me to.

LEONATO	I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;
	That were impossible: but, I pray you both,
	Possess the people in Messina here
	How innocent she died; and if your love
	Can labour ought in sad invention,
	Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb
	And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night:
	To-morrow morning come you to my house,
	And since you could not be my son-in-law,
	Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
	Almost the copy of my child that's dead,
	And she alone is heir to both of us:
	Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
	And so dies my revenge.

CLAUDIO	O noble sir,
	Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!
	I do embrace your offer; and dispose
	For henceforth of poor Claudio.

LEONATO	To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
	To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
	Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
	Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong,
	Hired to it by your brother.

BORACHIO	No, by my soul, she was not,
	Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me,
	But always hath been just and virtuous
	In any thing that I do know by her.

DOGBERRY	Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and
	black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call
	me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his
	punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of
	one Deformed: they say be wears a key in his ear and
	a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's
	name, the which he hath used so long and never paid
	that now men grow hard-hearted and will lend nothing
	for God's sake: pray you, examine him upon that point.

LEONATO	I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

DOGBERRY	Your worship speaks like a most thankful and
	reverend youth; and I praise God for you.

LEONATO	There's for thy pains.

DOGBERRY	God save the foundation!

LEONATO	Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.

DOGBERRY	I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I
	beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the
	example of others. God keep your worship! I wish
	your worship well; God restore you to health! I
	humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry
	meeting may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.

	[Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES]

LEONATO	Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

ANTONIO	Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow.

DON PEDRO	We will not fail.

CLAUDIO	                  To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

LEONATO	[To the Watch]  Bring you these fellows on. We'll
	talk with Margaret,
	How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.

	[Exeunt, severally]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT V



SCENE II	LEONATO'S garden.


	[Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting]

BENEDICK	Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at
	my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

MARGARET	Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

BENEDICK	In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living
	shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou
	deservest it.

MARGARET	To have no man come over me! why, shall I always
	keep below stairs?

BENEDICK	Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth; it catches.

MARGARET	And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit,
	but hurt not.

BENEDICK	A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a
	woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give
	thee the bucklers.

MARGARET	Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.

BENEDICK	If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
	pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

MARGARET	Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.

BENEDICK	And therefore will come.

	[Exit MARGARET]

	[Sings]

	The god of love,
	That sits above,
	And knows me, and knows me,
	How pitiful I deserve,--

	I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good
	swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and
	a whole bookful of these quondam carpet-mangers,
	whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a
	blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned
	over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I
	cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find
	out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' an innocent
	rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme; for,
	'school,' 'fool,' a babbling rhyme; very ominous
	endings: no, I was not born under a rhyming planet,
	nor I cannot woo in festival terms.

	[Enter BEATRICE]

	Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?

BEATRICE	Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

BENEDICK	O, stay but till then!

BEATRICE	'Then' is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere
	I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with
	knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

BENEDICK	Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

BEATRICE	Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but
	foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I
	will depart unkissed.

BENEDICK	Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense,
	so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee
	plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either
	I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe
	him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me for
	which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

BEATRICE	For them all together; which maintained so politic
	a state of evil that they will not admit any good
	part to intermingle with them. But for which of my
	good parts did you first suffer love for me?

BENEDICK	Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love
	indeed, for I love thee against my will.

BEATRICE	In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart!
	If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for
	yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates.

BENEDICK	Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

BEATRICE	It appears not in this confession: there's not one
	wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

BENEDICK	An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in
	the lime of good neighbours. If a man do not erect
	in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live
	no longer in monument than the bell rings and the
	widow weeps.

BEATRICE	And how long is that, think you?

BENEDICK	Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in
	rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the
	wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no
	impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his
	own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for
	praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is
	praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?

BEATRICE	Very ill.

BENEDICK	And how do you?

BEATRICE	Very ill too.

BENEDICK	Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave
	you too, for here comes one in haste.

	[Enter URSULA]

URSULA	Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old
	coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been
	falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily
	abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is
	fed and gone. Will you come presently?

BEATRICE	Will you go hear this news, signior?

BENEDICK	I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
	buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with
	thee to thy uncle's.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT V



SCENE III	A church.


	[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and three or four
	with tapers]

CLAUDIO	Is this the monument of Leonato?

Lord	It is, my lord.

CLAUDIO	[Reading out of a scroll]
	Done to death by slanderous tongues
	Was the Hero that here lies:
	Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
	Gives her fame which never dies.
	So the life that died with shame
	Lives in death with glorious fame.
	Hang thou there upon the tomb,
	Praising her when I am dumb.

	Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
	SONG.

	Pardon, goddess of the night,
	Those that slew thy virgin knight;
	For the which, with songs of woe,
	Round about her tomb they go.
	Midnight, assist our moan;
	Help us to sigh and groan,
	Heavily, heavily:
	Graves, yawn and yield your dead,
	Till death be uttered,
	Heavily, heavily.

CLAUDIO	     Now, unto thy bones good night!
	Yearly will I do this rite.

DON PEDRO	Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
	The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day,
	Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
	Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
	Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.

CLAUDIO	     Good morrow, masters: each his several way.

DON PEDRO	Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
	And then to Leonato's we will go.

CLAUDIO	And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's
	Than this for whom we render'd up this woe.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT V



SCENE IV	A room in LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE,
	MARGARET, URSULA, FRIAR FRANCIS, and HERO]

FRIAR FRANCIS	Did I not tell you she was innocent?

LEONATO	So are the prince and Claudio, who accused her
	Upon the error that you heard debated:
	But Margaret was in some fault for this,
	Although against her will, as it appears
	In the true course of all the question.

ANTONIO	Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

BENEDICK	And so am I, being else by faith enforced
	To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

LEONATO	Well, daughter, and you gentle-women all,
	Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,
	And when I send for you, come hither mask'd.

	[Exeunt Ladies]

	The prince and Claudio promised by this hour
	To visit me. You know your office, brother:
	You must be father to your brother's daughter
	And give her to young Claudio.

ANTONIO	Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.

BENEDICK	Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

FRIAR FRANCIS	To do what, signior?

BENEDICK	To bind me, or undo me; one of them.
	Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
	Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

LEONATO	That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true.

BENEDICK	And I do with an eye of love requite her.

LEONATO	The sight whereof I think you had from me,
	From Claudio and the prince: but what's your will?

BENEDICK	Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
	But, for my will, my will is your good will
	May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
	In the state of honourable marriage:
	In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.

LEONATO	My heart is with your liking.

FRIAR FRANCIS	And my help.
	Here comes the prince and Claudio.

	[Enter DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO, and two or
	three others]

DON PEDRO	Good morrow to this fair assembly.

LEONATO	Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio:
	We here attend you. Are you yet determined
	To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?

CLAUDIO	I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

LEONATO	Call her forth, brother; here's the friar ready.

	[Exit ANTONIO]

DON PEDRO	Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter,
	That you have such a February face,
	So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

CLAUDIO	I think he thinks upon the savage bull.
	Tush, fear not, man; we'll tip thy horns with gold
	And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,
	As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
	When he would play the noble beast in love.

BENEDICK	Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
	And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow,
	And got a calf in that same noble feat
	Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

CLAUDIO	For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.

	[Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked]

	Which is the lady I must seize upon?

ANTONIO	This same is she, and I do give you her.

CLAUDIO	Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face.

LEONATO	No, that you shall not, till you take her hand
	Before this friar and swear to marry her.

CLAUDIO	Give me your hand: before this holy friar,
	I am your husband, if you like of me.

HERO	And when I lived, I was your other wife:

	[Unmasking]

	And when you loved, you were my other husband.

CLAUDIO	Another Hero!

HERO	                  Nothing certainer:
	One Hero died defiled, but I do live,
	And surely as I live, I am a maid.

DON PEDRO	The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

LEONATO	She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived.

FRIAR FRANCIS	All this amazement can I qualify:
	When after that the holy rites are ended,
	I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
	Meantime let wonder seem familiar,
	And to the chapel let us presently.

BENEDICK	Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?

BEATRICE	[Unmasking]  I answer to that name. What is your will?

BENEDICK	Do not you love me?

BEATRICE	Why, no; no more than reason.

BENEDICK	Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio
	Have been deceived; they swore you did.

BEATRICE	Do not you love me?

BENEDICK	Troth, no; no more than reason.

BEATRICE	Why, then my cousin Margaret and Ursula
	Are much deceived; for they did swear you did.

BENEDICK	They swore that you were almost sick for me.

BEATRICE	They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

BENEDICK	'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?

BEATRICE	No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

LEONATO	Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.

CLAUDIO	And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her;
	For here's a paper written in his hand,
	A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
	Fashion'd to Beatrice.

HERO	And here's another
	Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
	Containing her affection unto Benedick.

BENEDICK	A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts.
	Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take
	thee for pity.

BEATRICE	I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield
	upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life,
	for I was told you were in a consumption.

BENEDICK	Peace! I will stop your mouth.

	[Kissing her]

DON PEDRO	How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?

BENEDICK	I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of
	wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost
	thou think I  care for a satire or an epigram? No:
	if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear
	nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do
	purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any
	purpose that the world can say against it; and
	therefore never flout at me for what I have said
	against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my
	conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to
	have beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my
	kinsman, live unbruised and love my cousin.

CLAUDIO	I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice,
	that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single
	life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of
	question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look
	exceedingly narrowly to thee.

BENEDICK	Come, come, we are friends: let's have a dance ere
	we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts
	and our wives' heels.

LEONATO	We'll have dancing afterward.

BENEDICK	First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince,
	thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife:
	there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,
	And brought with armed men back to Messina.

BENEDICK	Think not on him till to-morrow:
	I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.
	Strike up, pipers.

	[Dance]

	[Exeunt]
	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ANTIOCHUS	king of Antioch.

PERICLES	prince of Tyre.


HELICANUS	|
	|  two lords of Tyre.
ESCANES	|


SIMONIDES	king of Pentapolis.

CLEON	governor of Tarsus.

LYSIMACHUS	governor of Mytilene.

CERIMON	a lord of Ephesus.

THALIARD	a lord of Antioch.

PHILEMON	servant to Cerimon.

LEONINE	servant to Dionyza.

	Marshal. (Marshal:)

	A Pandar. (Pandar:)

BOULT	his servant.

	The Daughter of Antiochus. (Daughter:)

DIONYZA	wife to Cleon.

THAISA	daughter to Simonides.

MARINA	daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.

LYCHORIDA	nurse to Marina.

	A Bawd. (Bawd:)

	Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
	Fishermen, and Messengers. (Lord:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)
	(First Knight:)
	(Second Knight:)
	(Third Knight:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(First Sailor:)
	(Second Sailor:)
	(First Pirate:)
	(Second Pirate:)
	(Third Pirate:)
	(First Fisherman:)
	(Second Fisherman:)
	(Third Fisherman:)
	(Messenger:)

DIANA:

GOWER	as Chorus.



SCENE	Dispersedly in various countries.




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I


	[Enter GOWER]

	[Before the palace of Antioch]

	To sing a song that old was sung,
	From ashes ancient Gower is come;
	Assuming man's infirmities,
	To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
	It hath been sung at festivals,
	On ember-eves and holy-ales;
	And lords and ladies in their lives
	Have read it for restoratives:
	The purchase is to make men glorious;
	Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.
	If you, born in these latter times,
	When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.
	And that to hear an old man sing
	May to your wishes pleasure bring
	I life would wish, and that I might
	Waste it for you, like taper-light.
	This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great
	Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat:
	The fairest in all Syria,
	I tell you what mine authors say:
	This king unto him took a fere,
	Who died and left a female heir,
	So buxom, blithe, and full of face,
	As heaven had lent her all his grace;
	With whom the father liking took,
	And her to incest did provoke:
	Bad child; worse father! to entice his own
	To evil should be done by none:
	But custom what they did begin
	Was with long use account no sin.
	The beauty of this sinful dame
	Made many princes thither frame,
	To seek her as a bed-fellow,
	In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:
	Which to prevent he made a law,
	To keep her still, and men in awe,
	That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
	His riddle told not, lost his life:
	So for her many a wight did die,
	As yon grim looks do testify.
	What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye
	I give, my cause who best can justify.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE I	Antioch. A room in the palace.


	[Enter ANTIOCHUS, Prince PERICLES, and followers]

ANTIOCHUS	Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received
	The danger of the task you undertake.

PERICLES	I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
	Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
	Think death no hazard in this enterprise.

ANTIOCHUS	Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
	For the embracements even of Jove himself;
	At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,
	Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,
	The senate-house of planets all did sit,
	To knit in her their best perfections.

	[Music. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

PERICLES	See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
	Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
	Of every virtue gives renown to men!
	Her face the book of praises, where is read
	Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
	Sorrow were ever razed and testy wrath
	Could never be her mild companion.
	You gods that made me man, and sway in love,
	That have inflamed desire in my breast
	To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
	Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
	As I am son and servant to your will,
	To compass such a boundless happiness!

ANTIOCHUS	Prince Pericles,--

PERICLES	That would be son to great Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS	Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,
	With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
	For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
	Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
	Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
	And which, without desert, because thine eye
	Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
	Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,
	Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,
	Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,
	That without covering, save yon field of stars,
	Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
	And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
	For going on death's net, whom none resist.

PERICLES	Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
	My frail mortality to know itself,
	And by those fearful objects to prepare
	This body, like to them, to what I must;
	For death remember'd should be like a mirror,
	Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.
	I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do
	Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,
	Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;
	So I bequeath a happy peace to you
	And all good men, as every prince should do;
	My riches to the earth from whence they came;
	But my unspotted fire of love to you.

	[To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

	Thus ready for the way of life or death,
	I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS	Scorning advice, read the conclusion then:
	Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
	As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.

Daughter	Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!
	Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!

PERICLES	Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,
	Nor ask advice of any other thought
	But faithfulness and courage.

	[He reads the riddle]

	I am no viper, yet I feed
	On mother's flesh which did me breed.
	I sought a husband, in which labour
	I found that kindness in a father:
	He's father, son, and husband mild;
	I mother, wife, and yet his child.
	How they may be, and yet in two,
	As you will live, resolve it you.

	Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers
	That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,
	Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,
	If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
	Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,

	[Takes hold of the hand of the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

	Were not this glorious casket stored with ill:
	But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt
	For he's no man on whom perfections wait
	That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
	You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
	Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music,
	Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken:
	But being play'd upon before your time,
	Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.
	Good sooth, I care not for you.

ANTIOCHUS	Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life.
	For that's an article within our law,
	As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired:
	Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

PERICLES	Great king,
	Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
	'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
	Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
	He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:
	For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
	Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;
	And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
	The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
	To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
	Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd
	By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.
	Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's
	their will;
	And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?
	It is enough you know; and it is fit,
	What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
	All love the womb that their first being bred,
	Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.

ANTIOCHUS	[Aside]  Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found
	the meaning:
	But I will gloze with him.--Young prince of Tyre,
	Though by the tenor of our strict edict,
	Your exposition misinterpreting,
	We might proceed to cancel of your days;
	Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
	As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
	Forty days longer we do respite you;
	If by which time our secret be undone,
	This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son:
	And until then your entertain shall be
	As doth befit our honour and your worth.

	[Exeunt all but PERICLES]

PERICLES	How courtesy would seem to cover sin,
	When what is done is like an hypocrite,
	The which is good in nothing but in sight!
	If it be true that I interpret false,
	Then were it certain you were not so bad
	As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
	Where now you're both a father and a son,
	By your untimely claspings with your child,
	Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;
	And she an eater of her mother's flesh,
	By the defiling of her parent's bed;
	And both like serpents are, who though they feed
	On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
	Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men
	Blush not in actions blacker than the night,
	Will shun no course to keep them from the light.
	One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
	Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke:
	Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
	Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
	Then, lest my lie be cropp'd to keep you clear,
	By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter ANTIOCHUS]

ANTIOCHUS	He hath found the meaning, for which we mean
	To have his head.
	He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
	Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin
	In such a loathed manner;
	And therefore instantly this prince must die:
	For by his fall my honour must keep high.
	Who attends us there?

	[Enter THALIARD]

THALIARD	Doth your highness call?

ANTIOCHUS	Thaliard,
	You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes
	Her private actions to your secrecy;
	And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
	Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;
	We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
	It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
	Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

THALIARD	My lord,
	'Tis done.

ANTIOCHUS	         Enough.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

Messenger	My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

	[Exit]

ANTIOCHUS	As thou
	Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot
	From a well-experienced archer hits the mark
	His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return
	Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.'

THALIARD	My lord,
	If I can get him within my pistol's length,
	I'll make him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.

ANTIOCHUS	Thaliard, adieu!

	[Exit THALIARD]

	Till Pericles be dead,
	My heart can lend no succor to my head.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE II	Tyre. A room in the palace.


	[Enter PERICLES]

PERICLES	[To Lords without]  Let none disturb us.--Why should
	this change of thoughts,
	The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,
	Be my so used a guest as not an hour,
	In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
	The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?
	Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,
	And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch,
	Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here:
	Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,
	Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.
	Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,
	That have their first conception by mis-dread,
	Have after-nourishment and life by care;
	And what was first but fear what might be done,
	Grows elder now and cares it be not done.
	And so with me: the great Antiochus,
	'Gainst whom I am too little to contend,
	Since he's so great can make his will his act,
	Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;
	Nor boots it me to say I honour him.
	If he suspect I may dishonour him:
	And what may make him blush in being known,
	He'll stop the course by which it might be known;
	With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land,
	And with the ostent of war will look so huge,
	Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
	Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist,
	And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence:
	Which care of them, not pity of myself,
	Who am no more but as the tops of trees,
	Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,
	Makes both my body pine and soul to languish,
	And punish that before that he would punish.

	[Enter HELICANUS, with other Lords]

First Lord	Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!

Second Lord	And keep your mind, till you return to us,
	Peaceful and comfortable!

HELICANUS	Peace, peace, and give experience tongue.
	They do abuse the king that flatter him:
	For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;
	The thing which is flatter'd, but a spark,
	To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing;
	Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,
	Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.
	When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace,
	He flatters you, makes war upon your life.
	Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;
	I cannot be much lower than my knees.

PERICLES	All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook
	What shipping and what lading's in our haven,
	And then return to us.

	[Exeunt Lords]

		 Helicanus, thou
	Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?

HELICANUS	An angry brow, dread lord.

PERICLES	If there be such a dart in princes' frowns,
	How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?

HELICANUS	How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence
	They have their nourishment?

PERICLES	Thou know'st I have power
	To take thy life from thee.

HELICANUS	[Kneeling]

		     I have ground the axe myself;
	Do you but strike the blow.

PERICLES	Rise, prithee, rise.
	Sit down: thou art no flatterer:
	I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid
	That kings should let their ears hear their
	faults hid!
	Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,
	Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,
	What wouldst thou have me do?

HELICANUS	To bear with patience
	Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.

PERICLES	Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus,
	That minister'st a potion unto me
	That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.
	Attend me, then: I went to Antioch,
	Where as thou know'st, against the face of death,
	I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty.
	From whence an issue I might propagate,
	Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.
	Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;
	The rest--hark in thine ear--as black as incest:
	Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father
	Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou
	know'st this,
	'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
	Such fear so grew in me, I hither fled,
	Under the covering of a careful night,
	Who seem'd my good protector; and, being here,
	Bethought me what was past, what might succeed.
	I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
	Decrease not, but grow faster than the years:
	And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,
	That I should open to the listening air
	How many worthy princes' bloods were shed,
	To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
	To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms,
	And make pretence of wrong that I have done him:
	When all, for mine, if I may call offence,
	Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence:
	Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
	Who now reprovest me for it,--

HELICANUS	Alas, sir!

PERICLES	Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,
	Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts
	How I might stop this tempest ere it came;
	And finding little comfort to relieve them,
	I thought it princely charity to grieve them.

HELICANUS	Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak.
	Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,
	And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,
	Who either by public war or private treason
	Will take away your life.
	Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while,
	Till that his rage and anger be forgot,
	Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.
	Your rule direct to any; if to me.
	Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be.

PERICLES	I do not doubt thy faith;
	But should he wrong my liberties in my absence?

HELICANUS	We'll mingle our bloods together in the earth,
	From whence we had our being and our birth.

PERICLES	Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus
	Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee;
	And by whose letters I'll dispose myself.
	The care I had and have of subjects' good
	On thee I lay whose wisdom's strength can bear it.
	I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:
	Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both:
	But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe,
	That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,
	Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE III	Tyre. An ante-chamber in the palace.


	[Enter THALIARD]

THALIARD	So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I
	kill King Pericles; and if I do it not, I am sure to
	be hanged at home: 'tis dangerous. Well, I perceive
	he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,
	being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired
	he might know none of his secrets: now do I see he
	had some reason for't; for if a king bid a man be a
	villain, he's bound by the indenture of his oath to
	be one! Hush! here come the lords of Tyre.

	[Enter HELICANUS and ESCANES, with other Lords of Tyre]

HELICANUS	You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,
	Further to question me of your king's departure:
	His seal'd commission, left in trust with me,
	Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel.

THALIARD	[Aside]  How! the king gone!

HELICANUS	If further yet you will be satisfied,
	Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves,
	He would depart, I'll give some light unto you.
	Being at Antioch--

THALIARD	[Aside]          What from Antioch?

HELICANUS	Royal Antiochus--on what cause I know not--
	Took some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:
	And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd,
	To show his sorrow, he'ld correct himself;
	So puts himself unto the shipman's toil,
	With whom each minute threatens life or death.

THALIARD	[Aside]  Well, I perceive
	I shall not be hang'd now, although I would;
	But since he's gone, the king's seas must please:
	He 'scaped the land, to perish at the sea.
	I'll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!

HELICANUS	Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.

THALIARD	From him I come
	With message unto princely Pericles;
	But since my landing I have understood
	Your lord has betook himself to unknown travels,
	My message must return from whence it came.

HELICANUS	We have no reason to desire it,
	Commended to our master, not to us:
	Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,
	As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE IV	Tarsus. A room in the Governor's house.


	[Enter CLEON, the governor of Tarsus, with DIONYZA,
	and others]

CLEON	My Dionyza, shall we rest us here,
	And by relating tales of others' griefs,
	See if 'twill teach us to forget our own?

DIONYZA	That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
	For who digs hills because they do aspire
	Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.
	O my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;
	Here they're but felt, and seen with mischief's eyes,
	But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise.

CLEON	O Dionyza,
	Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,
	Or can conceal his hunger till he famish?
	Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep
	Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep,
	Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;
	That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,
	They may awake their helps to comfort them.
	I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years,
	And wanting breath to speak help me with tears.

DIONYZA	I'll do my best, sir.

CLEON	This Tarsus, o'er which I have the government,
	A city on whom plenty held full hand,
	For riches strew'd herself even in the streets;
	Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the clouds,
	And strangers ne'er beheld but wondered at;
	Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd,
	Like one another's glass to trim them by:
	Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight,
	And not so much to feed on as delight;
	All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great,
	The name of help grew odious to repeat.

DIONYZA	O, 'tis too true.

CLEON	But see what heaven can do! By this our change,
	These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,
	Were all too little to content and please,
	Although they gave their creatures in abundance,
	As houses are defiled for want of use,
	They are now starved for want of exercise:
	Those palates who, not yet two summers younger,
	Must have inventions to delight the taste,
	Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it:
	Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes,
	Thought nought too curious, are ready now
	To eat those little darlings whom they loved.
	So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife
	Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:
	Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;
	Here many sink, yet those which see them fall
	Have scarce strength left to give them burial.
	Is not this true?

DIONYZA	Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.

CLEON	O, let those cities that of plenty's cup
	And her prosperities so largely taste,
	With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!
	The misery of Tarsus may be theirs.

	[Enter a Lord]

Lord	Where's the lord governor?

CLEON	Here.
	Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste,
	For comfort is too far for us to expect.

Lord	We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,
	A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

CLEON	I thought as much.
	One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,
	That may succeed as his inheritor;
	And so in ours: some neighbouring nation,
	Taking advantage of our misery,
	Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power,
	To beat us down, the which are down already;
	And make a conquest of unhappy me,
	Whereas no glory's got to overcome.

Lord	That's the least fear; for, by the semblance
	Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace,
	And come to us as favourers, not as foes.

CLEON	Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat:
	Who makes the fairest show means most deceit.
	But bring they what they will and what they can,
	What need we fear?
	The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there.
	Go tell their general we attend him here,
	To know for what he comes, and whence he comes,
	And what he craves.

Lord	I go, my lord.

	[Exit]

CLEON	Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist;
	If wars, we are unable to resist.

	[Enter PERICLES with Attendants]

PERICLES	Lord governor, for so we hear you are,
	Let not our ships and number of our men
	Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.
	We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,
	And seen the desolation of your streets:
	Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears,
	But to relieve them of their heavy load;
	And these our ships, you happily may think
	Are like the Trojan horse was stuff'd within
	With bloody veins, expecting overthrow,
	Are stored with corn to make your needy bread,
	And give them life whom hunger starved half dead.

All	The gods of Greece protect you!
	And we'll pray for you.

PERICLES	Arise, I pray you, rise:
	We do not look for reverence, but to love,
	And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

CLEON	The which when any shall not gratify,
	Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought,
	Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves,
	The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!
	Till when,--the which I hope shall ne'er be seen,--
	Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

PERICLES	Which welcome we'll accept; feast here awhile,
	Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II


	[Enter GOWER]

GOWER	Here have you seen a mighty king
	His child, I wis, to incest bring;
	A better prince and benign lord,
	That will prove awful both in deed and word.
	Be quiet then as men should be,
	Till he hath pass'd necessity.
	I'll show you those in troubles reign,
	Losing a mite, a mountain gain.
	The good in conversation,
	To whom I give my benison,
	Is still at Tarsus, where each man
	Thinks all is writ he speken can;
	And, to remember what he does,
	Build his statue to make him glorious:
	But tidings to the contrary
	Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

	DUMB SHOW.

	[Enter at one door PERICLES talking with CLEON; all
	the train with them. Enter at another door a
	Gentleman, with a letter to PERICLES; PERICLES
	shows the letter to CLEON; gives the Messenger a
	reward, and knights him. Exit PERICLES at one
	door, and CLEON at another]

	Good Helicane, that stay'd at home,
	Not to eat honey like a drone
	From others' labours; for though he strive
	To killen bad, keep good alive;
	And to fulfil his prince' desire,
	Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:
	How Thaliard came full bent with sin
	And had intent to murder him;
	And that in Tarsus was not best
	Longer for him to make his rest.
	He, doing so, put forth to seas,
	Where when men been, there's seldom ease;
	For now the wind begins to blow;
	Thunder above and deeps below
	Make such unquiet, that the ship
	Should house him safe is wreck'd and split;
	And he, good prince, having all lost,
	By waves from coast to coast is tost:
	All perishen of man, of pelf,
	Ne aught escapen but himself;
	Till fortune, tired with doing bad,
	Threw him ashore, to give him glad:
	And here he comes. What shall be next,
	Pardon old Gower,--this longs the text.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE I	Pentapolis. An open place by the sea-side.


	[Enter PERICLES, wet]

PERICLES	Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!
	Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man
	Is but a substance that must yield to you;
	And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:
	Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,
	Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath
	Nothing to think on but ensuing death:
	Let it suffice the greatness of your powers
	To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;
	And having thrown him from your watery grave,
	Here to have death in peace is all he'll crave.

	[Enter three FISHERMEN]

First Fisherman	What, ho, Pilch!

Second Fisherman	Ha, come and bring away the nets!

First Fisherman	What, Patch-breech, I say!

Third Fisherman	What say you, master?

First Fisherman	Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll
	fetch thee with a wanion.

Third Fisherman	Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that
	were cast away before us even now.

First Fisherman	Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what
	pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when,
	well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

Third Fisherman	Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the
	porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say
	they're half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,
	they ne'er come but I look to be washed. Master, I
	marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

First Fisherman	Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the
	little ones: I can compare our rich misers to
	nothing so fitly as to a whale; a' plays and
	tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at
	last devours them all at a mouthful: such whales
	have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping
	till they've swallowed the whole parish, church,
	steeple, bells, and all.

PERICLES	[Aside]  A pretty moral.

Third Fisherman	But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have
	been that day in the belfry.

Second Fisherman	Why, man?

Third Fisherman	Because he should have swallowed me too: and when I
	had been in his belly, I would have kept such a
	jangling of the bells, that he should never have
	left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and
	parish up again. But if the good King Simonides
	were of my mind,--

PERICLES	[Aside]  Simonides!

Third Fisherman	We would purge the land of these drones, that rob
	the bee of her honey.

PERICLES	[Aside]  How from the finny subject of the sea
	These fishers tell the infirmities of men;
	And from their watery empire recollect
	All that may men approve or men detect!
	Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

Second Fisherman	Honest! good fellow, what's that? If it be a day
	fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody
	look after it.

PERICLES	May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

Second Fisherman	What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our
	way!

PERICLES	A man whom both the waters and the wind,
	In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball
	For them to play upon, entreats you pity him:
	He asks of you, that never used to beg.

First Fisherman	No, friend, cannot you beg? Here's them in our
	country Greece gets more with begging than we can do
	with working.

Second Fisherman	Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

PERICLES	I never practised it.

Second Fisherman	Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here's nothing
	to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for't.

PERICLES	What I have been I have forgot to know;
	But what I am, want teaches me to think on:
	A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,
	And have no more of life than may suffice
	To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;
	Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,
	For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

First Fisherman	Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here;
	come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a
	handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and
	we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for
	fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks,
	and thou shalt be welcome.

PERICLES	I thank you, sir.

Second Fisherman	Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.

PERICLES	I did but crave.

Second Fisherman	But crave! Then I'll turn craver too, and so I
	shall 'scape whipping.

PERICLES	Why, are all your beggars whipped, then?

Second Fisherman	O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your
	beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office
	than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go draw up the
	net.

	[Exit with Third Fisherman]

PERICLES	[Aside]  How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!

First Fisherman	Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?

PERICLES	Not well.

First Fisherman	Why, I'll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and
	our king the good Simonides.

PERICLES	The good King Simonides, do you call him.

First Fisherman	Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his
	peaceable reign and good government.

PERICLES	He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects
	the name of good by his government. How far is his
	court distant from this shore?

First Fisherman	Marry, sir, half a day's journey: and I'll tell
	you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her
	birth-day; and there are princes and knights come
	from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love.

PERICLES	Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish
	to make one there.

First Fisherman	O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man
	cannot get, he may lawfully deal for--his wife's soul.

	[Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net]

Second Fisherman	Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net,
	like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly
	come out. Ha! bots on't, 'tis come at last, and
	'tis turned to a rusty armour.

PERICLES	An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.
	Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,
	Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself;
	And though it was mine own, part of my heritage,
	Which my dead father did bequeath to me.
	With this strict charge, even as he left his life,
	'Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield
	Twixt me and death;'--and pointed to this brace;--
	'For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity--
	The which the gods protect thee from!--may
	defend thee.'
	It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;
	Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,
	Took it in rage, though calm'd have given't again:
	I thank thee for't: my shipwreck now's no ill,
	Since I have here my father's gift in's will.

First Fisherman	What mean you, sir?

PERICLES	To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,
	For it was sometime target to a king;
	I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,
	And for his sake I wish the having of it;
	And that you'ld guide me to your sovereign's court,
	Where with it I may appear a gentleman;
	And if that ever my low fortune's better,
	I'll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.

First Fisherman	Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?

PERICLES	I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms.

First Fisherman	Why, do 'e take it, and the gods give thee good on't!

Second Fisherman	Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we that made up
	this garment through the rough seams of the waters:
	there are certain condolements, certain vails. I
	hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remember from
	whence you had it.

PERICLES	Believe 't, I will.
	By your furtherance I am clothed in steel;
	And, spite of all the rapture of the sea,
	This jewel holds his building on my arm:
	Unto thy value I will mount myself
	Upon a courser, whose delightful steps
	Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.
	Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
	Of a pair of bases.

Second Fisherman	We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to
	make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself.

PERICLES	Then honour be but a goal to my will,
	This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE II	The same. A public way or platform leading to the
	lists. A pavilion by the side of it for the
	reception of King, Princess, Lords, &c.


	[Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, and Attendants]

SIMONIDES	Are the knights ready to begin the triumph?

First Lord	They are, my liege;
	And stay your coming to present themselves.

SIMONIDES	Return them, we are ready; and our daughter,
	In honour of whose birth these triumphs are,
	Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat
	For men to see, and seeing wonder at.

	[Exit a Lord]

THAISA	It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express
	My commendations great, whose merit's less.

SIMONIDES	It's fit it should be so; for princes are
	A model which heaven makes like to itself:
	As jewels lose their glory if neglected,
	So princes their renowns if not respected.
	'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain
	The labour of each knight in his device.

THAISA	Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform.

	[Enter a Knight; he passes over, and his Squire
	presents his shield to the Princess]

SIMONIDES	Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

THAISA	A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;
	And the device he bears upon his shield
	Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun
	The word, 'Lux tua vita mihi.'

SIMONIDES	He loves you well that holds his life of you.

	[The Second Knight passes over]

	Who is the second that presents himself?

THAISA	A prince of Macedon, my royal father;
	And the device he bears upon his shield
	Is an arm'd knight that's conquer'd by a lady;
	The motto thus, in Spanish, 'Piu por dulzura que por fuerza.'

	[The Third Knight passes over]

SIMONIDES	And what's the third?

THAISA	The third of Antioch;
	And his device, a wreath of chivalry;
	The word, 'Me pompae provexit apex.'

	[The Fourth Knight passes over]

SIMONIDES	What is the fourth?

THAISA	A burning torch that's turned upside down;
	The word, 'Quod me alit, me extinguit.'

SIMONIDES	Which shows that beauty hath his power and will,
	Which can as well inflame as it can kill.

	[The Fifth Knight passes over]

THAISA	The fifth, an hand environed with clouds,
	Holding out gold that's by the touchstone tried;
	The motto thus, 'Sic spectanda fides.'

	[The Sixth Knight, PERICLES, passes over]

SIMONIDES	And what's
	The sixth and last, the which the knight himself
	With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?

THAISA	He seems to be a stranger; but his present is
	A wither'd branch, that's only green at top;
	The motto, 'In hac spe vivo.'

SIMONIDES	A pretty moral;
	From the dejected state wherein he is,
	He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

First Lord	He had need mean better than his outward show
	Can any way speak in his just commend;
	For by his rusty outside he appears
	To have practised more the whipstock than the lance.

Second Lord	He well may be a stranger, for he comes
	To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished.

Third Lord	And on set purpose let his armour rust
	Until this day, to scour it in the dust.

SIMONIDES	Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
	The outward habit by the inward man.
	But stay, the knights are coming: we will withdraw
	Into the gallery.

	[Exeunt]

	[Great shouts within and all cry 'The mean knight!']




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.


	[Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, Attendants, and
	Knights, from tilting]

SIMONIDES	Knights,
	To say you're welcome were superfluous.
	To place upon the volume of your deeds,
	As in a title-page, your worth in arms,
	Were more than you expect, or more than's fit,
	Since every worth in show commends itself.
	Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:
	You are princes and my guests.

THAISA	But you, my knight and guest;
	To whom this wreath of victory I give,
	And crown you king of this day's happiness.

PERICLES	'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.

SIMONIDES	Call it by what you will, the day is yours;
	And here, I hope, is none that envies it.
	In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,
	To make some good, but others to exceed;
	And you are her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'
	the feast,--
	For, daughter, so you are,--here take your place:
	Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.

KNIGHTS	We are honour'd much by good Simonides.

SIMONIDES	Your presence glads our days: honour we love;
	For who hates honour hates the gods above.

Marshal	Sir, yonder is your place.

PERICLES	Some other is more fit.

First Knight	Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen
	That neither in our hearts nor outward eyes
	Envy the great nor do the low despise.

PERICLES	You are right courteous knights.

SIMONIDES	Sit, sir, sit.

PERICLES	By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,
	These cates resist me, she but thought upon.

THAISA	By Juno, that is queen of marriage,
	All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury.
	Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant gentleman.

SIMONIDES	He's but a country gentleman;
	Has done no more than other knights have done;
	Has broken a staff or so; so let it pass.

THAISA	To me he seems like diamond to glass.

PERICLES	Yon king's to me like to my father's picture,
	Which tells me in that glory once he was;
	Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne,
	And he the sun, for them to reverence;
	None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,
	Did vail their crowns to his supremacy:
	Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night,
	The which hath fire in darkness, none in light:
	Whereby I see that Time's the king of men,
	He's both their parent, and he is their grave,
	And gives them what he will, not what they crave.

SIMONIDES	What, are you merry, knights?

Knights	Who can be other in this royal presence?

SIMONIDES	Here, with a cup that's stored unto the brim,--
	As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,--
	We drink this health to you.

KNIGHTS	We thank your grace.

SIMONIDES	Yet pause awhile:
	Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,
	As if the entertainment in our court
	Had not a show might countervail his worth.
	Note it not you, Thaisa?

THAISA	What is it
	To me, my father?

SIMONIDES	                  O, attend, my daughter:
	Princes in this should live like gods above,
	Who freely give to every one that comes
	To honour them:
	And princes not doing so are like to gnats,
	Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at.
	Therefore to make his entrance more sweet,
	Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.

THAISA	Alas, my father, it befits not me
	Unto a stranger knight to be so bold:
	He may my proffer take for an offence,
	Since men take women's gifts for impudence.

SIMONIDES	How!
	Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.

THAISA	[Aside]  Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.

SIMONIDES	And furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,
	Of whence he is, his name and parentage.

THAISA	The king my father, sir, has drunk to you.

PERICLES	I thank him.

THAISA	Wishing it so much blood unto your life.

PERICLES	I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.

THAISA	And further he desires to know of you,
	Of whence you are, your name and parentage.

PERICLES	A gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;
	My education been in arts and arms;
	Who, looking for adventures in the world,
	Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men,
	And after shipwreck driven upon this shore.

THAISA	He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,
	A gentleman of Tyre,
	Who only by misfortune of the seas
	Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.

SIMONIDES	Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,
	And will awake him from his melancholy.
	Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,
	And waste the time, which looks for other revels.
	Even in your armours, as you are address'd,
	Will very well become a soldier's dance.
	I will not have excuse, with saying this
	Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads,
	Since they love men in arms as well as beds.

	[The Knights dance]

	So, this was well ask'd,'twas so well perform'd.
	Come, sir;
	Here is a lady that wants breathing too:
	And I have heard, you knights of Tyre
	Are excellent in making ladies trip;
	And that their measures are as excellent.

PERICLES	In those that practise them they are, my lord.

SIMONIDES	O, that's as much as you would be denied
	Of your fair courtesy.

	[The Knights and Ladies dance]

		 Unclasp, unclasp:
	Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well.

	[To PERICLES]

	But you the best. Pages and lights, to conduct
	These knights unto their several lodgings!

	[To PERICLES]

			 Yours, sir,
	We have given order to be next our own.

PERICLES	I am at your grace's pleasure.

SIMONIDES	Princes, it is too late to talk of love;
	And that's the mark I know you level at:
	Therefore each one betake him to his rest;
	To-morrow all for speeding do their best.

	[Exeunt]



	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE IV	Tyre. A room in the Governor's house.


	[Enter HELICANUS and ESCANES]

HELICANUS	No, Escanes, know this of me,
	Antiochus from incest lived not free:
	For which, the most high gods not minding longer
	To withhold the vengeance that they had in store,
	Due to this heinous capital offence,
	Even in the height and pride of all his glory,
	When he was seated in a chariot
	Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,
	A fire from heaven came and shrivell'd up
	Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk,
	That all those eyes adored them ere their fall
	Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

ESCANES	'Twas very strange.

HELICANUS	And yet but justice; for though
	This king were great, his greatness was no guard
	To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward.

ESCANES	'Tis very true.

	[Enter two or three Lords]

First Lord	See, not a man in private conference
	Or council has respect with him but he.

Second Lord	It shall no longer grieve without reproof.

Third Lord	And cursed be he that will not second it.

First Lord	Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.

HELICANUS	With me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.

First Lord	Know that our griefs are risen to the top,
	And now at length they overflow their banks.

HELICANUS	Your griefs! for what? wrong not your prince you love.

First Lord	Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;
	But if the prince do live, let us salute him,
	Or know what ground's made happy by his breath.
	If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;
	If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there;
	And be resolved he lives to govern us,
	Or dead, give's cause to mourn his funeral,
	And leave us to our free election.

Second Lord	Whose death indeed's the strongest in our censure:
	And knowing this kingdom is without a head,--
	Like goodly buildings left without a roof
	Soon fall to ruin,--your noble self,
	That best know how to rule and how to reign,
	We thus submit unto,--our sovereign.

All	Live, noble Helicane!

HELICANUS	For honour's cause, forbear your suffrages:
	If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.
	Take I your wish, I leap into the seas,
	Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease.
	A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you to
	Forbear the absence of your king:
	If in which time expired, he not return,
	I shall with aged patience bear your yoke.
	But if I cannot win you to this love,
	Go search like nobles, like noble subjects,
	And in your search spend your adventurous worth;
	Whom if you find, and win unto return,
	You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

First Lord	To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield;
	And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,
	We with our travels will endeavour us.

HELICANUS	Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands:
	When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE V	Pentapolis. A room in the palace.


	[Enter SIMONIDES, reading a letter, at one door:
	the Knights meet him]

First Knight	Good morrow to the good Simonides.

SIMONIDES	Knights, from my daughter this I let you know,
	That for this twelvemonth she'll not undertake
	A married life.
	Her reason to herself is only known,
	Which yet from her by no means can I get.

Second Knight	May we not get access to her, my lord?

SIMONIDES	'Faith, by no means; she has so strictly tied
	Her to her chamber, that 'tis impossible.
	One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery;
	This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd
	And on her virgin honour will not break it.

Third Knight	Loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.

	[Exeunt Knights]

SIMONIDES	So,
	They are well dispatch'd; now to my daughter's letter:
	She tells me here, she'd wed the stranger knight,
	Or never more to view nor day nor light.
	'Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;
	I like that well: nay, how absolute she's in't,
	Not minding whether I dislike or no!
	Well, I do commend her choice;
	And will no longer have it be delay'd.
	Soft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.

	[Enter PERICLES]

PERICLES	All fortune to the good Simonides!

SIMONIDES	To you as much, sir! I am beholding to you
	For your sweet music this last night: I do
	Protest my ears were never better fed
	With such delightful pleasing harmony.

PERICLES	It is your grace's pleasure to commend;
	Not my desert.

SIMONIDES	Sir, you are music's master.

PERICLES	The worst of all her scholars, my good lord.

SIMONIDES	Let me ask you one thing:
	What do you think of my daughter, sir?

PERICLES	A most virtuous princess.

SIMONIDES	And she is fair too, is she not?

PERICLES	As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.

SIMONIDES	Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you;
	Ay, so well, that you must be her master,
	And she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.

PERICLES	I am unworthy for her schoolmaster.

SIMONIDES	She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

PERICLES	[Aside]  What's here?
	A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!
	'Tis the king's subtlety to have my life.
	O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,
	A stranger and distressed gentleman,
	That never aim'd so high to love your daughter,
	But bent all offices to honour her.

SIMONIDES	Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art
	A villain.

PERICLES	By the gods, I have not:
	Never did thought of mine levy offence;
	Nor never did my actions yet commence
	A deed might gain her love or your displeasure.

SIMONIDES	Traitor, thou liest.

PERICLES	Traitor!

SIMONIDES	Ay, traitor.

PERICLES	Even in his throat--unless it be the king--
	That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

SIMONIDES	[Aside]  Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.

PERICLES	My actions are as noble as my thoughts,
	That never relish'd of a base descent.
	I came unto your court for honour's cause,
	And not to be a rebel to her state;
	And he that otherwise accounts of me,
	This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy.

SIMONIDES	No?
	Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.

	[Enter THAISA]

PERICLES	Then, as you are as virtuous as fair,
	Resolve your angry father, if my tongue
	Did ere solicit, or my hand subscribe
	To any syllable that made love to you.

THAISA	Why, sir, say if you had,
	Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

SIMONIDES	Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory?

	[Aside]

	I am glad on't with all my heart.--
	I'll tame you; I'll bring you in subjection.
	Will you, not having my consent,
	Bestow your love and your affections
	Upon a stranger?

	[Aside]

	who, for aught I know,
	May be, nor can I think the contrary,
	As great in blood as I myself.--
	Therefore hear you, mistress; either frame
	Your will to mine,--and you, sir, hear you,
	Either be ruled by me, or I will make you--
	Man and wife:
	Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too:
	And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy;
	And for a further grief,--God give you joy!--
	What, are you both pleased?

THAISA	Yes, if you love me, sir.

PERICLES	Even as my life, or blood that fosters it.

SIMONIDES	What, are you both agreed?

BOTH	Yes, if it please your majesty.

SIMONIDES	It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;
	And then with what haste you can get you to bed.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III


	[Enter GOWER]

GOWER	Now sleep y-slaked hath the rout;
	No din but snores the house about,
	Made louder by the o'er-fed breast
	Of this most pompous marriage-feast.
	The cat, with eyne of burning coal,
	Now crouches fore the mouse's hole;
	And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,
	E'er the blither for their drouth.
	Hymen hath brought the bride to bed.
	Where, by the loss of maidenhead,
	A babe is moulded. Be attent,
	And time that is so briefly spent
	With your fine fancies quaintly eche:
	What's dumb in show I'll plain with speech.

		DUMB SHOW.

	[Enter, PERICLES and SIMONIDES at one door, with
	Attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and
	gives PERICLES a letter: PERICLES shows it
	SIMONIDES; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter
	THAISA with child, with LYCHORIDA a nurse. The
	KING shows her the letter; she rejoices: she and
	PERICLES takes leave of her father, and depart with
	LYCHORIDA and their Attendants. Then exeunt
	SIMONIDES and the rest]

	By many a dern and painful perch
	Of Pericles the careful search,
	By the four opposing coigns
	Which the world together joins,
	Is made with all due diligence
	That horse and sail and high expense
	Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,
	Fame answering the most strange inquire,
	To the court of King Simonides
	Are letters brought, the tenor these:
	Antiochus and his daughter dead;
	The men of Tyrus on the head
	Of Helicanus would set on
	The crown of Tyre, but he will none:
	The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress;
	Says to 'em, if King Pericles
	Come not home in twice six moons,
	He, obedient to their dooms,
	Will take the crown. The sum of this,
	Brought hither to Pentapolis,
	Y-ravished the regions round,
	And every one with claps can sound,
	'Our heir-apparent is a king!
	Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?'
	Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:
	His queen with child makes her desire--
	Which who shall cross?--along to go:
	Omit we all their dole and woe:
	Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,
	And so to sea. Their vessel shakes
	On Neptune's billow; half the flood
	Hath their keel cut: but fortune's mood
	Varies again; the grisly north
	Disgorges such a tempest forth,
	That, as a duck for life that dives,
	So up and down the poor ship drives:
	The lady shrieks, and well-a-near
	Does fall in travail with her fear:
	And what ensues in this fell storm
	Shall for itself itself perform.
	I nill relate, action may
	Conveniently the rest convey;
	Which might not what by me is told.
	In your imagination hold
	This stage the ship, upon whose deck
	The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE I:


	[Enter PERICLES, on shipboard]

PERICLES	Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,
	Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that hast
	Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,
	Having call'd them from the deep! O, still
	Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench
	Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,
	How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;
	Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle
	Is as a whisper in the ears of death,
	Unheard. Lychorida!--Lucina, O
	Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle
	To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
	Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
	Of my queen's travails!

	[Enter LYCHORIDA, with an Infant]

		  Now, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA	Here is a thing too young for such a place,
	Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I
	Am like to do: take in your arms this piece
	Of your dead queen.

PERICLES	How, how, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA	Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.
	Here's all that is left living of your queen,
	A little daughter: for the sake of it,
	Be manly, and take comfort.

PERICLES	O you gods!
	Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
	And snatch them straight away? We here below
	Recall not what we give, and therein may
	Use honour with you.

LYCHORIDA	Patience, good sir,
	Even for this charge.

PERICLES	Now, mild may be thy life!
	For a more blustrous birth had never babe:
	Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for
	Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world
	That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!
	Thou hast as chiding a nativity
	As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
	To herald thee from the womb: even at the first
	Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,
	With all thou canst find here. Now, the good gods
	Throw their best eyes upon't!

	[Enter two Sailors]

First Sailor	What courage, sir? God save you!

PERICLES	Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;
	It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love
	Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,
	I would it would be quiet.

First Sailor	Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou?
	Blow, and split thyself.

Second Sailor	But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss
	the moon, I care not.

First Sailor	Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high,
	the wind is loud, and will not lie till the ship be
	cleared of the dead.

PERICLES	That's your superstition.

First Sailor	Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still
	observed: and we are strong in custom. Therefore
	briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

PERICLES	As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

LYCHORIDA	Here she lies, sir.

PERICLES	A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;
	No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements
	Forgot thee utterly: nor have I time
	To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight
	Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;
	Where, for a monument upon thy bones,
	And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
	And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,
	Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida,
	Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,
	My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
	Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe
	Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say
	A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.

	[Exit LYCHORIDA]

Second Sailor	Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked
	and bitumed ready.

PERICLES	I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

Second Sailor	We are near Tarsus.

PERICLES	Thither, gentle mariner.
	Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

Second Sailor	By break of day, if the wind cease.

PERICLES	O, make for Tarsus!
	There will I visit Cleon, for the babe
	Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it
	At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:
	I'll bring the body presently.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE II	Ephesus. A room in CERIMON's house.


	[Enter CERIMON, with a Servant, and some Persons who
	have been shipwrecked]

CERIMON	Philemon, ho!

	[Enter PHILEMON]

PHILEMON	Doth my lord call?

CERIMON	Get fire and meat for these poor men:
	'T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Servant	I have been in many; but such a night as this,
	Till now, I ne'er endured.

CERIMON	Your master will be dead ere you return;
	There's nothing can be minister'd to nature
	That can recover him.

	[To PHILEMON]

		Give this to the 'pothecary,
	And tell me how it works.

	[Exeunt all but CERIMON]

	[Enter two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	Good morrow.

Second Gentleman	Good morrow to your lordship.

CERIMON	Gentlemen,
	Why do you stir so early?

First Gentleman	Sir,
	Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,
	Shook as the earth did quake;
	The very principals did seem to rend,
	And all-to topple: pure surprise and fear
	Made me to quit the house.

Second Gentleman	That is the cause we trouble you so early;
	'Tis not our husbandry.

CERIMON	O, you say well.

First Gentleman	But I much marvel that your lordship, having
	Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
	Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
	'Tis most strange,
	Nature should be so conversant with pain,
	Being thereto not compell'd.

CERIMON	I hold it ever,
	Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
	Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
	May the two latter darken and expend;
	But immortality attends the former.
	Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever
	Have studied physic, through which secret art,
	By turning o'er authorities, I have,
	Together with my practise, made familiar
	To me and to my aid the blest infusions
	That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;
	And I can speak of the disturbances
	That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me
	A more content in course of true delight
	Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
	Or tie my treasure up in silken bags,
	To please the fool and death.

Second Gentleman	Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth
	Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
	Your creatures, who by you have been restored:
	And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even
	Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon
	Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.

	[Enter two or three Servants with a chest]

First Servant	So; lift there.

CERIMON	                  What is that?

First Servant	Sir, even now
	Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:
	'Tis of some wreck.

CERIMON	Set 't down, let's look upon't.

Second Gentleman	'Tis like a coffin, sir.

CERIMON	Whate'er it be,
	'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
	If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,
	'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.

Second Gentleman	'Tis so, my lord.

CERIMON	                  How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed!
	Did the sea cast it up?

First Servant	I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
	As toss'd it upon shore.

CERIMON	Wrench it open;
	Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.

Second Gentleman	A delicate odour.

CERIMON	As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it.
	O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

First Gentleman	Most strange!

CERIMON	Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasured
	With full bags of spices! A passport too!
	Apollo, perfect me in the characters!

	[Reads from a scroll]

	'Here I give to understand,
	If e'er this coffin drive a-land,
	I, King Pericles, have lost
	This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
	Who finds her, give her burying;
	She was the daughter of a king:
	Besides this treasure for a fee,
	The gods requite his charity!'

	If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
	That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.

Second Gentleman	Most likely, sir.

CERIMON	                  Nay, certainly to-night;
	For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough
	That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within:
	Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.

	[Exit a Servant]

	Death may usurp on nature many hours,
	And yet the fire of life kindle again
	The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
	That had nine hours lien dead,
	Who was by good appliance recovered.

	[Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire]

	Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.
	The rough and woeful music that we have,
	Cause it to sound, beseech you.
	The viol once more: how thou stirr'st, thou block!
	The music there!--I pray you, give her air.
	Gentlemen.
	This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
	Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranced
	Above five hours: see how she gins to blow
	Into life's flower again!

First Gentleman	The heavens,
	Through you, increase our wonder and set up
	Your fame forever.

CERIMON	                  She is alive; behold,
	Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
	Which Pericles hath lost,
	Begin to part their fringes of bright gold;
	The diamonds of a most praised water
	Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live,
	And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,
	Rare as you seem to be.

	[She moves]

THAISA	O dear Diana,
	Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this?

Second Gentleman	Is not this strange?

First Gentleman	Most rare.

CERIMON	Hush, my gentle neighbours!
	Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.
	Get linen: now this matter must be look'd to,
	For her relapse is mortal. Come, come;
	And AEsculapius guide us!

	[Exeunt, carrying her away]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE III	Tarsus. A room in CLEON's house.


	[Enter PERICLES, CLEON, DIONYZA, and LYCHORIDA with
	MARINA in her arms]

PERICLES	 Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;
	My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands
	In a litigious peace. You, and your lady,
	Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods
	Make up the rest upon you!

CLEON	Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,
	Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

DIONYZA	O your sweet queen!
	That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,
	To have bless'd mine eyes with her!

PERICLES	We cannot but obey
	The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
	As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end
	Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, whom,
	For she was born at sea, I have named so, here
	I charge your charity withal, leaving her
	The infant of your care; beseeching you
	To give her princely training, that she may be
	Manner'd as she is born.

CLEON	Fear not, my lord, but think
	Your grace, that fed my country with your corn,
	For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,
	Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
	Should therein make me vile, the common body,
	By you relieved, would force me to my duty:
	But if to that my nature need a spur,
	The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
	To the end of generation!

PERICLES	I believe you;
	Your honour and your goodness teach me to't,
	Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
	By bright Diana, whom we honour, all
	Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain,
	Though I show ill in't. So I take my leave.
	Good madam, make me blessed in your care
	In bringing up my child.

DIONYZA	I have one myself,
	Who shall not be more dear to my respect
	Than yours, my lord.

PERICLES	Madam, my thanks and prayers.

CLEON	We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o' the shore,
	Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and
	The gentlest winds of heaven.

PERICLES	I will embrace
	Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears,
	Lychorida, no tears:
	Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
	You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Ephesus. A room in CERIMON's house.


	[Enter CERIMON and THAISA]

CERIMON	Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
	Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
	At your command. Know you the character?

THAISA	It is my lord's.
	That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember,
	Even on my eaning time; but whether there
	Deliver'd, by the holy gods,
	I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
	My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,
	A vestal livery will I take me to,
	And never more have joy.

CERIMON	Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,
	Diana's temple is not distant far,
	Where you may abide till your date expire.
	Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
	Shall there attend you.

THAISA	My recompense is thanks, that's all;
	Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV


	[Enter GOWER]

GOWER	Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,
	Welcomed and settled to his own desire.
	His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
	Unto Diana there a votaress.
	Now to Marina bend your mind,
	Whom our fast-growing scene must find
	At Tarsus, and by Cleon train'd
	In music, letters; who hath gain'd
	Of education all the grace,
	Which makes her both the heart and place
	Of general wonder. But, alack,
	That monster envy, oft the wrack
	Of earned praise, Marina's life
	Seeks to take off by treason's knife.
	And in this kind hath our Cleon
	One daughter, and a wench full grown,
	Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid
	Hight Philoten: and it is said
	For certain in our story, she
	Would ever with Marina be:
	Be't when she weaved the sleided silk
	With fingers long, small, white as milk;
	Or when she would with sharp needle wound
	The cambric, which she made more sound
	By hurting it; or when to the lute
	She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
	That still records with moan; or when
	She would with rich and constant pen
	Vail to her mistress Dian; still
	This Philoten contends in skill
	With absolute Marina: so
	With the dove of Paphos might the crow
	Vie feathers white. Marina gets
	All praises, which are paid as debts,
	And not as given. This so darks
	In Philoten all graceful marks,
	That Cleon's wife, with envy rare,
	A present murderer does prepare
	For good Marina, that her daughter
	Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
	The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
	Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:
	And cursed Dionyza hath
	The pregnant instrument of wrath
	Prest for this blow. The unborn event
	I do commend to your content:
	Only I carry winged time
	Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
	Which never could I so convey,
	Unless your thoughts went on my way.
	Dionyza does appear,
	With Leonine, a murderer.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Tarsus. An open place near the sea-shore.


	[Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE]

DIONYZA	Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do't:
	'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
	Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
	To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
	Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom,
	Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which
	Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
	A soldier to thy purpose.

LEONINE	I will do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.

DIONYZA	The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here
	she comes weeping for her only mistress' death.
	Thou art resolved?

LEONINE	I am resolved.

	[Enter MARINA, with a basket of flowers]

MARINA	No, I will rob Tellus of her weed,
	To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,
	The purple violets, and marigolds,
	Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,
	While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid,
	Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
	This world to me is like a lasting storm,
	Whirring me from my friends.

DIONYZA	How now, Marina! why do you keep alone?
	How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not
	Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have
	A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour's changed
	With this unprofitable woe!
	Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.
	Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there,
	And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come,
	Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

MARINA	No, I pray you;
	I'll not bereave you of your servant.

DIONYZA	Come, come;
	I love the king your father, and yourself,
	With more than foreign heart. We every day
	Expect him here: when he shall come and find
	Our paragon to all reports thus blasted,
	He will repent the breadth of his great voyage;
	Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken
	No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
	Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve
	That excellent complexion, which did steal
	The eyes of young and old. Care not for me
	I can go home alone.

MARINA	Well, I will go;
	But yet I have no desire to it.

DIONYZA	Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
	Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:
	Remember what I have said.

LEONINE	I warrant you, madam.

DIONYZA	I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:
	Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:
	What! I must have a care of you.

MARINA	My thanks, sweet madam.

	[Exit DIONYZA]

	Is this wind westerly that blows?

LEONINE	South-west.

MARINA	When I was born, the wind was north.

LEONINE	Was't so?

MARINA	My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
	But cried 'Good seaman!' to the sailors, galling
	His kingly hands, haling ropes;
	And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea
	That almost burst the deck.

LEONINE	When was this?

MARINA	When I was born:
	Never was waves nor wind more violent;
	And from the ladder-tackle washes off
	A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, 'wilt out?'
	And with a dropping industry they skip
	From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and
	The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

LEONINE	Come, say your prayers.

MARINA	What mean you?

LEONINE	If you require a little space for prayer,
	I grant it: pray; but be not tedious,
	For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
	To do my work with haste.

MARINA	Why will you kill me?

LEONINE	To satisfy my lady.

MARINA	Why would she have me kill'd?
	Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
	I never did her hurt in all my life:
	I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
	To any living creature: believe me, la,
	I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:
	I trod upon a worm against my will,
	But I wept for it. How have I offended,
	Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
	Or my life imply her any danger?

LEONINE	My commission
	Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.

MARINA	You will not do't for all the world, I hope.
	You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow
	You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,
	When you caught hurt in parting two that fought:
	Good sooth, it show'd well in you: do so now:
	Your lady seeks my life; come you between,
	And save poor me, the weaker.

LEONINE	I am sworn,
	And will dispatch.

	[He seizes her]

	[Enter Pirates]

First Pirate	Hold, villain!

	[LEONINE runs away]

Second Pirate	A prize! a prize!

Third Pirate	Half-part, mates, half-part.
	Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.

	[Exeunt Pirates with MARINA]

	[Re-enter LEONINE]

LEONINE	These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;
	And they have seized Marina. Let her go:
	There's no hope she will return. I'll swear
	she's dead,
	And thrown into the sea. But I'll see further:
	Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
	Not carry her aboard. If she remain,
	Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE II	Mytilene. A room in a brothel.


	[Enter Pandar, Bawd, and BOULT]

Pandar	Boult!

BOULT	Sir?

Pandar	Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of
	gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being
	too wenchless.

Bawd	We were never so much out of creatures. We have but
	poor three, and they can do no more than they can
	do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten.

Pandar	Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for
	them. If there be not a conscience to be used in
	every trade, we shall never prosper.

Bawd	Thou sayest true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor
	bastards,--as, I think, I have brought up some eleven--

BOULT	Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. But
	shall I search the market?

Bawd	What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind
	will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.

Pandar	Thou sayest true; they're too unwholesome, o'
	conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that
	lay with the little baggage.

BOULT	Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat
	for worms. But I'll go search the market.

	[Exit]

Pandar	Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a
	proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

Bawd	Why to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get
	when we are old?

Pandar	O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor
	the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore,
	if in our youths we could pick up some pretty
	estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched.
	Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods
	will be strong with us for giving over.

Bawd	Come, other sorts offend as well as we.

Pandar	As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse.
	Neither is our profession any trade; it's no
	calling. But here comes Boult.

	[Re-enter BOULT, with the Pirates and MARINA]

BOULT	[To MARINA]  Come your ways. My masters, you say
	she's a virgin?

First Pirate	O, sir, we doubt it not.

BOULT	Master, I have gone through for this piece, you see:
	if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.

Bawd	Boult, has she any qualities?

BOULT	She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent
	good clothes: there's no further necessity of
	qualities can make her be refused.

Bawd	What's her price, Boult?

BOULT	I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces.

Pandar	Well, follow me, my masters, you shall have your
	money presently. Wife, take her in; instruct her
	what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her
	entertainment.

	[Exeunt Pandar and Pirates]

Bawd	Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her
	hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her
	virginity; and cry 'He that will give most shall
	have her first.' Such a maidenhead were no cheap
	thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done
	as I command you.

BOULT	Performance shall follow.

	[Exit]

MARINA	Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!
	He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,
	Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown me
	For to seek my mother!

Bawd	Why lament you, pretty one?

MARINA	That I am pretty.

Bawd	Come, the gods have done their part in you.

MARINA	I accuse them not.

Bawd	You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.

MARINA	The more my fault
	To scape his hands where I was like to die.

Bawd	Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.

MARINA	No.

Bawd	Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all
	fashions: you shall fare well; you shall have the
	difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears?

MARINA	Are you a woman?

Bawd	What would you have me be, an I be not a woman?

MARINA	An honest woman, or not a woman.

Bawd	Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall have
	something to do with you. Come, you're a young
	foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have
	you.

MARINA	The gods defend me!

Bawd	If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men
	must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir
	you up. Boult's returned.

	[Re-enter BOULT]

	Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?

BOULT	I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs;
	I have drawn her picture with my voice.

Bawd	And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the
	inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?

BOULT	'Faith, they listened to me as they would have
	hearkened to their father's testament. There was a
	Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to
	her very description.

Bawd	We shall have him here to-morrow with his best ruff on.

BOULT	To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the
	French knight that cowers i' the hams?

Bawd	Who, Monsieur Veroles?

BOULT	Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the
	proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore
	he would see her to-morrow.

Bawd	Well, well; as for him, he brought his disease
	hither: here he does but repair it. I know he will
	come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the
	sun.

BOULT	Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we
	should lodge them with this sign.

Bawd	[To MARINA]  Pray you, come hither awhile. You
	have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me: you must
	seem to do that fearfully which you commit
	willingly, despise profit where you have most gain.
	To weep that you live as ye do makes pity in your
	lovers: seldom but that pity begets you a good
	opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.

MARINA	I understand you not.

BOULT	O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these
	blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practise.

Bawd	Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must; for your
	bride goes to that with shame which is her way to go
	with warrant.

BOULT	'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if
	I have bargained for the joint,--

Bawd	Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.

BOULT	I may so.

Bawd	Who should deny it? Come, young one, I like the
	manner of your garments well.

BOULT	Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.

Bawd	Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a
	sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by custom.
	When nature flamed this piece, she meant thee a good
	turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou
	hast the harvest out of thine own report.

BOULT	I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake
	the beds of eels as my giving out her beauty stir up
	the lewdly-inclined. I'll bring home some to-night.

Bawd	Come your ways; follow me.

MARINA	If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,
	Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.
	Diana, aid my purpose!

Bawd	What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE III	Tarsus. A room in CLEON's house.


	[Enter CLEON and DIONYZA]

DIONYZA	Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?

CLEON	O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
	The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!

DIONYZA	I think
	You'll turn a child again.

CLEON	Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,
	I'ld give it to undo the deed. O lady,
	Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess
	To equal any single crown o' the earth
	I' the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!
	Whom thou hast poison'd too:
	If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kindness
	Becoming well thy fact: what canst thou say
	When noble Pericles shall demand his child?

DIONYZA	That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,
	To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
	She died at night; I'll say so. Who can cross it?
	Unless you play the pious innocent,
	And for an honest attribute cry out
	'She died by foul play.'

CLEON	O, go to. Well, well,
	Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
	Do like this worst.

DIONYZA	Be one of those that think
	The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,
	And open this to Pericles. I do shame
	To think of what a noble strain you are,
	And of how coward a spirit.

CLEON	To such proceeding
	Who ever but his approbation added,
	Though not his prime consent, he did not flow
	From honourable sources.

DIONYZA	Be it so, then:
	Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead,
	Nor none can know, Leonine being gone.
	She did disdain my child, and stood between
	Her and her fortunes: none would look on her,
	But cast their gazes on Marina's face;
	Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin
	Not worth the time of day. It pierced me through;
	And though you call my course unnatural,
	You not your child well loving, yet I find
	It greets me as an enterprise of kindness
	Perform'd to your sole daughter.

CLEON	Heavens forgive it!

DIONYZA	And as for Pericles,
	What should he say? We wept after her hearse,
	And yet we mourn: her monument
	Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs
	In glittering golden characters express
	A general praise to her, and care in us
	At whose expense 'tis done.

CLEON	Thou art like the harpy,
	Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face,
	Seize with thine eagle's talons.

DIONYZA	You are like one that superstitiously
	Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:
	But yet I know you'll do as I advise.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE IV:


	[Enter GOWER, before the monument of MARINA at Tarsus]

GOWER	Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short;
	Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't;
	Making, to take your imagination,
	From bourn to bourn, region to region.
	By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
	To use one language in each several clime
	Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you
	To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you,
	The stages of our story. Pericles
	Is now again thwarting the wayward seas,
	Attended on by many a lord and knight.
	To see his daughter, all his life's delight.
	Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
	Advanced in time to great and high estate,
	Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind,
	Old Helicanus goes along behind.
	Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought
	This king to Tarsus,--think his pilot thought;
	So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,--
	To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
	Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;
	Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

	DUMB SHOW.

	[Enter PERICLES, at one door, with all his train;
	CLEON and DIONYZA, at the other. CLEON shows
	PERICLES the tomb; whereat PERICLES makes
	lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty
	passion departs. Then exeunt CLEON and DIONYZA]

	See how belief may suffer by foul show!
	This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;
	And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,
	With sighs shot through, and biggest tears
	o'ershower'd,
	Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears
	Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:
	He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
	A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,
	And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit.
	The epitaph is for Marina writ
	By wicked Dionyza.

	[Reads the inscription on MARINA's monument]

	'The fairest, sweet'st, and best lies here,
	Who wither'd in her spring of year.
	She was of Tyrus the king's daughter,
	On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;
	Marina was she call'd; and at her birth,
	Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth:
	Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd,
	Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:
	Wherefore she does, and swears she'll never stint,
	Make raging battery upon shores of flint.'

	No visor does become black villany
	So well as soft and tender flattery.
	Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead,
	And bear his courses to be ordered
	By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play
	His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day
	In her unholy service. Patience, then,
	And think you now are all in Mytilene.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE V	Mytilene. A street before the brothel.


	[Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	Did you ever hear the like?

Second Gentleman	No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she
	being once gone.

First Gentleman	But to have divinity preached there! did you ever
	dream of such a thing?

Second Gentleman	No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses:
	shall's go hear the vestals sing?

First Gentleman	I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I
	am out of the road of rutting for ever.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE VI	The same. A room in the brothel.


	[Enter Pandar, Bawd, and BOULT]

Pandar	Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she
	had ne'er come here.

Bawd	Fie, fie upon her! she's able to freeze the god
	Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must
	either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When she
	should do for clients her fitment, and do me the
	kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks,
	her reasons, her master reasons, her prayers, her
	knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil,
	if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

BOULT	'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us
	of all our cavaliers, and make our swearers priests.

Pandar	Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me!

Bawd	'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't but by the
	way to the pox. Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.

BOULT	We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish
	baggage would but give way to customers.

	[Enter LYSIMACHUS]

LYSIMACHUS	How now! How a dozen of virginities?

Bawd	Now, the gods to-bless your honour!

BOULT	I am glad to see your honour in good health.

LYSIMACHUS	You may so; 'tis the better for you that your
	resorters stand upon sound legs. How now!
	wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal
	withal, and defy the surgeon?

Bawd	We have here one, sir, if she would--but there never
	came her like in Mytilene.

LYSIMACHUS	If she'ld do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.

Bawd	Your honour knows what 'tis to say well enough.

LYSIMACHUS	Well, call forth, call forth.

BOULT	For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall
	see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but--

LYSIMACHUS	What, prithee?

BOULT	O, sir, I can be modest.

LYSIMACHUS	That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it
	gives a good report to a number to be chaste.

	[Exit BOULT]

Bawd	Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never
	plucked yet, I can assure you.

	[Re-enter BOULT with MARINA]

	Is she not a fair creature?

LYSIMACHUS	'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea.
	Well, there's for you: leave us.

Bawd	I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and
	I'll have done presently.

LYSIMACHUS	I beseech you, do.

Bawd	[To MARINA]  First, I would have you note, this is
	an honourable man.

MARINA	I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.

Bawd	Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man
	whom I am bound to.

MARINA	If he govern the country, you are bound to him
	indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not.

Bawd	Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will
	you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold.

MARINA	What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.

LYSIMACHUS	Ha' you done?

Bawd	My lord, she's not paced yet: you must take some
	pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will
	leave his honour and her together. Go thy ways.

	[Exeunt Bawd, Pandar, and BOULT]

LYSIMACHUS	Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

MARINA	What trade, sir?

LYSIMACHUS	Why, I cannot name't but I shall offend.

MARINA	I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.

LYSIMACHUS	How long have you been of this profession?

MARINA	E'er since I can remember.

LYSIMACHUS	Did you go to 't so young? Were you a gamester at
	five or at seven?

MARINA	Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.

LYSIMACHUS	Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a
	creature of sale.

MARINA	Do you know this house to be a place of such resort,
	and will come into 't? I hear say you are of
	honourable parts, and are the governor of this place.

LYSIMACHUS	Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?

MARINA	Who is my principal?

LYSIMACHUS	Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots
	of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard something
	of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious
	wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my
	authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly
	upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place:
	come, come.

MARINA	If you were born to honour, show it now;
	If put upon you, make the judgment good
	That thought you worthy of it.

LYSIMACHUS	How's this? how's this? Some more; be sage.

MARINA	For me,
	That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune
	Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came,
	Diseases have been sold dearer than physic,
	O, that the gods
	Would set me free from this unhallow'd place,
	Though they did change me to the meanest bird
	That flies i' the purer air!

LYSIMACHUS	I did not think
	Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou couldst.
	Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,
	Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee:
	Persever in that clear way thou goest,
	And the gods strengthen thee!

MARINA	The good gods preserve you!

LYSIMACHUS	For me, be you thoughten
	That I came with no ill intent; for to me
	The very doors and windows savour vilely.
	Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and
	I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.
	Hold, here's more gold for thee.
	A curse upon him, die he like a thief,
	That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost
	Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.

	[Re-enter BOULT]

BOULT	I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

LYSIMACHUS	Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!
	Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it,
	Would sink and overwhelm you. Away!

	[Exit]

BOULT	How's this? We must take another course with you.
	If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a
	breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope,
	shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like
	a spaniel. Come your ways.

MARINA	 Whither would you have me?

BOULT	I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common
	hangman shall execute it. Come your ways. We'll
	have no more gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say.

	[Re-enter Bawd]

Bawd	How now! what's the matter?

BOULT	Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy
	words to the Lord Lysimachus.

Bawd	O abominable!

BOULT	She makes our profession as it were to stink afore
	the face of the gods.

Bawd	Marry, hang her up for ever!

BOULT	The nobleman would have dealt with her like a
	nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a
	snowball; saying his prayers too.

Bawd	Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure:
	crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable.

BOULT	An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she
	is, she shall be ploughed.

MARINA	Hark, hark, you gods!

Bawd	She conjures: away with her! Would she had never
	come within my doors! Marry, hang you! She's born
	to undo us. Will you not go the way of women-kind?
	Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!

	[Exit]

BOULT	Come, mistress; come your ways with me.

MARINA	Whither wilt thou have me?

BOULT	To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.

MARINA	Prithee, tell me one thing first.

BOULT	Come now, your one thing.

MARINA	What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

BOULT	Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.

MARINA	Neither of these are so bad as thou art,
	Since they do better thee in their command.
	Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend
	Of hell would not in reputation change:
	Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every
	Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib;
	To the choleric fisting of every rogue
	Thy ear is liable; thy food is such
	As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.

BOULT	What would you have me do? go to the wars, would
	you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss
	of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to
	buy him a wooden one?

MARINA	Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty
	OLD receptacles, or common shores, of filth;
	Serve by indenture to the common hangman:
	Any of these ways are yet better than this;
	For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,
	Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods
	Would safely deliver me from this place!
	Here, here's gold for thee.
	If that thy master would gain by thee,
	Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,
	With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast:
	And I will undertake all these to teach.
	I doubt not but this populous city will
	Yield many scholars.

BOULT	But can you teach all this you speak of?

MARINA	Prove that I cannot, take me home again,
	And prostitute me to the basest groom
	That doth frequent your house.

BOULT	Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can
	place thee, I will.

MARINA	But amongst honest women.

BOULT	'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them.
	But since my master and mistress have bought you,
	there's no going but by their consent: therefore I
	will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I
	doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough.
	Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V


	[Enter GOWER]

GOWER	Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances
	Into an honest house, our story says.
	She sings like one immortal, and she dances
	As goddess-like to her admired lays;
	Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her needle composes
	Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,
	That even her art sisters the natural roses;
	Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:
	That pupils lacks she none of noble race,
	Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain
	She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;
	And to her father turn our thoughts again,
	Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;
	Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived
	Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast
	Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived
	God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence
	Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,
	His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense;
	And to him in his barge with fervor hies.
	In your supposing once more put your sight
	Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark:
	Where what is done in action, more, if might,
	Shall be discover'd; please you, sit and hark.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V



SCENE I	On board PERICLES' ship, off Mytilene. A close
	pavilion on deck, with a curtain before it; PERICLES
	within it, reclined on a couch. A barge lying
	beside the Tyrian vessel.


	[Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian
	vessel, the other to the barge; to them HELICANUS]

Tyrian Sailor	[To the Sailor of Mytilene]  Where is lord Helicanus?
	he can resolve you.
	O, here he is.
	Sir, there's a barge put off from Mytilene,
	And in it is Lysimachus the governor,
	Who craves to come aboard. What is your will?

HELICANUS	That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.

Tyrian Sailor	Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.

	[Enter two or three Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	Doth your lordship call?

HELICANUS	Gentlemen, there's some of worth would come aboard;
	I pray ye, greet them fairly.

	[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go
	on board the barge]

	[Enter, from thence, LYSIMACHUS and Lords; with the
	Gentlemen and the two Sailors]

Tyrian Sailor	Sir,
	This is the man that can, in aught you would,
	Resolve you.

LYSIMACHUS	Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!

HELICANUS	And you, sir, to outlive the age I am,
	And die as I would do.

LYSIMACHUS	You wish me well.
	Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs,
	Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,
	I made to it, to know of whence you are.

HELICANUS	First, what is your place?

LYSIMACHUS	I am the governor of this place you lie before.

HELICANUS	Sir,
	Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;
	A man who for this three months hath not spoken
	To any one, nor taken sustenance
	But to prorogue his grief.

LYSIMACHUS	Upon what ground is his distemperature?

HELICANUS	'Twould be too tedious to repeat;
	But the main grief springs from the loss
	Of a beloved daughter and a wife.

LYSIMACHUS	May we not see him?

HELICANUS	You may;
	But bootless is your sight: he will not speak To any.

LYSIMACHUS	Yet let me obtain my wish.

HELICANUS	Behold him.

	[PERICLES discovered]

	This was a goodly person,
	Till the disaster that, one mortal night,
	Drove him to this.

LYSIMACHUS	Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!
	Hail, royal sir!

HELICANUS	It is in vain; he will not speak to you.

First Lord	Sir,
	We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,
	Would win some words of him.

LYSIMACHUS	'Tis well bethought.
	She questionless with her sweet harmony
	And other chosen attractions, would allure,
	And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,
	Which now are midway stopp'd:
	She is all happy as the fairest of all,
	And, with her fellow maids is now upon
	The leafy shelter that abuts against
	The island's side.

	[Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the barge of
	LYSIMACHUS]

HELICANUS	Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit
	That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness
	We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you
	That for our gold we may provision have,
	Wherein we are not destitute for want,
	But weary for the staleness.

LYSIMACHUS	O, sir, a courtesy
	Which if we should deny, the most just gods
	For every graff would send a caterpillar,
	And so afflict our province. Yet once more
	Let me entreat to know at large the cause
	Of your king's sorrow.

HELICANUS	Sit, sir, I will recount it to you:
	But, see, I am prevented.

	[Re-enter, from the barge, Lord, with MARINA, and a
	young Lady]

LYSIMACHUS	O, here is
	The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!
	Is't not a goodly presence?

HELICANUS	She's a gallant lady.

LYSIMACHUS	She's such a one, that, were I well assured
	Came of a gentle kind and noble stock,
	I'ld wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.
	Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
	Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:
	If that thy prosperous and artificial feat
	Can draw him but to answer thee in aught,
	Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay
	As thy desires can wish.

MARINA	Sir, I will use
	My utmost skill in his recovery, Provided
	That none but I and my companion maid
	Be suffer'd to come near him.

LYSIMACHUS	Come, let us leave her;
	And the gods make her prosperous!

	[MARINA sings]

LYSIMACHUS	Mark'd he your music?

MARINA	No, nor look'd on us.

LYSIMACHUS	See, she will speak to him.

MARINA	Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear.

PERICLES	Hum, ha!

MARINA	I am a maid,
	My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,
	But have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,
	My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief
	Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
	Though wayward fortune did malign my state,
	My derivation was from ancestors
	Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:
	But time hath rooted out my parentage,
	And to the world and awkward casualties
	Bound me in servitude.

	[Aside]

		 I will desist;
	But there is something glows upon my cheek,
	And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he speak.'

PERICLES	My fortunes--parentage--good parentage--
	To equal mine!--was it not thus? what say you?

MARINA	I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage,
	You would not do me violence.

PERICLES	I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.
	You are like something that--What country-woman?
	Here of these shores?

MARINA	No, nor of any shores:
	Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am
	No other than I appear.

PERICLES	I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.
	My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one
	My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows;
	Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;
	As silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like
	And cased as richly; in pace another Juno;
	Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,
	The more she gives them speech. Where do you live?

MARINA	Where I am but a stranger: from the deck
	You may discern the place.

PERICLES	Where were you bred?
	And how achieved you these endowments, which
	You make more rich to owe?

MARINA	If I should tell my history, it would seem
	Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.

PERICLES	Prithee, speak:
	Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou look'st
	Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace
	For the crown'd Truth to dwell in: I will
	believe thee,
	And make my senses credit thy relation
	To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
	Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?
	Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back--
	Which was when I perceived thee--that thou camest
	From good descending?

MARINA	So indeed I did.

PERICLES	Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st
	Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury,
	And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine,
	If both were open'd.

MARINA	Some such thing
	I said, and said no more but what my thoughts
	Did warrant me was likely.

PERICLES	Tell thy story;
	If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part
	Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I
	Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look
	Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling
	Extremity out of act. What were thy friends?
	How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?
	Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.

MARINA	My name is Marina.

PERICLES	                  O, I am mock'd,
	And thou by some incensed god sent hither
	To make the world to laugh at me.

MARINA	Patience, good sir,
	Or here I'll cease.

PERICLES	Nay, I'll be patient.
	Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me,
	To call thyself Marina.

MARINA	The name
	Was given me by one that had some power,
	My father, and a king.

PERICLES	How! a king's daughter?
	And call'd Marina?

MARINA	                  You said you would believe me;
	But, not to be a troubler of your peace,
	I will end here.

PERICLES	                  But are you flesh and blood?
	Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
	Motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?
	And wherefore call'd Marina?

MARINA	Call'd Marina
	For I was born at sea.

PERICLES	At sea! what mother?

MARINA	My mother was the daughter of a king;
	Who died the minute I was born,
	As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
	Deliver'd weeping.

PERICLES	                  O, stop there a little!

	[Aside]

	This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep
	Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:
	My daughter's buried. Well: where were you bred?
	I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,
	And never interrupt you.

MARINA	You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I did give o'er.

PERICLES	I will believe you by the syllable
	Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:
	How came you in these parts? where were you bred?

MARINA	The king my father did in Tarsus leave me;
	Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,
	Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd
	A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do't,
	A crew of pirates came and rescued me;
	Brought me to Mytilene. But, good sir,
	Whither will you have me? Why do you weep?
	It may be,
	You think me an impostor: no, good faith;
	I am the daughter to King Pericles,
	If good King Pericles be.

PERICLES	Ho, Helicanus!

HELICANUS	Calls my lord?

PERICLES	Thou art a grave and noble counsellor,
	Most wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,
	What this maid is, or what is like to be,
	That thus hath made me weep?

HELICANUS	I know not; but
	Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene
	Speaks nobly of her.

LYSIMACHUS	She would never tell
	Her parentage; being demanded that,
	She would sit still and weep.

PERICLES	O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
	Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
	Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me
	O'erbear the shores of my mortality,
	And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither,
	Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
	Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,
	And found at sea again! O Helicanus,
	Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud
	As thunder threatens us: this is Marina.
	What was thy mother's name? tell me but that,
	For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
	Though doubts did ever sleep.

MARINA	First, sir, I pray,
	What is your title?

PERICLES	I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now
	My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you said
	Thou hast been godlike perfect,
	The heir of kingdoms and another like
	To Pericles thy father.

MARINA	Is it no more to be your daughter than
	To say my mother's name was Thaisa?
	Thaisa was my mother, who did end
	The minute I began.

PERICLES	Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.
	Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;
	She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,
	By savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;
	When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge
	She is thy very princess. Who is this?

HELICANUS	Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene,
	Who, hearing of your melancholy state,
	Did come to see you.

PERICLES	I embrace you.
	Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.
	O heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?
	Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him
	O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,
	How sure you are my daughter. But, what music?

HELICANUS	My lord, I hear none.

PERICLES	None!
	The music of the spheres! List, my Marina.

LYSIMACHUS	It is not good to cross him; give him way.

PERICLES	Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear?

LYSIMACHUS	My lord, I hear.

	[Music]

PERICLES	Most heavenly music!
	It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber
	Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.

	[Sleeps]

LYSIMACHUS	A pillow for his head:
	So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,
	If this but answer to my just belief,
	I'll well remember you.

	[Exeunt all but PERICLES]

	[DIANA appears to PERICLES as in a vision]

DIANA	My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,
	And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
	There, when my maiden priests are met together,
	Before the people all,
	Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
	To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call
	And give them repetition to the life.
	Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe;
	Do it, and happy; by my silver bow!
	Awake, and tell thy dream.

	[Disappears]

PERICLES	Celestial Dian, goddess argentine,
	I will obey thee. Helicanus!

	[Re-enter HELICANUS, LYSIMACHUS, and MARINA]

HELICANUS	Sir?

PERICLES	My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike
	The inhospitable Cleon; but I am
	For other service first: toward Ephesus
	Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I'll tell thee why.

	[To LYSIMACHUS]

	Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,
	And give you gold for such provision
	As our intents will need?

LYSIMACHUS	Sir,
	With all my heart; and, when you come ashore,
	I have another suit.

PERICLES	You shall prevail,
	Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems
	You have been noble towards her.

LYSIMACHUS	Sir, lend me your arm.

PERICLES	Come, my Marina.

	[Exeunt]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V



SCENE II:


	[Enter GOWER, before the temple of DIANA at Ephesus]

GOWER	Now our sands are almost run;
	More a little, and then dumb.
	This, my last boon, give me,
	For such kindness must relieve me,
	That you aptly will suppose
	What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
	What minstrelsy, and pretty din,
	The regent made in Mytilene
	To greet the king. So he thrived,
	That he is promised to be wived
	To fair Marina; but in no wise
	Till he had done his sacrifice,
	As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
	The interim, pray you, all confound.
	In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd,
	And wishes fall out as they're will'd.
	At Ephesus, the temple see,
	Our king and all his company.
	That he can hither come so soon,
	Is by your fancy's thankful doom.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V


SCENE III	The temple of Diana at Ephesus; THAISA standing
	near the altar, as high priestess; a number of
	Virgins on each side; CERIMON and other Inhabitants
	of Ephesus attending.


	[Enter PERICLES, with his train; LYSIMACHUS,
	HELICANUS, MARINA, and a Lady]

PERICLES	Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command,
	I here confess myself the king of Tyre;
	Who, frighted from my country, did wed
	At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.
	At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth
	A maid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess,
	Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus
	Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years
	He sought to murder: but her better stars
	Brought her to Mytilene; 'gainst whose shore
	Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,
	Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she
	Made known herself my daughter.

THAISA	Voice and favour!
	You are, you are--O royal Pericles!

	[Faints]

PERICLES	What means the nun? she dies! help, gentlemen!

CERIMON	Noble sir,
	If you have told Diana's altar true,
	This is your wife.

PERICLES	                  Reverend appearer, no;
	I threw her overboard with these very arms.

CERIMON	Upon this coast, I warrant you.

PERICLES	'Tis most certain.

CERIMON	Look to the lady; O, she's but o'erjoy'd.
	Early in blustering morn this lady was
	Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,
	Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and placed her
	Here in Diana's temple.

PERICLES	May we see them?

CERIMON	Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house,
	Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is recovered.

THAISA	O, let me look!
	If he be none of mine, my sanctity
	Will to my sense bend no licentious ear,
	But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,
	Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake,
	Like him you are: did you not name a tempest,
	A birth, and death?

PERICLES	The voice of dead Thaisa!

THAISA	That Thaisa am I, supposed dead
	And drown'd.

PERICLES	Immortal Dian!

THAISA	                  Now I know you better.
	When we with tears parted Pentapolis,
	The king my father gave you such a ring.

	[Shows a ring]

PERICLES	This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness
	Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,
	That on the touching of her lips I may
	Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried
	A second time within these arms.

MARINA	My heart
	Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.

	[Kneels to THAISA]

PERICLES	Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;
	Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina
	For she was yielded there.

THAISA	Blest, and mine own!

HELICANUS	Hail, madam, and my queen!

THAISA	I know you not.

PERICLES	You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,
	I left behind an ancient substitute:
	Can you remember what I call'd the man?
	I have named him oft.

THAISA	'Twas Helicanus then.

PERICLES	Still confirmation:
	Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.
	Now do I long to hear how you were found;
	How possibly preserved; and who to thank,
	Besides the gods, for this great miracle.

THAISA	Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man,
	Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can
	From first to last resolve you.

PERICLES	Reverend sir,
	The gods can have no mortal officer
	More like a god than you. Will you deliver
	How this dead queen re-lives?

CERIMON	I will, my lord.
	Beseech you, first go with me to my house,
	Where shall be shown you all was found with her;
	How she came placed here in the temple;
	No needful thing omitted.

PERICLES	Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I
	Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,
	This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter,
	Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now,
	This ornament
	Makes me look dismal will I clip to form;
	And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd,
	To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.

THAISA	Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,
	My father's dead.

PERICLES	Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,
	We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves
	Will in that kingdom spend our following days:
	Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.
	Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay
	To hear the rest untold: sir, lead's the way.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter GOWER]

GOWER	In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard
	Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:
	In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen,
	Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,
	Virtue preserved from fell destruction's blast,
	Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last:
	In Helicanus may you well descry
	A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:
	In reverend Cerimon there well appears
	The worth that learned charity aye wears:
	For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame
	Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name
	Of Pericles, to rage the city turn,
	That him and his they in his palace burn;
	The gods for murder seemed so content
	To punish them; although not done, but meant.
	So, on your patience evermore attending,
	New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.

	[Exit]
	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


	A Lord.		|
			|
CHRISTOPHER SLY	a tinker. (SLY:)		|  Persons in
			|  the Induction.
	Hostess, Page, Players,	|
	Huntsmen, and Servants.	|
	(Hostess:)
	(Page:)
	(A Player:)
	(First Huntsman:)
	(Second Huntsman:)
	(Messenger:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)


BAPTISTA	a rich gentleman of Padua.

VINCENTIO	an old gentleman of Pisa.

LUCENTIO	son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.

PETRUCHIO	a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to
	Katharina.


GREMIO	|
	| suitors to Bianca.
HORTENSIO	|


TRANIO	|
	| servants to Lucentio.
BIONDELLO	|


GRUMIO	|
	|
CURTIS	|
	|
NATHANIEL	|
	|
NICHOLAS	|  servants to Petruchio.
	|
JOSEPH	|
	|
PHILIP	|
	|
PETER	|

	A Pedant.


KATHARINA the shrew,	|
		| daughters to Baptista.
BIANCA		|

	Widow.

	Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending
	on Baptista and Petruchio.
	(Tailor:)
	(Haberdasher:)
	(First Servant:)


SCENE	Padua, and Petruchio's country house.




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

	INDUCTION



SCENE I	Before an alehouse on a heath.


	[Enter Hostess and SLY]

SLY	I'll pheeze you, in faith.

Hostess	A pair of stocks, you rogue!

SLY	Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in
	the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.
	Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!

Hostess	You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

SLY	No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold
	bed, and warm thee.

Hostess	I know my remedy; I must go fetch the
	third--borough.

	[Exit]

SLY	Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him
	by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come,
	and kindly.

	[Falls asleep]

	[Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train]

Lord	Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:
	Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd;
	And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach.
	Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
	At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?
	I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

First Huntsman	Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
	He cried upon it at the merest loss
	And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
	Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord	Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
	I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
	But sup them well and look unto them all:
	To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

First Huntsman	I will, my lord.

Lord	What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

Second Huntsman	He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,
	This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord	O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
	Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
	Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
	What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
	Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
	A most delicious banquet by his bed,
	And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
	Would not the beggar then forget himself?

First Huntsman	Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

Second Huntsman	It would seem strange unto him when he waked.

Lord	Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.
	Then take him up and manage well the jest:
	Carry him gently to my fairest chamber
	And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
	Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters
	And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
	Procure me music ready when he wakes,
	To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
	And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
	And with a low submissive reverence
	Say 'What is it your honour will command?'
	Let one attend him with a silver basin
	Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers,
	Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
	And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'
	Some one be ready with a costly suit
	And ask him what apparel he will wear;
	Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
	And that his lady mourns at his disease:
	Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;
	And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
	For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
	This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:
	It will be pastime passing excellent,
	If it be husbanded with modesty.

First Huntsman	My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,
	As he shall think by our true diligence
	He is no less than what we say he is.

Lord	Take him up gently and to bed with him;
	And each one to his office when he wakes.

	[Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds]

	Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

	[Exit Servingman]

	Belike, some noble gentleman that means,
	Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

	[Re-enter Servingman]

	How now! who is it?

Servant	An't please your honour, players
	That offer service to your lordship.

Lord	Bid them come near.

	[Enter Players]

	Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players	We thank your honour.

Lord	Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

A Player	So please your lordship to accept our duty.

Lord	With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
	Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:
	'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
	I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part
	Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

A Player	I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.

Lord	'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
	Well, you are come to me in a happy time;
	The rather for I have some sport in hand
	Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
	There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
	But I am doubtful of your modesties;
	Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,--
	For yet his honour never heard a play--
	You break into some merry passion
	And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
	If you should smile he grows impatient.

A Player	Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves,
	Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord	Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
	And give them friendly welcome every one:
	Let them want nothing that my house affords.

	[Exit one with the Players]

	Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
	And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
	That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;
	And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.
	Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
	He bear himself with honourable action,
	Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
	Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
	Such duty to the drunkard let him do
	With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
	And say 'What is't your honour will command,
	Wherein your lady and your humble wife
	May show her duty and make known her love?'
	And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
	And with declining head into his bosom,
	Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
	To see her noble lord restored to health,
	Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him
	No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
	And if the boy have not a woman's gift
	To rain a shower of commanded tears,
	An onion will do well for such a shift,
	Which in a napkin being close convey'd
	Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
	See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst:
	Anon I'll give thee more instructions.

	[Exit a Servingman]

	I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
	Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman:
	I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,
	And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
	When they do homage to this simple peasant.
	I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
	May well abate the over-merry spleen
	Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

	INDUCTION



SCENE II	A bedchamber in the Lord's house.


	[Enter aloft SLY, with Attendants; some with apparel,
	others with basin and ewer and appurtenances; and Lord]

SLY	For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

First Servant	Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

Second Servant	Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

Third Servant	What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

SLY	I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor
	'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if
	you give me any conserves, give me conserves of
	beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I
	have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings
	than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,
	sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my
	toes look through the over-leather.

Lord	Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
	O, that a mighty man of such descent,
	Of such possessions and so high esteem,
	Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

SLY	What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
	Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a
	pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a
	bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker?
	Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if
	she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence
	on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the
	lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not
	bestraught: here's--

Third Servant	O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!

Second Servant	O, this is it that makes your servants droop!

Lord	Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
	As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
	O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
	Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment
	And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
	Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
	Each in his office ready at thy beck.
	Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays,

	[Music]

	And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
	Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch
	Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
	On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
	Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:
	Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
	Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
	Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
	Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt?
	Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
	And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

First Servant	Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
	As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

Second Servant	Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
	Adonis painted by a running brook,
	And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
	Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
	Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord	We'll show thee Io as she was a maid,
	And how she was beguiled and surprised,
	As lively painted as the deed was done.

Third Servant	Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
	Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,
	And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
	So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord	Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:
	Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
	Than any woman in this waning age.

First Servant	And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
	Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
	She was the fairest creature in the world;
	And yet she is inferior to none.

SLY	Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
	Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
	I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
	I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things:
	Upon my life, I am a lord indeed
	And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly.
	Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
	And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.

Second Servant	Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands?
	O, how we joy to see your wit restored!
	O, that once more you knew but what you are!
	These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
	Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept.

SLY	These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
	But did I never speak of all that time?

First Servant	O, yes, my lord, but very idle words:
	For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
	Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
	And rail upon the hostess of the house;
	And say you would present her at the leet,
	Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts:
	Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

SLY	Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

Third Servant	Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
	Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,
	As Stephen Sly and did John Naps of Greece
	And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell
	And twenty more such names and men as these
	Which never were nor no man ever saw.

SLY	Now Lord be thanked for my good amends!

ALL	Amen.

SLY	I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it.

	[Enter the Page as a lady, with attendants]

Page	How fares my noble lord?

SLY	Marry, I fare well for here is cheer enough.
	Where is my wife?

Page	Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her?

SLY	Are you my wife and will not call me husband?
	My men should call me 'lord:' I am your goodman.

Page	My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
	I am your wife in all obedience.

SLY	I know it well. What must I call her?

Lord	Madam.

SLY	Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord	'Madam,' and nothing else: so lords
	call ladies.

SLY	Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd
	And slept above some fifteen year or more.

Page	Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
	Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

SLY	'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
	Madam, undress you and come now to bed.

Page	Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
	To pardon me yet for a night or two,
	Or, if not so, until the sun be set:
	For your physicians have expressly charged,
	In peril to incur your former malady,
	That I should yet absent me from your bed:
	I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

SLY	Ay, it stands so that I may hardly
	tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into
	my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in
	despite of the flesh and the blood.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Your honour's players, heating your amendment,
	Are come to play a pleasant comedy;
	For so your doctors hold it very meet,
	Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
	And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:
	Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
	And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
	Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

SLY	Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a
	comondy a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?

Page	No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.

SLY	What, household stuff?

Page	It is a kind of history.

SLY	Well, well see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side
	and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.

	[Flourish]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT I



SCENE I	Padua. A public place.


	[Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO]

LUCENTIO	Tranio, since for the great desire I had
	To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
	I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy,
	The pleasant garden of great Italy;
	And by my father's love and leave am arm'd
	With his good will and thy good company,
	My trusty servant, well approved in all,
	Here let us breathe and haply institute
	A course of learning and ingenious studies.
	Pisa renown'd for grave citizens
	Gave me my being and my father first,
	A merchant of great traffic through the world,
	Vincetino come of Bentivolii.
	Vincetino's son brought up in Florence
	It shall become to serve all hopes conceived,
	To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:
	And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
	Virtue and that part of philosophy
	Will I apply that treats of happiness
	By virtue specially to be achieved.
	Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left
	And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
	A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep
	And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

TRANIO	Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
	I am in all affected as yourself;
	Glad that you thus continue your resolve
	To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
	Only, good master, while we do admire
	This virtue and this moral discipline,
	Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
	Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques
	As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:
	Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
	And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
	Music and poesy use to quicken you;
	The mathematics and the metaphysics,
	Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;
	No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en:
	In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

LUCENTIO	Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.
	If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
	We could at once put us in readiness,
	And take a lodging fit to entertain
	Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.
	But stay a while: what company is this?

TRANIO	Master, some show to welcome us to town.

	[Enter BAPTISTA, KATHARINA, BIANCA, GREMIO, and
	HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by]

BAPTISTA	Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
	For how I firmly am resolved you know;
	That is, not bestow my youngest daughter
	Before I have a husband for the elder:
	If either of you both love Katharina,
	Because I know you well and love you well,
	Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.

GREMIO	[Aside]  To cart her rather: she's too rough for me.
	There, There, Hortensio, will you any wife?

KATHARINA	I pray you, sir, is it your will
	To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

HORTENSIO	Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you,
	Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

KATHARINA	I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear:
	I wis it is not half way to her heart;
	But if it were, doubt not her care should be
	To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool
	And paint your face and use you like a fool.

HORTENSIA	From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!

GREMIO	And me too, good Lord!

TRANIO	Hush, master! here's some good pastime toward:
	That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.

LUCENTIO	But in the other's silence do I see
	Maid's mild behavior and sobriety.
	Peace, Tranio!

TRANIO	Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.

BAPTISTA	Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
	What I have said, Bianca, get you in:
	And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
	For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.

KATHARINA	A pretty peat! it is best
	Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.

BIANCA	Sister, content you in my discontent.
	Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:
	My books and instruments shall be my company,
	On them to took and practise by myself.

LUCENTIO	Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak.

HORTENSIO	Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
	Sorry am I that our good will effects
	Bianca's grief.

GREMIO	                  Why will you mew her up,
	Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
	And make her bear the penance of her tongue?

BAPTISTA	Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolved:
	Go in, Bianca:

	[Exit BIANCA]

	And for I know she taketh most delight
	In music, instruments and poetry,
	Schoolmasters will I keep within my house,
	Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
	Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such,
	Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
	I will be very kind, and liberal
	To mine own children in good bringing up:
	And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay;
	For I have more to commune with Bianca.

	[Exit]

KATHARINA	Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What,
	shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I
	knew not what to take and what to leave, ha?

	[Exit]

GREMIO	You may go to the devil's dam: your gifts are so
	good, here's none will hold you. Their love is not
	so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails
	together, and fast it fairly out: our cakes dough on
	both sides. Farewell: yet for the love I bear my
	sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit
	man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will
	wish him to her father.

HORTENSIO	So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray.
	Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brooked
	parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both,
	that we may yet again have access to our fair
	mistress and be happy rivals in Bianco's love, to
	labour and effect one thing specially.

GREMIO	What's that, I pray?

HORTENSIO	Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

GREMIO	A husband! a devil.

HORTENSIO	I say, a husband.

GREMIO	I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though
	her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool
	to be married to hell?

HORTENSIO	Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience and mine
	to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good
	fellows in the world, an a man could light on them,
	would take her with all faults, and money enough.

GREMIO	I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with
	this condition, to be whipped at the high cross
	every morning.

HORTENSIO	Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten
	apples. But come; since this bar in law makes us
	friends, it shall be so far forth friendly
	maintained all by helping Baptista's eldest daughter
	to a husband we set his youngest free for a husband,
	and then have to't a fresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man
	be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring.
	How say you, Signior Gremio?

GREMIO	I am agreed; and would I had given him the best
	horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would
	thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed her and rid the
	house of her! Come on.

	[Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO]

TRANIO	I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
	That love should of a sudden take such hold?

LUCENTIO	O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
	I never thought it possible or likely;
	But see, while idly I stood looking on,
	I found the effect of love in idleness:
	And now in plainness do confess to thee,
	That art to me as secret and as dear
	As Anna to the queen of Carthage was,
	Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,
	If I achieve not this young modest girl.
	Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;
	Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.

TRANIO	Master, it is no time to chide you now;
	Affection is not rated from the heart:
	If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so,
	'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.'

LUCENTIO	Gramercies, lad, go forward; this contents:
	The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.

TRANIO	Master, you look'd so longly on the maid,
	Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.

LUCENTIO	O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,
	Such as the daughter of Agenor had,
	That made great Jove to humble him to her hand.
	When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.

TRANIO	Saw you no more? mark'd you not how her sister
	Began to scold and raise up such a storm
	That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?

LUCENTIO	Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move
	And with her breath she did perfume the air:
	Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.

TRANIO	Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance.
	I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,
	Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:
	Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd
	That till the father rid his hands of her,
	Master, your love must live a maid at home;
	And therefore has he closely mew'd her up,
	Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.

LUCENTIO	Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!
	But art thou not advised, he took some care
	To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?

TRANIO	Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted.

LUCENTIO	I have it, Tranio.

TRANIO	                  Master, for my hand,
	Both our inventions meet and jump in one.

LUCENTIO	Tell me thine first.

TRANIO	You will be schoolmaster
	And undertake the teaching of the maid:
	That's your device.

LUCENTIO	It is: may it be done?

TRANIO	Not possible; for who shall bear your part,
	And be in Padua here Vincentio's son,
	Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends,
	Visit his countrymen and banquet them?

LUCENTIO	Basta; content thee, for I have it full.
	We have not yet been seen in any house,
	Nor can we lie distinguish'd by our faces
	For man or master; then it follows thus;
	Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
	Keep house and port and servants as I should:
	I will some other be, some Florentine,
	Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
	'Tis hatch'd and shall be so: Tranio, at once
	Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak:
	When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;
	But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.

TRANIO	So had you need.
	In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
	And I am tied to be obedient;
	For so your father charged me at our parting,
	'Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he,
	Although I think 'twas in another sense;
	I am content to be Lucentio,
	Because so well I love Lucentio.

LUCENTIO	Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves:
	And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid
	Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.
	Here comes the rogue.

	[Enter BIONDELLO]

		Sirrah, where have you been?

BIONDELLO	Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?
	Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes? Or
	you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the news?

LUCENTIO	Sirrah, come hither: 'tis no time to jest,
	And therefore frame your manners to the time.
	Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
	Puts my apparel and my countenance on,
	And I for my escape have put on his;
	For in a quarrel since I came ashore
	I kill'd a man and fear I was descried:
	Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
	While I make way from hence to save my life:
	You understand me?

BIONDELLO	                  I, sir! ne'er a whit.

LUCENTIO	And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:
	Tranio is changed into Lucentio.

BIONDELLO	The better for him: would I were so too!

TRANIO	So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,
	That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.
	But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise
	You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:
	When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
	But in all places else your master Lucentio.

LUCENTIO	Tranio, let's go: one thing more rests, that
	thyself execute, to make one among these wooers: if
	thou ask me why, sufficeth, my reasons are both good
	and weighty.

	[Exeunt]

	[The presenters above speak]

First Servant	My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

SLY	Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely:
	comes there any more of it?

Page	My lord, 'tis but begun.

SLY	'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady:
	would 'twere done!

	[They sit and mark]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT I



SCENE II	Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house.


	[Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO]

PETRUCHIO	Verona, for a while I take my leave,
	To see my friends in Padua, but of all
	My best beloved and approved friend,
	Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.
	Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say.

GRUMIO	Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there man has
	rebused your worship?

PETRUCHIO	Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

GRUMIO	Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that
	I should knock you here, sir?

PETRUCHIO	Villain, I say, knock me at this gate
	And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.

GRUMIO	My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock
	you first,
	And then I know after who comes by the worst.

PETRUCHIO	Will it not be?
	Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it;
	I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.

	[He wrings him by the ears]

GRUMIO	Help, masters, help! my master is mad.

PETRUCHIO	Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

	[Enter HORTENSIO]

HORTENSIO	How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio!
	and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?

PETRUCHIO	Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
	'Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say.

HORTENSIO	'Alla nostra casa ben venuto, molto honorato signor
	mio Petruchio.' Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound
	this quarrel.

GRUMIO	Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin.
	if this be not a lawful case for me to leave his
	service, look you, sir, he bid me knock him and rap
	him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to
	use his master so, being perhaps, for aught I see,
	two and thirty, a pip out? Whom would to God I had
	well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst.

PETRUCHIO	A senseless villain! Good Hortensio,
	I bade the rascal knock upon your gate
	And could not get him for my heart to do it.

GRUMIO	Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these
	words plain, 'Sirrah, knock me here, rap me here,
	knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you
	now with, 'knocking at the gate'?

PETRUCHIO	Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.

HORTENSIO	Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge:
	Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
	Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
	And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
	Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?

PETRUCHIO	Such wind as scatters young men through the world,
	To seek their fortunes farther than at home
	Where small experience grows. But in a few,
	Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:
	Antonio, my father, is deceased;
	And I have thrust myself into this maze,
	Haply to wive and thrive as best I may:
	Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home,
	And so am come abroad to see the world.

HORTENSIO	Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee
	And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?
	Thou'ldst thank me but a little for my counsel:
	And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich
	And very rich: but thou'rt too much my friend,
	And I'll not wish thee to her.

PETRUCHIO	Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we
	Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know
	One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,
	As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,
	Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,
	As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd
	As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse,
	She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
	Affection's edge in me, were she as rough
	As are the swelling Adriatic seas:
	I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
	If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

GRUMIO	Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his
	mind is: Why give him gold enough and marry him to
	a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot with ne'er
	a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases
	as two and fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss,
	so money comes withal.

HORTENSIO	Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in,
	I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
	I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
	With wealth enough and young and beauteous,
	Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:
	Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
	Is that she is intolerable curst
	And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure
	That, were my state far worser than it is,
	I would not wed her for a mine of gold.

PETRUCHIO	Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect:
	Tell me her father's name and 'tis enough;
	For I will board her, though she chide as loud
	As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.

HORTENSIO	Her father is Baptista Minola,
	An affable and courteous gentleman:
	Her name is Katharina Minola,
	Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.

PETRUCHIO	I know her father, though I know not her;
	And he knew my deceased father well.
	I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;
	And therefore let me be thus bold with you
	To give you over at this first encounter,
	Unless you will accompany me thither.

GRUMIO	I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts.
	O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she
	would think scolding would do little good upon him:
	she may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so:
	why, that's nothing; an he begin once, he'll rail in
	his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what sir, an she
	stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in
	her face and so disfigure her with it that she
	shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat.
	You know him not, sir.

HORTENSIO	Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
	For in Baptista's keep my treasure is:
	He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
	His youngest daughter, beautiful Binaca,
	And her withholds from me and other more,
	Suitors to her and rivals in my love,
	Supposing it a thing impossible,
	For those defects I have before rehearsed,
	That ever Katharina will be woo'd;
	Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,
	That none shall have access unto Bianca
	Till Katharina the curst have got a husband.

GRUMIO	Katharina the curst!
	A title for a maid of all titles the worst.

HORTENSIO	Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
	And offer me disguised in sober robes
	To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
	Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;
	That so I may, by this device, at least
	Have leave and leisure to make love to her
	And unsuspected court her by herself.

GRUMIO	Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks,
	how the young folks lay their heads together!

	[Enter GREMIO, and LUCENTIO disguised]

	Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?

HORTENSIO	Peace, Grumio! it is the rival of my love.
	Petruchio, stand by a while.

GRUMIO	A proper stripling and an amorous!

GREMIO	O, very well; I have perused the note.
	Hark you, sir: I'll have them very fairly bound:
	All books of love, see that at any hand;
	And see you read no other lectures to her:
	You understand me: over and beside
	Signior Baptista's liberality,
	I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
	And let me have them very well perfumed
	For she is sweeter than perfume itself
	To whom they go to. What will you read to her?

LUCENTIO	Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you
	As for my patron, stand you so assured,
	As firmly as yourself were still in place:
	Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
	Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.

GREMIO	O this learning, what a thing it is!

GRUMIO	O this woodcock, what an ass it is!

PETRUCHIO	Peace, sirrah!

HORTENSIO	Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio.

GREMIO	And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
	Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
	I promised to inquire carefully
	About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca:
	And by good fortune I have lighted well
	On this young man, for learning and behavior
	Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
	And other books, good ones, I warrant ye.

HORTENSIO	'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman
	Hath promised me to help me to another,
	A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
	So shall I no whit be behind in duty
	To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.

GREMIO	Beloved of me; and that my deeds shall prove.

GRUMIO	And that his bags shall prove.

HORTENSIO	Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love:
	Listen to me, and if you speak me fair,
	I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.
	Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
	Upon agreement from us to his liking,
	Will undertake to woo curst Katharina,
	Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.

GREMIO	So said, so done, is well.
	Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?

PETRUCHIO	I know she is an irksome brawling scold:
	If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

GREMIO	No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?

PETRUCHIO	Born in Verona, old Antonio's son:
	My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
	And I do hope good days and long to see.

GREMIO	O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!
	But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name:
	You shall have me assisting you in all.
	But will you woo this wild-cat?

PETRUCHIO	Will I live?

GRUMIO	Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.

PETRUCHIO	Why came I hither but to that intent?
	Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
	Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
	Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds
	Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
	Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
	And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
	Have I not in a pitched battle heard
	Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
	And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
	That gives not half so great a blow to hear
	As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?
	Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs.

GRUMIO	For he fears none.

GREMIO	Hortensio, hark:
	This gentleman is happily arrived,
	My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.

HORTENSIO	I promised we would be contributors
	And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er.

GREMIO	And so we will, provided that he win her.

GRUMIO	I would I were as sure of a good dinner.

	[Enter TRANIO brave, and BIONDELLO]

TRANIO	Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold,
	Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
	To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?

BIONDELLO	He that has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean?

TRANIO	Even he, Biondello.

GREMIO	Hark you, sir; you mean not her to--

TRANIO	Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you to do?

PETRUCHIO	Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

TRANIO	I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.

LUCENTIO	Well begun, Tranio.

HORTENSIO	Sir, a word ere you go;
	Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

TRANIO	And if I be, sir, is it any offence?

GREMIO	No; if without more words you will get you hence.

TRANIO	Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
	For me as for you?

GREMIO	                  But so is not she.

TRANIO	For what reason, I beseech you?

GREMIO	For this reason, if you'll know,
	That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.

HORTENSIO	That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

TRANIO	Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen,
	Do me this right; hear me with patience.
	Baptista is a noble gentleman,
	To whom my father is not all unknown;
	And were his daughter fairer than she is,
	She may more suitors have and me for one.
	Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;
	Then well one more may fair Bianca have:
	And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one,
	Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.

GREMIO	What! this gentleman will out-talk us all.

LUCENTIO	Sir, give him head: I know he'll prove a jade.

PETRUCHIO	Hortensio, to what end are all these words?

HORTENSIO	Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
	Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?

TRANIO	No, sir; but hear I do that he hath two,
	The one as famous for a scolding tongue
	As is the other for beauteous modesty.

PETRUCHIO	Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by.

GREMIO	Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules;
	And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.

PETRUCHIO	Sir, understand you this of me in sooth:
	The youngest daughter whom you hearken for
	Her father keeps from all access of suitors,
	And will not promise her to any man
	Until the elder sister first be wed:
	The younger then is free and not before.

TRANIO	If it be so, sir, that you are the man
	Must stead us all and me amongst the rest,
	And if you break the ice and do this feat,
	Achieve the elder, set the younger free
	For our access, whose hap shall be to have her
	Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.

HORTENSIO	Sir, you say well and well you do conceive;
	And since you do profess to be a suitor,
	You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
	To whom we all rest generally beholding.

TRANIO	Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof,
	Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,
	And quaff carouses to our mistress' health,
	And do as adversaries do in law,
	Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.


GRUMIO	|
	|  O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone.
BIONDELLO	|


HORTENSIO	The motion's good indeed and be it so,
	Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT II



SCENE I	Padua. A room in BAPTISTA'S house.


	[Enter KATHARINA and BIANCA]

BIANCA	Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
	To make a bondmaid and a slave of me;
	That I disdain: but for these other gawds,
	Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
	Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
	Or what you will command me will I do,
	So well I know my duty to my elders.

KATHARINA	Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell
	Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble not.

BIANCA	Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
	I never yet beheld that special face
	Which I could fancy more than any other.

KATHARINA	Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?

BIANCA	If you affect him, sister, here I swear
	I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have
	him.

KATHARINA	O then, belike, you fancy riches more:
	You will have Gremio to keep you fair.

BIANCA	Is it for him you do envy me so?
	Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive
	You have but jested with me all this while:
	I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.

KATHARINA	If that be jest, then all the rest was so.

	[Strikes her]

	[Enter BAPTISTA]

BAPTISTA	Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?
	Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.
	Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
	For shame, thou helding of a devilish spirit,
	Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
	When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

KATHARINA	Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged.

	[Flies after BIANCA]

BAPTISTA	What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.

	[Exit BIANCA]

KATHARINA	What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see
	She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
	I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day
	And for your love to her lead apes in hell.
	Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep
	Till I can find occasion of revenge.

	[Exit]

BAPTISTA	Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?
	But who comes here?

	[Enter GREMIO, LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man;
	PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO,
	with BIONDELLO bearing a lute and books]

GREMIO	Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

BAPTISTA	Good morrow, neighbour Gremio.
	God save you, gentlemen!

PETRUCHIO	And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
	Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous?

BAPTISTA	I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina.

GREMIO	You are too blunt: go to it orderly.

PETRUCHIO	You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.
	I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
	That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,
	Her affability and bashful modesty,
	Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior,
	Am bold to show myself a forward guest
	Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
	Of that report which I so oft have heard.
	And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
	I do present you with a man of mine,

	[Presenting HORTENSIO]

	Cunning in music and the mathematics,
	To instruct her fully in those sciences,
	Whereof I know she is not ignorant:
	Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:
	His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

BAPTISTA	You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake.
	But for my daughter Katharina, this I know,
	She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

PETRUCHIO	I see you do not mean to part with her,
	Or else you like not of my company.

BAPTISTA	Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
	Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?

PETRUCHIO	Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son,
	A man well known throughout all Italy.

BAPTISTA	I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

GREMIO	Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
	Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too:
	Baccare! you are marvellous forward.

PETRUCHIO	O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.

GREMIO	I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your
	wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am
	sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself,
	that have been more kindly beholding to you than
	any, freely give unto you this young scholar,

	[Presenting LUCENTIO]

	that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning
	in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other
	in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray,
	accept his service.

BAPTISTA	A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio.
	Welcome, good Cambio.

	[To TRANIO]

	But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger:
	may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?

TRANIO	Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,
	That, being a stranger in this city here,
	Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
	Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
	Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
	In the preferment of the eldest sister.
	This liberty is all that I request,
	That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
	I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo
	And free access and favour as the rest:
	And, toward the education of your daughters,
	I here bestow a simple instrument,
	And this small packet of Greek and Latin books:
	If you accept them, then their worth is great.

BAPTISTA	Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray?

TRANIO	Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

BAPTISTA	A mighty man of Pisa; by report
	I know him well: you are very welcome, sir,
	Take you the lute, and you the set of books;
	You shall go see your pupils presently.
	Holla, within!

	[Enter a Servant]

	Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
	To my daughters; and tell them both,
	These are their tutors: bid them use them well.

	[Exit Servant, with LUCENTIO and HORTENSIO,
	BIONDELLO following]

	We will go walk a little in the orchard,
	And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
	And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

PETRUCHIO	Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
	And every day I cannot come to woo.
	You knew my father well, and in him me,
	Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
	Which I have better'd rather than decreased:
	Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
	What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

BAPTISTA	After my death the one half of my lands,
	And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

PETRUCHIO	And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
	Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
	In all my lands and leases whatsoever:
	Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
	That covenants may be kept on either hand.

BAPTISTA	Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
	That is, her love; for that is all in all.

PETRUCHIO	Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father,
	I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
	And where two raging fires meet together
	They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
	Though little fire grows great with little wind,
	Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:
	So I to her and so she yields to me;
	For I am rough and woo not like a babe.

BAPTISTA	Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
	But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

PETRUCHIO	Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds,
	That shake not, though they blow perpetually.

	[Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke]

BAPTISTA	How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale?

HORTENSIO	For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

BAPTISTA	What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

HORTENSIO	I think she'll sooner prove a soldier
	Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

BAPTISTA	Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?

HORTENSIO	Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.
	I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
	And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
	When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
	'Frets, call you these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume
	with them:'
	And, with that word, she struck me on the head,
	And through the instrument my pate made way;
	And there I stood amazed for a while,
	As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
	While she did call me rascal fiddler
	And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms,
	As had she studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO	Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
	I love her ten times more than e'er I did:
	O, how I long to have some chat with her!

BAPTISTA	Well, go with me and be not so discomfited:
	Proceed in practise with my younger daughter;
	She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns.
	Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
	Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

PETRUCHIO	I pray you do.

	[Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO]

	I will attend her here,
	And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
	Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain
	She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:
	Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear
	As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
	Say she be mute and will not speak a word;
	Then I'll commend her volubility,
	And say she uttereth piercing eloquence:
	If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
	As though she bid me stay by her a week:
	If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
	When I shall ask the banns and when be married.
	But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

	[Enter KATHARINA]

	Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

KATHARINA	Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:
	They call me Katharina that do talk of me.

PETRUCHIO	You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,
	And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst;
	But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom
	Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
	For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,
	Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;
	Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,
	Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
	Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
	Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.

KATHARINA	Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither
	Remove you hence: I knew you at the first
	You were a moveable.

PETRUCHIO	Why, what's a moveable?

KATHARINA	A join'd-stool.

PETRUCHIO	Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

KATHARINA	Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

PETRUCHIO	Women are made to bear, and so are you.

KATHARINA	No such jade as you, if me you mean.

PETRUCHIO	Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;
	For, knowing thee to be but young and light--

KATHARINA	Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
	And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

PETRUCHIO	Should be! should--buzz!

KATHARINA	Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO	O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

KATHARINA	Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO	Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.

KATHARINA	If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

PETRUCHIO	My remedy is then, to pluck it out.

KATHARINA	Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies,

PETRUCHIO	Who knows not where a wasp does
	wear his sting? In his tail.

KATHARINA	In his tongue.

PETRUCHIO	Whose tongue?

KATHARINA	Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.

PETRUCHIO	What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,
	Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

KATHARINA	That I'll try.

	[She strikes him]

PETRUCHIO	I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

KATHARINA	So may you lose your arms:
	If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
	And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

PETRUCHIO	A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!

KATHARINA	What is your crest? a coxcomb?

PETRUCHIO	A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

KATHARINA	No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

KATHARINA	It is my fashion, when I see a crab.

PETRUCHIO	Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.

KATHARINA	There is, there is.

PETRUCHIO	Then show it me.

KATHARINA	Had I a glass, I would.

PETRUCHIO	What, you mean my face?

KATHARINA	Well aim'd of such a young one.

PETRUCHIO	Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

KATHARINA	Yet you are wither'd.

PETRUCHIO	'Tis with cares.

KATHARINA	I care not.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so.

KATHARINA	I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go.

PETRUCHIO	No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle.
	'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen,
	And now I find report a very liar;
	For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
	But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
	Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
	Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
	Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk,
	But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
	With gentle conference, soft and affable.
	Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
	O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
	Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
	As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels.
	O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

KATHARINA	Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

PETRUCHIO	Did ever Dian so become a grove
	As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
	O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
	And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful!

KATHARINA	Where did you study all this goodly speech?

PETRUCHIO	It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

KATHARINA	A witty mother! witless else her son.

PETRUCHIO	Am I not wise?

KATHARINA	Yes; keep you warm.

PETRUCHIO	Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed:
	And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
	Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
	That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
	And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you.
	Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
	For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
	Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,
	Thou must be married to no man but me;
	For I am he am born to tame you Kate,
	And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
	Conformable as other household Kates.
	Here comes your father: never make denial;
	I must and will have Katharina to my wife.

	[Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO]

BAPTISTA	Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

PETRUCHIO	How but well, sir? how but well?
	It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAPTISTA	Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps?

KATHARINA	Call you me daughter? now, I promise you
	You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,
	To wish me wed to one half lunatic;
	A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack,
	That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

PETRUCHIO	Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world,
	That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her:
	If she be curst, it is for policy,
	For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
	She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
	For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
	And Roman Lucrece for her chastity:
	And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,
	That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

KATHARINA	I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

GREMIO	Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee
	hang'd first.

TRANIO	Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part!

PETRUCHIO	Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself:
	If she and I be pleased, what's that to you?
	'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
	That she shall still be curst in company.
	I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
	How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate!
	She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss
	She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
	That in a twink she won me to her love.
	O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see,
	How tame, when men and women are alone,
	A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
	Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
	To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.
	Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
	I will be sure my Katharina shall be fine.

BAPTISTA	I know not what to say: but give me your hands;
	God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.


GREMIO	|
	|  Amen, say we: we will be witnesses.
TRANIO	|


PETRUCHIO	Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;
	I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace:
	We will have rings and things and fine array;
	And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday.

	[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA severally]

GREMIO	Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?

BAPTISTA	Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
	And venture madly on a desperate mart.

TRANIO	'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you:
	'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

BAPTISTA	The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.

GREMIO	No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
	But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter:
	Now is the day we long have looked for:
	I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

TRANIO	And I am one that love Bianca more
	Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

GREMIO	Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

TRANIO	Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.

GREMIO	But thine doth fry.
	Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth.

TRANIO	But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

BAPTISTA	Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife:
	'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both
	That can assure my daughter greatest dower
	Shall have my Bianca's love.
	Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her?

GREMIO	First, as you know, my house within the city
	Is richly furnished with plate and gold;
	Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;
	My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;
	In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;
	In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,
	Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,
	Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,
	Valance of Venice gold in needlework,
	Pewter and brass and all things that belong
	To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm
	I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
	Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls,
	And all things answerable to this portion.
	Myself am struck in years, I must confess;
	And if I die to-morrow, this is hers,
	If whilst I live she will be only mine.

TRANIO	That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me:
	I am my father's heir and only son:
	If I may have your daughter to my wife,
	I'll leave her houses three or four as good,
	Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
	Old Signior Gremio has in Padua;
	Besides two thousand ducats by the year
	Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
	What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?

GREMIO	Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
	My land amounts not to so much in all:
	That she shall have; besides an argosy
	That now is lying in Marseilles' road.
	What, have I choked you with an argosy?

TRANIO	Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less
	Than three great argosies; besides two galliases,
	And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her,
	And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

GREMIO	Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more;
	And she can have no more than all I have:
	If you like me, she shall have me and mine.

TRANIO	Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
	By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied.

BAPTISTA	I must confess your offer is the best;
	And, let your father make her the assurance,
	She is your own; else, you must pardon me,
	if you should die before him, where's her dower?

TRANIO	That's but a cavil: he is old, I young.

GREMIO	And may not young men die, as well as old?

BAPTISTA	Well, gentlemen,
	I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know
	My daughter Katharina is to be married:
	Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
	Be bride to you, if you this assurance;
	If not, Signior Gremio:
	And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.

GREMIO	Adieu, good neighbour.

	[Exit BAPTISTA]

		Now I fear thee not:
	Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
	To give thee all, and in his waning age
	Set foot under thy table: tut, a toy!
	An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.

	[Exit]

TRANIO	A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!
	Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.
	'Tis in my head to do my master good:
	I see no reason but supposed Lucentio
	Must get a father, call'd 'supposed Vincentio;'
	And that's a wonder: fathers commonly
	Do get their children; but in this case of wooing,
	A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.

	[Exit]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT III



SCENE I	Padua. BAPTISTA'S house.


	[Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA]

LUCENTIO	Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
	Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
	Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?

HORTENSIO	But, wrangling pedant, this is
	The patroness of heavenly harmony:
	Then give me leave to have prerogative;
	And when in music we have spent an hour,
	Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

LUCENTIO	Preposterous ass, that never read so far
	To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
	Was it not to refresh the mind of man
	After his studies or his usual pain?
	Then give me leave to read philosophy,
	And while I pause, serve in your harmony.

HORTENSIO	Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

BIANCA	Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,
	To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
	I am no breeching scholar in the schools;
	I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
	But learn my lessons as I please myself.
	And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:
	Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;
	His lecture will be done ere you have tuned.

HORTENSIO	You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

LUCENTIO	That will be never: tune your instrument.

BIANCA	Where left we last?

LUCENTIO	Here, madam:
	'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;
	Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'

BIANCA	Construe them.

LUCENTIO	'Hic ibat,' as I told you before, 'Simois,' I am
	Lucentio, 'hic est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa,
	'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love;
	'Hic steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes
	a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,'
	bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might
	beguile the old pantaloon.

HORTENSIO	Madam, my instrument's in tune.

BIANCA	Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.

LUCENTIO	Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

BIANCA	Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat
	Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I
	trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed
	he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,'
	despair not.

HORTENSIO	Madam, 'tis now in tune.

LUCENTIO	All but the base.

HORTENSIO	The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.

	[Aside]

	How fiery and forward our pedant is!
	Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
	Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

BIANCA	In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

LUCENTIO	Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides
	Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.

BIANCA	I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
	I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
	But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you:
	Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
	That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

HORTENSIO	You may go walk, and give me leave a while:
	My lessons make no music in three parts.

LUCENTIO	Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,

	[Aside]

	And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,
	Our fine musician groweth amorous.

HORTENSIO	Madam, before you touch the instrument,
	To learn the order of my fingering,
	I must begin with rudiments of art;
	To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
	More pleasant, pithy and effectual,
	Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
	And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

BIANCA	Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

HORTENSIO	Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

BIANCA	[Reads]  ''Gamut' I am, the ground of all accord,
	'A re,' to Plead Hortensio's passion;
	'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord,
	'C fa ut,' that loves with all affection:
	'D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I:
	'E la mi,' show pity, or I die.'
	Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not:
	Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
	To change true rules for old inventions.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
	And help to dress your sister's chamber up:
	You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

BIANCA	Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.

	[Exeunt BIANCA and Servant]

LUCENTIO	Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

	[Exit]

HORTENSIO	But I have cause to pry into this pedant:
	Methinks he looks as though he were in love:
	Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
	To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale,
	Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,
	Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.

	[Exit]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT III



SCENE II	Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house.


	[Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHARINA, BIANCA,
	LUCENTIO, and others, attendants]

BAPTISTA	[To TRANIO]  Signior Lucentio, this is the
	'pointed day.
	That Katharina and Petruchio should be married,
	And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
	What will be said? what mockery will it be,
	To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
	To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!
	What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

KATHARINA	No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced
	To give my hand opposed against my heart
	Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen;
	Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
	I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
	Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior:
	And, to be noted for a merry man,
	He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
	Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns;
	Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
	Now must the world point at poor Katharina,
	And say, 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
	If it would please him come and marry her!'

TRANIO	Patience, good Katharina, and Baptista too.
	Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
	Whatever fortune stays him from his word:
	Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
	Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

KATHARINA	Would Katharina had never seen him though!

	[Exit weeping, followed by BIANCA and others]

BAPTISTA	Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
	For such an injury would vex a very saint,
	Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

	[Enter BIONDELLO]

BIONDELLO	Master, master! news, old news, and such news as
	you never heard of!

BAPTISTA	Is it new and old too? how may that be?

BIONDELLO	Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming?

BAPTISTA	Is he come?

BIONDELLO	Why, no, sir.

BAPTISTA	What then?

BIONDELLO	He is coming.

BAPTISTA	When will he be here?

BIONDELLO	When he stands where I am and sees you there.

TRANIO	But say, what to thine old news?

BIONDELLO	Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old
	jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair
	of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled,
	another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en out of the
	town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless;
	with two broken points: his horse hipped with an
	old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;
	besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose
	in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected
	with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with
	spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives,
	stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the
	bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten;
	near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit
	and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being
	restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been
	often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth
	six time pieced and a woman's crupper of velure,
	which hath two letters for her name fairly set down
	in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.

BAPTISTA	Who comes with him?

BIONDELLO	O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned
	like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a
	kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red
	and blue list; an old hat and 'the humour of forty
	fancies' pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a
	very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
	footboy or a gentleman's lackey.

TRANIO	'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
	Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd.

BAPTISTA	I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.

BIONDELLO	Why, sir, he comes not.

BAPTISTA	Didst thou not say he comes?

BIONDELLO	Who? that Petruchio came?

BAPTISTA	Ay, that Petruchio came.

BIONDELLO	No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

BAPTISTA	Why, that's all one.

BIONDELLO	   Nay, by Saint Jamy,
	I hold you a penny,
	A horse and a man
	Is more than one,
	And yet not many.

	[Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO]

PETRUCHIO	Come, where be these gallants? who's at home?

BAPTISTA	You are welcome, sir.

PETRUCHIO	And yet I come not well.

BAPTISTA	And yet you halt not.

TRANIO	Not so well apparell'd
	As I wish you were.

PETRUCHIO	Were it better, I should rush in thus.
	But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?
	How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown:
	And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
	As if they saw some wondrous monument,
	Some comet or unusual prodigy?

BAPTISTA	Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:
	First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
	Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
	Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
	An eye-sore to our solemn festival!

TRANIO	And tells us, what occasion of import
	Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
	And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

PETRUCHIO	Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:
	Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
	Though in some part enforced to digress;
	Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse
	As you shall well be satisfied withal.
	But where is Kate? I stay too long from her:
	The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.

TRANIO	See not your bride in these unreverent robes:
	Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine.

PETRUCHIO	Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her.

BAPTISTA	But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.

PETRUCHIO	Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words:
	To me she's married, not unto my clothes:
	Could I repair what she will wear in me,
	As I can change these poor accoutrements,
	'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
	But what a fool am I to chat with you,
	When I should bid good morrow to my bride,
	And seal the title with a lovely kiss!

	[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO]

TRANIO	He hath some meaning in his mad attire:
	We will persuade him, be it possible,
	To put on better ere he go to church.

BAPTISTA	I'll after him, and see the event of this.

	[Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and attendants]

TRANIO	But to her love concerneth us to add
	Her father's liking: which to bring to pass,
	As I before unparted to your worship,
	I am to get a man,--whate'er he be,
	It skills not much. we'll fit him to our turn,--
	And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa;
	And make assurance here in Padua
	Of greater sums than I have promised.
	So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,
	And marry sweet Bianca with consent.

LUCENTIO	Were it not that my fellow-school-master
	Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
	'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
	Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,
	I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world.

TRANIO	That by degrees we mean to look into,
	And watch our vantage in this business:
	We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
	The narrow-prying father, Minola,
	The quaint musician, amorous Licio;
	All for my master's sake, Lucentio.

	[Re-enter GREMIO]

	Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

GREMIO	As willingly as e'er I came from school.

TRANIO	And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

GREMIO	A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed,
	A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

TRANIO	Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

GREMIO	Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

TRANIO	Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.

GREMIO	Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!
	I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
	Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife,
	'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud,
	That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book;
	And, as he stoop'd again to take it up,
	The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff
	That down fell priest and book and book and priest:
	'Now take them up,' quoth he, 'if any list.'

TRANIO	What said the wench when he rose again?

GREMIO	Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore,
	As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
	But after many ceremonies done,
	He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if
	He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
	After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel
	And threw the sops all in the sexton's face;
	Having no other reason
	But that his beard grew thin and hungerly
	And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
	This done, he took the bride about the neck
	And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack
	That at the parting all the church did echo:
	And I seeing this came thence for very shame;
	And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
	Such a mad marriage never was before:
	Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.

	[Music]

	[Re-enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA,
	HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and Train]


PETRUCHIO	Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:
	I know you think to dine with me to-day,
	And have prepared great store of wedding cheer;
	But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,
	And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

BAPTISTA	Is't possible you will away to-night?

PETRUCHIO	I must away to-day, before night come:
	Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
	You would entreat me rather go than stay.
	And, honest company, I thank you all,
	That have beheld me give away myself
	To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife:
	Dine with my father, drink a health to me;
	For I must hence; and farewell to you all.

TRANIO	Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

PETRUCHIO	It may not be.

GREMIO	                  Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO	It cannot be.

KATHARINA	                  Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO	I am content.

KATHARINA	                  Are you content to stay?

PETRUCHIO	I am content you shall entreat me stay;
	But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

KATHARINA	Now, if you love me, stay.

PETRUCHIO	Grumio, my horse.

GRUMIO	Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses.

KATHARINA	Nay, then,
	Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
	No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.
	The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
	You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
	For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself:
	'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom,
	That take it on you at the first so roundly.

PETRUCHIO	O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry.

KATHARINA	I will be angry: what hast thou to do?
	Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.

GREMIO	Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.

KATARINA	Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:
	I see a woman may be made a fool,
	If she had not a spirit to resist.

PETRUCHIO	They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
	Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
	Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
	Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,
	Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:
	But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
	Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
	I will be master of what is mine own:
	She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
	My household stuff, my field, my barn,
	My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;
	And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
	I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
	That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
	Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves;
	Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
	Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch
	thee, Kate:
	I'll buckler thee against a million.

	[Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and GRUMIO]

BAPTISTA	Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.

GREMIO	Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.

TRANIO	Of all mad matches never was the like.

LUCENTIO	Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?

BIANCA	That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.

GREMIO	I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

BAPTISTA	Neighbours and friends, though bride and
	bridegroom wants
	For to supply the places at the table,
	You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
	Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place:
	And let Bianca take her sister's room.

TRANIO	Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

BAPTISTA	She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV



SCENE I	PETRUCHIO'S country house.


	[Enter GRUMIO]

GRUMIO	Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and
	all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever
	man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I am sent
	before to make a fire, and they are coming after to
	warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon
	hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my
	tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my
	belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: but
	I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for,
	considering the weather, a taller man than I will
	take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis.

	[Enter CURTIS]

CURTIS	Who is that calls so coldly?

GRUMIO	A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide
	from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run
	but my head and my neck. A fire good Curtis.

CURTIS	Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

GRUMIO	O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast
	on no water.

CURTIS	Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?

GRUMIO	She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou
	knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast; for it
	hath tamed my old master and my new mistress and
	myself, fellow Curtis.

CURTIS	Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.

GRUMIO	Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and
	so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a
	fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress,
	whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon
	feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

CURTIS	I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

GRUMIO	A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
	therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for
	my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

CURTIS	There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

GRUMIO	Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as
	will thaw.

CURTIS	Come, you are so full of cony-catching!

GRUMIO	Why, therefore fire; for I have caught extreme cold.
	Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house
	trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the
	serving-men in their new fustian, their white
	stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?
	Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without,
	the carpets laid, and every thing in order?

CURTIS	All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.

GRUMIO	First, know, my horse is tired; my master and
	mistress fallen out.

CURTIS	How?

GRUMIO	Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby
	hangs a tale.

CURTIS	Let's ha't, good Grumio.

GRUMIO	Lend thine ear.

CURTIS	Here.

GRUMIO	There.

	[Strikes him]

CURTIS	This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

GRUMIO	And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: and this
	cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech
	listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a
	foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,--

CURTIS	Both of one horse?

GRUMIO	What's that to thee?

CURTIS	Why, a horse.

GRUMIO	Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me,
	thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she
	under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how
	miry a place, how she was bemoiled, how he left her
	with the horse upon her, how he beat me because
	her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt
	to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she prayed,
	that never prayed before, how I cried, how the
	horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I
	lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory,
	which now shall die in oblivion and thou return
	unexperienced to thy grave.

CURTIS	By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.

GRUMIO	Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall
	find when he comes home. But what talk I of this?
	Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip,
	Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be
	sleekly combed their blue coats brushed and their
	garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsy
	with their left legs and not presume to touch a hair
	of my master's horse-tail till they kiss their
	hands. Are they all ready?

CURTIS	They are.

GRUMIO	Call them forth.

CURTIS	Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to
	countenance my mistress.

GRUMIO	Why, she hath a face of her own.

CURTIS	Who knows not that?

GRUMIO	Thou, it seems, that calls for company to
	countenance her.

CURTIS	I call them forth to credit her.

GRUMIO	Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

	[Enter four or five Serving-men]

NATHANIEL	Welcome home, Grumio!

PHILIP	How now, Grumio!

JOSEPH	What, Grumio!

NICHOLAS	Fellow Grumio!

NATHANIEL	How now, old lad?

GRUMIO	Welcome, you;--how now, you;-- what, you;--fellow,
	you;--and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce
	companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

NATHANIEL	All things is ready. How near is our master?

GRUMIO	E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be
	not--Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.

	[Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA]

PETRUCHIO	Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
	To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
	Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

ALL SERVING-MEN	Here, here, sir; here, sir.

PETRUCHIO	Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
	You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
	What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
	Where is the foolish knave I sent before?

GRUMIO	Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.

PETRUCHIO	You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
	Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
	And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

GRUMIO	Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,
	And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel;
	There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
	And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing:
	There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
	The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
	Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.

PETRUCHIO	Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.

	[Exeunt Servants]

	[Singing]

	Where is the life that late I led--
	Where are those--Sit down, Kate, and welcome.--
	Sound, sound, sound, sound!

	[Re-enter Servants with supper]

	Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
	Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?

	[Sings]

	It was the friar of orders grey,
	As he forth walked on his way:--
	Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:
	Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.

	[Strikes him]

	Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!
	Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
	And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
	One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.
	Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?

	[Enter one with water]

	Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
	You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

	[Strikes him]

KATHARINA	Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.

PETRUCHIO	A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
	Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
	Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I?
	What's this? mutton?

First Servant	Ay.

PETRUCHIO	Who brought it?

PETER	I.

PETRUCHIO	'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
	What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?
	How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,
	And serve it thus to me that love it not?
	Theretake it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;

	[Throws the meat, &c. about the stage]

	You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
	What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.

KATHARINA	I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet:
	The meat was well, if you were so contented.

PETRUCHIO	I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away;
	And I expressly am forbid to touch it,
	For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
	And better 'twere that both of us did fast,
	Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,
	Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
	Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended,
	And, for this night, we'll fast for company:
	Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter Servants severally]

NATHANIEL	Peter, didst ever see the like?

PETER	He kills her in her own humour.

	[Re-enter CURTIS]

GRUMIO	Where is he?

CURTIS	In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;
	And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
	Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,
	And sits as one new-risen from a dream.
	Away, away! for he is coming hither.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter PETRUCHIO]

PETRUCHIO	Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
	And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
	My falcon now is sharp and passing empty;
	And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
	For then she never looks upon her lure.
	Another way I have to man my haggard,
	To make her come and know her keeper's call,
	That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
	That bate and beat and will not be obedient.
	She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
	Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
	As with the meat, some undeserved fault
	I'll find about the making of the bed;
	And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
	This way the coverlet, another way the sheets:
	Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
	That all is done in reverend care of her;
	And in conclusion she shall watch all night:
	And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl
	And with the clamour keep her still awake.
	This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;
	And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.
	He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
	Now let him speak: 'tis charity to show.

	[Exit]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV



SCENE II	Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house.


	[Enter TRANIO and HORTENSIO]

TRANIO	Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
	Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
	I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

HORTENSIO	Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
	Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.

	[Enter BIANCA and LUCENTIO]

LUCENTIO	Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?

BIANCA	What, master, read you? first resolve me that.

LUCENTIO	I read that I profess, the Art to Love.

BIANCA	And may you prove, sir, master of your art!

LUCENTIO	While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart!

HORTENSIO	Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray,
	You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca
	Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.

TRANIO	O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
	I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.

HORTENSIO	Mistake no more: I am not Licio,
	Nor a musician, as I seem to be;
	But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
	For such a one as leaves a gentleman,
	And makes a god of such a cullion:
	Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.

TRANIO	Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
	Of your entire affection to Bianca;
	And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
	I will with you, if you be so contented,
	Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.

HORTENSIO	See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
	Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
	Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her,
	As one unworthy all the former favours
	That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

TRANIO	And here I take the unfeigned oath,
	Never to marry with her though she would entreat:
	Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him!

HORTENSIO	Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
	For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
	I will be married to a wealthy widow,
	Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me
	As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard.
	And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
	Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
	Shall win my love: and so I take my leave,
	In resolution as I swore before.

	[Exit]

TRANIO	Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
	As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
	Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
	And have forsworn you with Hortensio.

BIANCA	Tranio, you jest: but have you both forsworn me?

TRANIO	Mistress, we have.

LUCENTIO	                  Then we are rid of Licio.

TRANIO	I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
	That shall be wood and wedded in a day.

BIANCA	God give him joy!

TRANIO	Ay, and he'll tame her.

BIANCA	He says so, Tranio.

TRANIO	Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.

BIANCA	The taming-school! what, is there such a place?

TRANIO	Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master;
	That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
	To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

	[Enter BIONDELLO]

BIONDELLO	O master, master, I have watch'd so long
	That I am dog-weary: but at last I spied
	An ancient angel coming down the hill,
	Will serve the turn.

TRANIO	What is he, Biondello?

BIONDELLO	Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,
	I know not what; but format in apparel,
	In gait and countenance surely like a father.

LUCENTIO	And what of him, Tranio?

TRANIO	If he be credulous and trust my tale,
	I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
	And give assurance to Baptista Minola,
	As if he were the right Vincentio
	Take in your love, and then let me alone.

	[Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA]

	[Enter a Pedant]

Pedant	God save you, sir!

TRANIO	                  And you, sir! you are welcome.
	Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?

Pedant	Sir, at the farthest for a week or two:
	But then up farther, and as for as Rome;
	And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.

TRANIO	What countryman, I pray?

Pedant	Of Mantua.

TRANIO	Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid!
	And come to Padua, careless of your life?

Pedant	My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard.

TRANIO	'Tis death for any one in Mantua
	To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
	Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke,
	For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,
	Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:
	'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come,
	You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.

Pedant	Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so;
	For I have bills for money by exchange
	From Florence and must here deliver them.

TRANIO	Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
	This will I do, and this I will advise you:
	First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
Pedant	Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
	Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

TRANIO	Among them know you one Vincentio?

Pedant	I know him not, but I have heard of him;
	A merchant of incomparable wealth.

TRANIO	He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
	In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

BIONDELLO	[Aside]  As much as an apple doth an oyster,
	and all one.

TRANIO	To save your life in this extremity,
	This favour will I do you for his sake;
	And think it not the worst of an your fortunes
	That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
	His name and credit shall you undertake,
	And in my house you shall be friendly lodged:
	Look that you take upon you as you should;
	You understand me, sir: so shall you stay
	Till you have done your business in the city:
	If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

Pedant	O sir, I do; and will repute you ever
	The patron of my life and liberty.

TRANIO	Then go with me to make the matter good.
	This, by the way, I let you understand;
	my father is here look'd for every day,
	To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
	'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here:
	In all these circumstances I'll instruct you:
	Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in PETRUCHIO'S house.


	[Enter KATHARINA and GRUMIO]

GRUMIO	No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.

KATHARINA	The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:
	What, did he marry me to famish me?
	Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
	Upon entreaty have a present aims;
	If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
	But I, who never knew how to entreat,
	Nor never needed that I should entreat,
	Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,
	With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:
	And that which spites me more than all these wants,
	He does it under name of perfect love;
	As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
	'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
	I prithee go and get me some repast;
	I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

GRUMIO	What say you to a neat's foot?

KATHARINA	'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it.

GRUMIO	I fear it is too choleric a meat.
	How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?

KATHARINA	I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me.

GRUMIO	I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
	What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

KATHARINA	A dish that I do love to feed upon.

GRUMIO	Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

KATHARINA	Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest.

GRUMIO	Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard,
	Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

KATHARINA	Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.

GRUMIO	Why then, the mustard without the beef.

KATHARINA	Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

	[Beats him]

	That feed'st me with the very name of meat:
	Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you,
	That triumph thus upon my misery!
	Go, get thee gone, I say.

	[Enter PETRUCHIO and HORTENSIO with meat]

PETRUCHIO	How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

HORTENSIO	Mistress, what cheer?

KATHARINA	Faith, as cold as can be.

PETRUCHIO	Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.
	Here love; thou see'st how diligent I am
	To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee:
	I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
	What, not a word? Nay, then thou lovest it not;
	And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
	Here, take away this dish.

KATHARINA	I pray you, let it stand.

PETRUCHIO	The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
	And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.

KATHARINA	I thank you, sir.

HORTENSIO	Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
	Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.

PETRUCHIO	[Aside]  Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.
	Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
	Kate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,
	Will we return unto thy father's house
	And revel it as bravely as the best,
	With silken coats and caps and golden rings,
	With ruffs and cuffs and fardingales and things;
	With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,
	With amber bracelets, beads and all this knavery.
	What, hast thou dined? The tailor stays thy leisure,
	To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.

	[Enter Tailor]

	Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
	Lay forth the gown.

	[Enter Haberdasher]

	What news with you, sir?

Haberdasher	Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

PETRUCHIO	Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
	A velvet dish: fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy:
	Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
	A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap:
	Away with it! come, let me have a bigger.

KATHARINA	I'll have no bigger: this doth fit the time,
	And gentlewomen wear such caps as these

PETRUCHIO	When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
	And not till then.

HORTENSIO	[Aside]  That will not be in haste.

KATHARINA	Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
	And speak I will; I am no child, no babe:
	Your betters have endured me say my mind,
	And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
	My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
	Or else my heart concealing it will break,
	And rather than it shall, I will be free
	Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

PETRUCHIO	Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
	A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie:
	I love thee well, in that thou likest it not.

KATHARINA	Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
	And it I will have, or I will have none.

	[Exit Haberdasher]

PETRUCHIO	Thy gown? why, ay: come, tailor, let us see't.
	O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
	What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon:
	What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart?
	Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
	Like to a censer in a barber's shop:
	Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

HORTENSIO	[Aside]  I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown.

Tailor	You bid me make it orderly and well,
	According to the fashion and the time.

PETRUCHIO	Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd,
	I did not bid you mar it to the time.
	Go, hop me over every kennel home,
	For you shall hop without my custom, sir:
	I'll none of it: hence! make your best of it.

KATHARINA	I never saw a better-fashion'd gown,
	More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:
	Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.

PETRUCHIO	Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.

Tailor	She says your worship means to make
	a puppet of her.

PETRUCHIO	O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,
	thou thimble,
	Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!
	Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!
	Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread?
	Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
	Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
	As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou livest!
	I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.

Tailor	Your worship is deceived; the gown is made
	Just as my master had direction:
	Grumio gave order how it should be done.

GRUMIO	I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.

Tailor	But how did you desire it should be made?

GRUMIO	Marry, sir, with needle and thread.

Tailor	But did you not request to have it cut?

GRUMIO	Thou hast faced many things.

Tailor	I have.

GRUMIO	Face not me: thou hast braved many men; brave not
	me; I will neither be faced nor braved. I say unto
	thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did
	not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.

Tailor	Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify

PETRUCHIO	Read it.

GRUMIO	The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.

Tailor	[Reads]  'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown:'

GRUMIO	Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in
	the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom
	of brown thread: I said a gown.

PETRUCHIO	Proceed.

Tailor	[Reads]  'With a small compassed cape:'

GRUMIO	I confess the cape.

Tailor	[Reads]  'With a trunk sleeve:'

GRUMIO	I confess two sleeves.

Tailor	[Reads]  'The sleeves curiously cut.'

PETRUCHIO	Ay, there's the villany.

GRUMIO	Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill.
	I commanded the sleeves should be cut out and
	sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee,
	though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

Tailor	This is true that I say: an I had thee
	in place where, thou shouldst know it.

GRUMIO	I am for thee straight: take thou the
	bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.

HORTENSIO	God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds.

PETRUCHIO	Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

GRUMIO	You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my mistress.

PETRUCHIO	Go, take it up unto thy master's use.

GRUMIO	Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress'
	gown for thy master's use!

PETRUCHIO	Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?

GRUMIO	O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for:
	Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
	O, fie, fie, fie!

PETRUCHIO	[Aside]  Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.
	Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.

HORTENSIO	Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow:
	Take no unkindness of his hasty words:
	Away! I say; commend me to thy master.

	[Exit Tailor]

PETRUCHIO	Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
	Even in these honest mean habiliments:
	Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
	For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
	And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
	So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
	What is the jay more precious than the lark,
	Because his fathers are more beautiful?
	Or is the adder better than the eel,
	Because his painted skin contents the eye?
	O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
	For this poor furniture and mean array.
	if thou account'st it shame. lay it on me;
	And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith,
	To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
	Go, call my men, and let us straight to him;
	And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
	There will we mount, and thither walk on foot
	Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
	And well we may come there by dinner-time.

KATHARINA	I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two;
	And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.

PETRUCHIO	It shall be seven ere I go to horse:
	Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do,
	You are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone:
	I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
	It shall be what o'clock I say it is.

HORTENSIO	[Aside]  Why, so this gallant will command the sun.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house.


	[Enter TRANIO, and the Pedant dressed like VINCENTIO]

TRANIO	Sir, this is the house: please it you that I call?

Pedant	Ay, what else? and but I be deceived
	Signior Baptista may remember me,
	Near twenty years ago, in Genoa,
	Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.

TRANIO	'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
	With such austerity as 'longeth to a father.

Pedant	I warrant you.

	[Enter BIONDELLO]

	But, sir, here comes your boy;
	'Twere good he were school'd.

TRANIO	Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
	Now do your duty throughly, I advise you:
	Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.

BIONDELLO	Tut, fear not me.

TRANIO	But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?

BIONDELLO	I told him that your father was at Venice,
	And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.

TRANIO	Thou'rt a tall fellow: hold thee that to drink.
	Here comes Baptista: set your countenance, sir.

	[Enter BAPTISTA and LUCENTIO]

	Signior Baptista, you are happily met.

	[To the Pedant]

	Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of:
	I pray you stand good father to me now,
	Give me Bianca for my patrimony.

Pedant	Soft son!
	Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
	To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
	Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
	Of love between your daughter and himself:
	And, for the good report I hear of you
	And for the love he beareth to your daughter
	And she to him, to stay him not too long,
	I am content, in a good father's care,
	To have him match'd; and if you please to like
	No worse than I, upon some agreement
	Me shall you find ready and willing
	With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
	For curious I cannot be with you,
	Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.

BAPTISTA	Sir, pardon me in what I have to say:
	Your plainness and your shortness please me well.
	Right true it is, your son Lucentio here
	Doth love my daughter and she loveth him,
	Or both dissemble deeply their affections:
	And therefore, if you say no more than this,
	That like a father you will deal with him
	And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
	The match is made, and all is done:
	Your son shall have my daughter with consent.

TRANIO	I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
	We be affied and such assurance ta'en
	As shall with either part's agreement stand?

BAPTISTA	Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know,
	Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants:
	Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still;
	And happily we might be interrupted.

TRANIO	Then at my lodging, an it like you:
	There doth my father lie; and there, this night,
	We'll pass the business privately and well.
	Send for your daughter by your servant here:
	My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
	The worst is this, that, at so slender warning,
	You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.

BAPTISTA	It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home,
	And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
	And, if you will, tell what hath happened,
	Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua,
	And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.

BIONDELLO	I pray the gods she may with all my heart!

TRANIO	Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.

	[Exit BIONDELLO]

	Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
	Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer:
	Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.

BAPTISTA	I follow you.

	[Exeunt TRANIO, Pedant, and BAPTISTA]

	[Re-enter BIONDELLO]

BIONDELLO	Cambio!

LUCENTIO	What sayest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO	You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

LUCENTIO	Biondello, what of that?

BIONDELLO	Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind, to
	expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.

LUCENTIO	I pray thee, moralize them.

BIONDELLO	Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the
	deceiving father of a deceitful son.

LUCENTIO	And what of him?

BIONDELLO	His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.

LUCENTIO	And then?

BIONDELLO	The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at your
	command at all hours.

LUCENTIO	And what of all this?

BIONDELLO	I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a
	counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her,
	'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the
	church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient
	honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for,
	I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for
	ever and a day.

LUCENTIO	Hearest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO	I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an
	afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to
	stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: and so, adieu,
	sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
	Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
	you come with your appendix.

	[Exit]

LUCENTIO	I may, and will, if she be so contented:
	She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt?
	Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her:
	It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.

	[Exit]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV



SCENE V	A public road.


	[Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, HORTENSIO, and Servants]

PETRUCHIO	Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's.
	Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

KATHARINA	The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now.

PETRUCHIO	I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

KATHARINA	I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO	Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself,
	It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
	Or ere I journey to your father's house.
	Go on, and fetch our horses back again.
	Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!

HORTENSIO	Say as he says, or we shall never go.

KATHARINA	Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
	And be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
	An if you please to call it a rush-candle,
	Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO	I say it is the moon.

KATHARINA	I know it is the moon.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun.

KATHARINA	Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun:
	But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
	And the moon changes even as your mind.
	What you will have it named, even that it is;
	And so it shall be so for Katharina.

HORTENSIO	Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

PETRUCHIO	Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
	And not unluckily against the bias.
	But, soft! company is coming here.

	[Enter VINCENTIO]

	[To VINCENTIO]

	Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away?
	Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
	Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
	Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
	What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,
	As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
	Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
	Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

HORTENSIO	A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.

KATHARINA	Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
	Whither away, or where is thy abode?
	Happy the parents of so fair a child;
	Happier the man, whom favourable stars
	Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow!

PETRUCHIO	Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:
	This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd,
	And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.

KATHARINA	Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
	That have been so bedazzled with the sun
	That everything I look on seemeth green:
	Now I perceive thou art a reverend father;
	Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

PETRUCHIO	Do, good old grandsire; and withal make known
	Which way thou travellest: if along with us,
	We shall be joyful of thy company.

VINCENTIO	Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
	That with your strange encounter much amazed me,
	My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;
	And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
	A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

PETRUCHIO	What is his name?

VINCENTIO	                  Lucentio, gentle sir.

PETRUCHIO	Happily we met; the happier for thy son.
	And now by law, as well as reverend age,
	I may entitle thee my loving father:
	The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
	Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
	Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem,
	Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth;
	Beside, so qualified as may beseem
	The spouse of any noble gentleman.
	Let me embrace with old Vincentio,
	And wander we to see thy honest son,
	Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

VINCENTIO	But is it true? or else is it your pleasure,
	Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
	Upon the company you overtake?

HORTENSIO	I do assure thee, father, so it is.

PETRUCHIO	Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
	For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

	[Exeunt all but HORTENSIO]

HORTENSIO	Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
	Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
	Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

	[Exit]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT V



SCENE I	Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house.


	[GREMIO discovered. Enter behind BIONDELLO,
	LUCENTIO, and BIANCA]

BIONDELLO	Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready.

LUCENTIO	I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee
	at home; therefore leave us.

BIONDELLO	Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and
	then come back to my master's as soon as I can.

	[Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO]

GREMIO	I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

	[Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO,
	with Attendants]

PETRUCHIO	Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house:
	My father's bears more toward the market-place;
	Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

VINCENTIO	You shall not choose but drink before you go:
	I think I shall command your welcome here,
	And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.

	[Knocks]

GREMIO	They're busy within; you were best knock louder.

	[Pedant looks out of the window]

Pedant	What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?

VINCENTIO	Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?

Pedant	He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

VINCENTIO	What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to
	make merry withal?

Pedant	Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall
	need none, so long as I live.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.
	Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances,
	I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is
	come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.

Pedant	Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here
	looking out at the window.

VINCENTIO	Art thou his father?

Pedant	Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.

PETRUCHIO	[To VINCENTIO]  Why, how now, gentleman! why, this
	is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name.

Pedant	Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to
	cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.

	[Re-enter BIONDELLO]

BIONDELLO	I have seen them in the church together: God send
	'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old
	master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing.

VINCENTIO	[Seeing BIONDELLO]

	Come hither, crack-hemp.

BIONDELLO	Hope I may choose, sir.

VINCENTIO	Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?

BIONDELLO	Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I
	never saw you before in all my life.

VINCENTIO	What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
	thy master's father, Vincentio?

BIONDELLO	What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir:
	see where he looks out of the window.

VINCENTIO	Is't so, indeed.

	[Beats BIONDELLO]

BIONDELLO	Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me.

	[Exit]

Pedant	Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!

	[Exit from above]

PETRUCHIO	Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of
	this controversy.

	[They retire]

	[Re-enter Pedant below; TRANIO, BAPTISTA, and Servants]

TRANIO	Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?

VINCENTIO	What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal
	gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet
	hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! O, I
	am undone! I am undone! while I play the good
	husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at
	the university.

TRANIO	How now! what's the matter?

BAPTISTA	What, is the man lunatic?

TRANIO	Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your
	habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir,
	what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I
	thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.

VINCENTIO	Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.

BAPTISTA	You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, what do
	you think is his name?

VINCENTIO	His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought
	him up ever since he was three years old, and his
	name is Tranio.

Pedant	Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio and he is
	mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.

VINCENTIO	Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold
	on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. O, my
	son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio?

TRANIO	Call forth an officer.

	[Enter one with an Officer]

	Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista,
	I charge you see that he be forthcoming.

VINCENTIO	Carry me to the gaol!

GREMIO	Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison.

BAPTISTA	Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison.

GREMIO	Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be
	cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this
	is the right Vincentio.

Pedant	Swear, if thou darest.

GREMIO	Nay, I dare not swear it.

TRANIO	Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.

GREMIO	Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.

BAPTISTA	Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him!

VINCENTIO	Thus strangers may be hailed and abused: O
	monstrous villain!

	[Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA]

BIONDELLO	O! we are spoiled and--yonder he is: deny him,
	forswear him, or else we are all undone.

LUCENTIO	[Kneeling]  Pardon, sweet father.

VINCENTIO	Lives my sweet son?

	[Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and Pedant, as fast
	as may be]

BIANCA	Pardon, dear father.

BAPTISTA	How hast thou offended?
	Where is Lucentio?

LUCENTIO	                  Here's Lucentio,
	Right son to the right Vincentio;
	That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
	While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne.

GREMIO	Here's packing, with a witness to deceive us all!

VINCENTIO	Where is that damned villain Tranio,
	That faced and braved me in this matter so?

BAPTISTA	Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?

BIANCA	Cambio is changed into Lucentio.

LUCENTIO	Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
	Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
	While he did bear my countenance in the town;
	And happily I have arrived at the last
	Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
	What Tranio did, myself enforced him to;
	Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

VINCENTIO	I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent
	me to the gaol.

BAPTISTA	But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter
	without asking my good will?

VINCENTIO	Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but
	I will in, to be revenged for this villany.

	[Exit]

BAPTISTA	And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

	[Exit]

LUCENTIO	Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.

	[Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA]

GREMIO	My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest,
	Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast.

	[Exit]

KATHARINA	Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

PETRUCHIO	First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

KATHARINA	What, in the midst of the street?

PETRUCHIO	What, art thou ashamed of me?

KATHARINA	No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.

PETRUCHIO	Why, then let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away.

KATHARINA	Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.

PETRUCHIO	Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
	Better once than never, for never too late.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT V



SCENE II	Padua. LUCENTIO'S house.


	[Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the Pedant,
	LUCENTIO, BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, HORTENSIO,
	and Widow, TRANIO, BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO the
	Serving-men with Tranio bringing in a banquet]

LUCENTIO	At last, though long, our jarring notes agree:
	And time it is, when raging war is done,
	To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
	My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
	While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.
	Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina,
	And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
	Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
	My banquet is to close our stomachs up,
	After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;
	For now we sit to chat as well as eat.

PETRUCHIO	Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

BAPTISTA	Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO	Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

HORTENSIO	For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

PETRUCHIO	Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.

Widow	Then never trust me, if I be afeard.

PETRUCHIO	You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
	I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.

Widow	He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.

PETRUCHIO	Roundly replied.

KATHARINA	                  Mistress, how mean you that?

Widow	Thus I conceive by him.

PETRUCHIO	Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?

HORTENSIO	My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

PETRUCHIO	Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.

KATHARINA	'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:'
	I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.

Widow	Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
	Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe:
	And now you know my meaning,

KATHARINA	A very mean meaning.

Widow	Right, I mean you.

KATHARINA	And I am mean indeed, respecting you.

PETRUCHIO	To her, Kate!

HORTENSIO	To her, widow!

PETRUCHIO	A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

HORTENSIO	That's my office.

PETRUCHIO	Spoke like an officer; ha' to thee, lad!

	[Drinks to HORTENSIO]

BAPTISTA	How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?

GREMIO	Believe me, sir, they butt together well.

BIANCA	Head, and butt! an hasty-witted body
	Would say your head and butt were head and horn.

VINCENTIO	Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you?

BIANCA	Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, that you shall not: since you have begun,
	Have at you for a bitter jest or two!

BIANCA	Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush;
	And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
	You are welcome all.

	[Exeunt BIANCA, KATHARINA, and Widow]

PETRUCHIO	She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio.
	This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
	Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.

TRANIO	O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
	Which runs himself and catches for his master.

PETRUCHIO	A good swift simile, but something currish.

TRANIO	'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
	'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.

BAPTISTA	O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.

LUCENTIO	I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

HORTENSIO	Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?

PETRUCHIO	A' has a little gall'd me, I confess;
	And, as the jest did glance away from me,
	'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

BAPTISTA	Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
	I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

PETRUCHIO	Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance
	Let's each one send unto his wife;
	And he whose wife is most obedient
	To come at first when he doth send for her,
	Shall win the wager which we will propose.

HORTENSIO	Content. What is the wager?

LUCENTIO	Twenty crowns.

PETRUCHIO	Twenty crowns!
	I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
	But twenty times so much upon my wife.

LUCENTIO	A hundred then.

HORTENSIO	                  Content.

PETRUCHIO	A match! 'tis done.

HORTENSIO	Who shall begin?

LUCENTIO	                  That will I.
	Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

BIONDELLO	I go.

	[Exit]

BAPTISTA	Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.

LUCENTIO	I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.

	[Re-enter BIONDELLO]

	How now! what news?

BIONDELLO	Sir, my mistress sends you word
	That she is busy and she cannot come.

PETRUCHIO	How! she is busy and she cannot come!
	Is that an answer?

GREMIO	                  Ay, and a kind one too:
	Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO	I hope better.

HORTENSIO	Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
	To come to me forthwith.

	[Exit BIONDELLO]

PETRUCHIO	O, ho! entreat her!
	Nay, then she must needs come.

HORTENSIO	I am afraid, sir,
	Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

	[Re-enter BIONDELLO]

	Now, where's my wife?

BIONDELLO	She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
	She will not come: she bids you come to her.

PETRUCHIO	Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
	Intolerable, not to be endured!
	Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
	Say, I command her to come to me.

	[Exit GRUMIO]

HORTENSIO	I know her answer.

PETRUCHIO	                  What?

HORTENSIO	She will not.

PETRUCHIO	The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

BAPTISTA	Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!

	[Re-enter KATARINA]

KATHARINA	What is your will, sir, that you send for me?

PETRUCHIO	Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?

KATHARINA	They sit conferring by the parlor fire.

PETRUCHIO	Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come.
	Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands:
	Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

	[Exit KATHARINA]

LUCENTIO	Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.

HORTENSIO	And so it is: I wonder what it bodes.

PETRUCHIO	Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life,
	And awful rule and right supremacy;
	And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy?

BAPTISTA	Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
	The wager thou hast won; and I will add
	Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
	Another dowry to another daughter,
	For she is changed, as she had never been.

PETRUCHIO	Nay, I will win my wager better yet
	And show more sign of her obedience,
	Her new-built virtue and obedience.
	See where she comes and brings your froward wives
	As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.

	[Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow]

	Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not:
	Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot.

Widow	Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh,
	Till I be brought to such a silly pass!

BIANCA	Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?

LUCENTIO	I would your duty were as foolish too:
	The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
	Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.

BIANCA	The more fool you, for laying on my duty.

PETRUCHIO	Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
	What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.

Widow	Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling.

PETRUCHIO	Come on, I say; and first begin with her.

Widow	She shall not.

PETRUCHIO	I say she shall: and first begin with her.

KATHARINA	Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
	And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
	To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
	It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
	Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
	And in no sense is meet or amiable.
	A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
	Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
	And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
	Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
	Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
	Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
	And for thy maintenance commits his body
	To painful labour both by sea and land,
	To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
	Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
	And craves no other tribute at thy hands
	But love, fair looks and true obedience;
	Too little payment for so great a debt.
	Such duty as the subject owes the prince
	Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
	And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
	And not obedient to his honest will,
	What is she but a foul contending rebel
	And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
	I am ashamed that women are so simple
	To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
	Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
	When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
	Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
	Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
	But that our soft conditions and our hearts
	Should well agree with our external parts?
	Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
	My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
	My heart as great, my reason haply more,
	To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
	But now I see our lances are but straws,
	Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
	That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
	Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
	And place your hands below your husband's foot:
	In token of which duty, if he please,
	My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

PETRUCHIO	Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

LUCENTIO	Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't.

VINCENTIO	'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.

LUCENTIO	But a harsh hearing when women are froward.

PETRUCHIO	Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
	We three are married, but you two are sped.

	[To LUCENTIO]

	'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white;
	And, being a winner, God give you good night!

	[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA]

HORTENSIO	Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew.

LUCENTIO	'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so.

	[Exeunt]
	THE TEMPEST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ALONSO	King of Naples.

SEBASTIAN	his brother.

PROSPERO	the right Duke of Milan.

ANTONIO	his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.

FERDINAND	son to the King of Naples.

GONZALO	an honest old Counsellor.


ADRIAN	|
	|  Lords.
FRANCISCO	|


CALIBAN	a savage and deformed Slave.

TRINCULO	a Jester.

STEPHANO	a drunken Butler.

	Master of a Ship. (Master:)

	Boatswain. (Boatswain:)

	Mariners. (Mariners:)

MIRANDA	daughter to Prospero.

ARIEL	an airy Spirit.


IRIS	|
	|
CERES	|
	|
JUNO	|  presented by Spirits.
	|
Nymphs	|
	|
Reapers	|


	Other Spirits attending on Prospero.


SCENE	A ship at Sea: an island.




	THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE I	On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise
	of thunder and lightning heard.


	[Enter a Master and a Boatswain]

Master	Boatswain!

Boatswain	Here, master: what cheer?

Master	Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
	or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

	[Exit]

	[Enter Mariners]

Boatswain	Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
	yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
	master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
	if room enough!

	[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND,
	GONZALO, and others]

ALONSO	Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
	Play the men.

Boatswain	I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO	Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain	Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
	cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO	Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain	When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
	for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO	Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain	None that I more love than myself. You are a
	counsellor; if you can command these elements to
	silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
	not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
	cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
	yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
	the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
	of our way, I say.

	[Exit]

GONZALO	I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
	hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
	perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
	hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
	for our own doth little advantage. If he be not
	born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter Boatswain]

Boatswain	Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
	her to try with main-course.

	[A cry within]

	A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
	the weather or our office.

	[Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO]

	Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
	and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN	A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
	incharitable dog!

Boatswain	Work you then.

ANTONIO	Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
	We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO	I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
	no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
	unstanched wench.

Boatswain	Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
	sea again; lay her off.

	[Enter Mariners wet]

Mariners	All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain	What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO	The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
	For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN	I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO	We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
	This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
	The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO	He'll be hang'd yet,
	Though every drop of water swear against it
	And gape at widest to glut him.

	[A confused noise within:   'Mercy on us!'--
	'We split, we split!'--'Farewell, my wife and
	children!'--
	'Farewell, brother!'--'We split, we split, we split!']

ANTONIO	Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN	Let's take leave of him.

	[Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]

GONZALO	Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
	acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
	thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
	die a dry death.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE II	The island. Before PROSPERO'S cell.


	[Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA]

MIRANDA	If by your art, my dearest father, you have
	Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
	The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
	But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
	Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
	With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
	Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
	Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
	Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
	Had I been any god of power, I would
	Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
	It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
	The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO	Be collected:
	No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
	There's no harm done.

MIRANDA	O, woe the day!

PROSPERO	No harm.
	I have done nothing but in care of thee,
	Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
	Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
	Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
	Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
	And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA	More to know
	Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO	'Tis time
	I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
	And pluck my magic garment from me. So:

	[Lays down his mantle]

	Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
	The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
	The very virtue of compassion in thee,
	I have with such provision in mine art
	So safely ordered that there is no soul--
	No, not so much perdition as an hair
	Betid to any creature in the vessel
	Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
	For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA	You have often
	Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
	And left me to a bootless inquisition,
	Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO	The hour's now come;
	The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
	Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
	A time before we came unto this cell?
	I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
	Out three years old.

MIRANDA	Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO	By what? by any other house or person?
	Of any thing the image tell me that
	Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA	'Tis far off
	And rather like a dream than an assurance
	That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
	Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO	Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
	That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
	In the dark backward and abysm of time?
	If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
	How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA	But that I do not.

PROSPERO	Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
	Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
	A prince of power.

MIRANDA	                  Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO	Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
	She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
	Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
	And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA	O the heavens!
	What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
	Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO	Both, both, my girl:
	By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
	But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA	O, my heart bleeds
	To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
	Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO	My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
	I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
	Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
	Of all the world I loved and to him put
	The manage of my state; as at that time
	Through all the signories it was the first
	And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
	In dignity, and for the liberal arts
	Without a parallel; those being all my study,
	The government I cast upon my brother
	And to my state grew stranger, being transported
	And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
	Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA	Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO	Being once perfected how to grant suits,
	How to deny them, who to advance and who
	To trash for over-topping, new created
	The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
	Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
	Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
	To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
	The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
	And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA	O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO	                  I pray thee, mark me.
	I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
	To closeness and the bettering of my mind
	With that which, but by being so retired,
	O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
	Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
	Like a good parent, did beget of him
	A falsehood in its contrary as great
	As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
	A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
	Not only with what my revenue yielded,
	But what my power might else exact, like one
	Who having into truth, by telling of it,
	Made such a sinner of his memory,
	To credit his own lie, he did believe
	He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
	And executing the outward face of royalty,
	With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
	Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA	                  Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO	To have no screen between this part he play'd
	And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
	Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
	Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
	He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
	So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
	To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
	Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
	The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
	To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA	O the heavens!

PROSPERO	Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
	If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA	I should sin
	To think but nobly of my grandmother:
	Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO	Now the condition.
	The King of Naples, being an enemy
	To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
	Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
	Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
	Should presently extirpate me and mine
	Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
	With all the honours on my brother: whereon,
	A treacherous army levied, one midnight
	Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
	The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness,
	The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
	Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA	Alack, for pity!
	I, not remembering how I cried out then,
	Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
	That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO	Hear a little further
	And then I'll bring thee to the present business
	Which now's upon's; without the which this story
	Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA	Wherefore did they not
	That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO	Well demanded, wench:
	My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
	So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
	A mark so bloody on the business, but
	With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
	In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
	Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
	A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
	Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
	Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
	To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
	To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
	Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA	Alack, what trouble
	Was I then to you!

PROSPERO	                  O, a cherubim
	Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile.
	Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
	When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
	Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
	An undergoing stomach, to bear up
	Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA	How came we ashore?

PROSPERO	By Providence divine.
	Some food we had and some fresh water that
	A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
	Out of his charity, being then appointed
	Master of this design, did give us, with
	Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
	Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
	Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
	From mine own library with volumes that
	I prize above my dukedom.

MIRANDA	Would I might
	But ever see that man!

PROSPERO	Now I arise:

	[Resumes his mantle]

	Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
	Here in this island we arrived; and here
	Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
	Than other princesses can that have more time
	For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA	Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
	For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
	For raising this sea-storm?

PROSPERO	Know thus far forth.
	By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
	Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
	Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
	I find my zenith doth depend upon
	A most auspicious star, whose influence
	If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
	Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
	Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
	And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.

	[MIRANDA sleeps]

	Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
	Approach, my Ariel, come.

	[Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL	All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
	To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
	To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
	On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task
	Ariel and all his quality.

PROSPERO	Hast thou, spirit,
	Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

ARIEL	To every article.
	I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
	Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
	I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
	And burn in many places; on the topmast,
	The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
	Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors
	O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
	And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
	Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
	Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,
	Yea, his dread trident shake.

PROSPERO	My brave spirit!
	Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
	Would not infect his reason?

ARIEL	Not a soul
	But felt a fever of the mad and play'd
	Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
	Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
	Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
	With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
	Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty
	And all the devils are here.'

PROSPERO	Why that's my spirit!
	But was not this nigh shore?

ARIEL	Close by, my master.

PROSPERO	But are they, Ariel, safe?

ARIEL	Not a hair perish'd;
	On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
	But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,
	In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
	The king's son have I landed by himself;
	Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
	In an odd angle of the isle and sitting,
	His arms in this sad knot.

PROSPERO	Of the king's ship
	The mariners say how thou hast disposed
	And all the rest o' the fleet.

ARIEL	Safely in harbour
	Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
	Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
	From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
	The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
	Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
	I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet
	Which I dispersed, they all have met again
	And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
	Bound sadly home for Naples,
	Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd
	And his great person perish.

PROSPERO	Ariel, thy charge
	Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work.
	What is the time o' the day?

ARIEL	Past the mid season.

PROSPERO	At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
	Must by us both be spent most preciously.

ARIEL	Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
	Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
	Which is not yet perform'd me.

PROSPERO	How now? moody?
	What is't thou canst demand?

ARIEL	My liberty.

PROSPERO	Before the time be out? no more!

ARIEL	I prithee,
	Remember I have done thee worthy service;
	Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
	Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
	To bate me a full year.

PROSPERO	Dost thou forget
	From what a torment I did free thee?

ARIEL	No.

PROSPERO	Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
	Of the salt deep,
	To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
	To do me business in the veins o' the earth
	When it is baked with frost.

ARIEL	I do not, sir.

PROSPERO	Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
	The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
	Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

ARIEL	No, sir.

PROSPERO	     Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

ARIEL	Sir, in Argier.

PROSPERO	                  O, was she so? I must
	Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
	Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
	For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
	To enter human hearing, from Argier,
	Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
	They would not take her life. Is not this true?

ARIEL	Ay, sir.

PROSPERO	This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child
	And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
	As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
	And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
	To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
	Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
	By help of her more potent ministers
	And in her most unmitigable rage,
	Into a cloven pine; within which rift
	Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
	A dozen years; within which space she died
	And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
	As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
	Save for the son that she did litter here,
	A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with
	A human shape.

ARIEL	                  Yes, Caliban her son.

PROSPERO	Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
	Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
	What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
	Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
	Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
	To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
	Could not again undo: it was mine art,
	When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
	The pine and let thee out.

ARIEL	I thank thee, master.

PROSPERO	If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
	And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
	Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

ARIEL	Pardon, master;
	I will be correspondent to command
	And do my spiriting gently.

PROSPERO	Do so, and after two days
	I will discharge thee.

ARIEL	That's my noble master!
	What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

PROSPERO	Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject
	To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
	To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
	And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence!

	[Exit ARIEL]

	Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!

MIRANDA	     The strangeness of your story put
	Heaviness in me.

PROSPERO	                  Shake it off. Come on;
	We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
	Yields us kind answer.

MIRANDA	'Tis a villain, sir,
	I do not love to look on.

PROSPERO	But, as 'tis,
	We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
	Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
	That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!
	Thou earth, thou! speak.

CALIBAN	[Within]  There's wood enough within.

PROSPERO	Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
	Come, thou tortoise! when?

	[Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph]

	Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
	Hark in thine ear.

ARIEL	                  My lord it shall be done.

	[Exit]

PROSPERO	Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
	Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

	[Enter CALIBAN]

CALIBAN	As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
	With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
	Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
	And blister you all o'er!

PROSPERO	For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
	Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
	Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
	All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
	As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
	Than bees that made 'em.

CALIBAN	I must eat my dinner.
	This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
	Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,
	Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
	Water with berries in't, and teach me how
	To name the bigger light, and how the less,
	That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
	And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
	The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:
	Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
	Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
	For I am all the subjects that you have,
	Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me
	In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
	The rest o' the island.

PROSPERO	Thou most lying slave,
	Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
	Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee
	In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
	The honour of my child.

CALIBAN	O ho, O ho! would't had been done!
	Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
	This isle with Calibans.

PROSPERO	Abhorred slave,
	Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
	Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
	Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
	One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
	Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
	A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
	With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
	Though thou didst learn, had that in't which
	good natures
	Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
	Deservedly confined into this rock,
	Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

CALIBAN	You taught me language; and my profit on't
	Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
	For learning me your language!

PROSPERO	Hag-seed, hence!
	Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best,
	To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
	If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly
	What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
	Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
	That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

CALIBAN	No, pray thee.

	[Aside]

	I must obey: his art is of such power,
	It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
	and make a vassal of him.

PROSPERO	So, slave; hence!

	[Exit CALIBAN]

	[Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing;
	FERDINAND following]

	ARIEL'S song.

	Come unto these yellow sands,
	And then take hands:
	Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
	The wild waves whist,
	Foot it featly here and there;
	And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
	Hark, hark!

	[Burthen [dispersedly, within]  Bow-wow]

	The watch-dogs bark!

	[Burthen Bow-wow]

	Hark, hark! I hear
	The strain of strutting chanticleer
	Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

FERDINAND	Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth?
	It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon
	Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank,
	Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
	This music crept by me upon the waters,
	Allaying both their fury and my passion
	With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
	Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
	No, it begins again.

	[ARIEL sings]

	Full fathom five thy father lies;
	Of his bones are coral made;
	Those are pearls that were his eyes:
	Nothing of him that doth fade
	But doth suffer a sea-change
	Into something rich and strange.
	Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell

	[Burthen Ding-dong]

	Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell.

FERDINAND	The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
	This is no mortal business, nor no sound
	That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.

PROSPERO	The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
	And say what thou seest yond.

MIRANDA	What is't? a spirit?
	Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
	It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

PROSPERO	No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
	As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
	Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd
	With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
	A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows
	And strays about to find 'em.

MIRANDA	I might call him
	A thing divine, for nothing natural
	I ever saw so noble.

PROSPERO	[Aside] It goes on, I see,
	As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
	Within two days for this.

FERDINAND	Most sure, the goddess
	On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer
	May know if you remain upon this island;
	And that you will some good instruction give
	How I may bear me here: my prime request,
	Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
	If you be maid or no?

MIRANDA	No wonder, sir;
	But certainly a maid.

FERDINAND	My language! heavens!
	I am the best of them that speak this speech,
	Were I but where 'tis spoken.

PROSPERO	How? the best?
	What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

FERDINAND	A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
	To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
	And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
	Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
	The king my father wreck'd.

MIRANDA	Alack, for mercy!

FERDINAND	Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
	And his brave son being twain.

PROSPERO	[Aside]	The Duke of Milan
	And his more braver daughter could control thee,
	If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
	They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,
	I'll set thee free for this.

	[To FERDINAND]

		        A word, good sir;
	I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.

MIRANDA	Why speaks my father so ungently? This
	Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first
	That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father
	To be inclined my way!

FERDINAND	O, if a virgin,
	And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
	The queen of Naples.

PROSPERO	Soft, sir! one word more.

	[Aside]

	They are both in either's powers; but this swift business
	I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
	Make the prize light.

	[To FERDINAND]

		One word more; I charge thee
	That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
	The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself
	Upon this island as a spy, to win it
	From me, the lord on't.

FERDINAND	No, as I am a man.

MIRANDA	There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
	If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
	Good things will strive to dwell with't.

PROSPERO	Follow me.
	Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
	I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
	Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
	The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks
	Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

FERDINAND	No;
	I will resist such entertainment till
	Mine enemy has more power.

	[Draws, and is charmed from moving]

MIRANDA	O dear father,
	Make not too rash a trial of him, for
	He's gentle and not fearful.

PROSPERO	What? I say,
	My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
	Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
	Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
	For I can here disarm thee with this stick
	And make thy weapon drop.

MIRANDA	Beseech you, father.

PROSPERO	Hence! hang not on my garments.

MIRANDA	Sir, have pity;
	I'll be his surety.

PROSPERO	Silence! one word more
	Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
	An advocate for an imposter! hush!
	Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
	Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
	To the most of men this is a Caliban
	And they to him are angels.

MIRANDA	My affections
	Are then most humble; I have no ambition
	To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO	Come on; obey:
	Thy nerves are in their infancy again
	And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND	So they are;
	My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
	My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
	The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats,
	To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
	Might I but through my prison once a day
	Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
	Let liberty make use of; space enough
	Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO	[Aside]                It works.

	[To FERDINAND]

		                  Come on.
	Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!

	[To FERDINAND]

		                  Follow me.

	[To ARIEL]

	Hark what thou else shalt do me.

MIRANDA	Be of comfort;
	My father's of a better nature, sir,
	Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
	Which now came from him.

PROSPERO	Thou shalt be free
	As mountain winds: but then exactly do
	All points of my command.

ARIEL	To the syllable.

PROSPERO	Come, follow. Speak not for him.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT II



SCENE I	Another part of the island.


	[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
	ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others]

GONZALO	Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
	So have we all, of joy; for our escape
	Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
	Is common; every day some sailor's wife,
	The masters of some merchant and the merchant
	Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
	I mean our preservation, few in millions
	Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
	Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO	Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN	He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO	The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN	Look he's winding up the watch of his wit;
	by and by it will strike.

GONZALO	Sir,--

SEBASTIAN	One: tell.

GONZALO	When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
	Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN	A dollar.

GONZALO	Dolour comes to him, indeed: you
	have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN	You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO	Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO	Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO	I prithee, spare.

GONZALO	Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN	He will be talking.

ANTONIO	Which, of he or Adrian, for a good
	wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN	The old cock.

ANTONIO	The cockerel.

SEBASTIAN	Done. The wager?

ANTONIO	A laughter.

SEBASTIAN	A match!

ADRIAN	Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN	Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN	Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN	Yet,--

ADRIAN	Yet,--

ANTONIO	He could not miss't.

ADRIAN	It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate
	temperance.

ANTONIO	Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN	Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN	The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN	As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO	Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

GONZALO	Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO	True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN	Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO	How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

ANTONIO	The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN	With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO	He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN	No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO	But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost
	beyond credit,--

SEBASTIAN	As many vouched rarities are.

GONZALO	That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in
	the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and
	glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with
	salt water.

ANTONIO	If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not
	say he lies?

SEBASTIAN	Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

GONZALO	Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we
	put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of
	the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

SEBASTIAN	'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN	Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to
	their queen.

GONZALO	Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO	Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in?
	widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN	What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord,
	how you take it!

ADRIAN	'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that:
	she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO	This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN	Carthage?

GONZALO	I assure you, Carthage.

SEBASTIAN	His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath
	raised the wall and houses too.

ANTONIO	What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN	I think he will carry this island home in his pocket
	and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO	And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
	forth more islands.

GONZALO	Ay.

ANTONIO	Why, in good time.

GONZALO	Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now
	as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage
	of your daughter, who is now queen.

ANTONIO	And the rarest that e'er came there.

SEBASTIAN	Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

ANTONIO	O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.

GONZALO	Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
	wore it? I mean, in a sort.

ANTONIO	That sort was well fished for.

GONZALO	When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?

ALONSO	You cram these words into mine ears against
	The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
	Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
	My son is lost and, in my rate, she too,
	Who is so far from Italy removed
	I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
	Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
	Hath made his meal on thee?

FRANCISCO	Sir, he may live:
	I saw him beat the surges under him,
	And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
	Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
	The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
	'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
	Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
	To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
	As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
	He came alive to land.

ALONSO	No, no, he's gone.

SEBASTIAN	Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
	That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
	But rather lose her to an African;
	Where she at least is banish'd from your eye,
	Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

ALONSO	Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN	You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise
	By all of us, and the fair soul herself
	Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at
	Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your
	son,
	I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
	More widows in them of this business' making
	Than we bring men to comfort them:
	The fault's your own.

ALONSO	So is the dear'st o' the loss.

GONZALO	My lord Sebastian,
	The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
	And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
	When you should bring the plaster.

SEBASTIAN	Very well.

ANTONIO	And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO	It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
	When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN	Foul weather?

ANTONIO	Very foul.

GONZALO	Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANTONIO	He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN	Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO	And were the king on't, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN	'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO	I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
	Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
	Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
	Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
	And use of service, none; contract, succession,
	Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
	No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
	No occupation; all men idle, all;
	And women too, but innocent and pure;
	No sovereignty;--

SEBASTIAN	                  Yet he would be king on't.

ANTONIO	The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
	beginning.

GONZALO	All things in common nature should produce
	Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
	Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
	Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
	Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
	To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN	No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANTONIO	None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

GONZALO	I would with such perfection govern, sir,
	To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN	God save his majesty!

ANTONIO	Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO	                  And,--do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO	Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

GONZALO	I do well believe your highness; and
	did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen,
	who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that
	they always use to laugh at nothing.

ANTONIO	'Twas you we laughed at.

GONZALO	Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing
	to you: so you may continue and laugh at
	nothing still.

ANTONIO	What a blow was there given!

SEBASTIAN	An it had not fallen flat-long.

GONZALO	You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift
	the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
	in it five weeks without changing.

	[Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music]

SEBASTIAN	We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

ANTONIO	Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

GONZALO	No, I warrant you; I will not adventure
	my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh
	me asleep, for I am very heavy?

ANTONIO	Go sleep, and hear us.

	[All sleep except ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO]

ALONSO	What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
	Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find
	They are inclined to do so.

SEBASTIAN	Please you, sir,
	Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
	It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
	It is a comforter.

ANTONIO	                  We two, my lord,
	Will guard your person while you take your rest,
	And watch your safety.

ALONSO	Thank you. Wondrous heavy.

	[ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]

SEBASTIAN	What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

ANTONIO	It is the quality o' the climate.

SEBASTIAN	Why
	Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
	Myself disposed to sleep.

ANTONIO	Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
	They fell together all, as by consent;
	They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
	Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?--No more:--
	And yet me thinks I see it in thy face,
	What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and
	My strong imagination sees a crown
	Dropping upon thy head.

SEBASTIAN	What, art thou waking?

ANTONIO	Do you not hear me speak?

SEBASTIAN	I do; and surely
	It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st
	Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
	This is a strange repose, to be asleep
	With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
	And yet so fast asleep.

ANTONIO	Noble Sebastian,
	Thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st
	Whiles thou art waking.

SEBASTIAN	Thou dost snore distinctly;
	There's meaning in thy snores.

ANTONIO	I am more serious than my custom: you
	Must be so too, if heed me; which to do
	Trebles thee o'er.

SEBASTIAN	                  Well, I am standing water.

ANTONIO	I'll teach you how to flow.

SEBASTIAN	Do so: to ebb
	Hereditary sloth instructs me.

ANTONIO	O,
	If you but knew how you the purpose cherish
	Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
	You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,
	Most often do so near the bottom run
	By their own fear or sloth.

SEBASTIAN	Prithee, say on:
	The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
	A matter from thee, and a birth indeed
	Which throes thee much to yield.

ANTONIO	Thus, sir:
	Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
	Who shall be of as little memory
	When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuade,--
	For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
	Professes to persuade,--the king his son's alive,
	'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
	And he that sleeps here swims.

SEBASTIAN	I have no hope
	That he's undrown'd.

ANTONIO	O, out of that 'no hope'
	What great hope have you! no hope that way is
	Another way so high a hope that even
	Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
	But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
	That Ferdinand is drown'd?

SEBASTIAN	He's gone.

ANTONIO	Then, tell me,
	Who's the next heir of Naples?

SEBASTIAN	Claribel.

ANTONIO	She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells
	Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
	Can have no note, unless the sun were post--
	The man i' the moon's too slow--till new-born chins
	Be rough and razorable; she that--from whom?
	We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
	And by that destiny to perform an act
	Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
	In yours and my discharge.

SEBASTIAN	What stuff is this! how say you?
	'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis;
	So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
	There is some space.

ANTONIO	A space whose every cubit
	Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel
	Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
	And let Sebastian wake.' Say, this were death
	That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse
	Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples
	As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
	As amply and unnecessarily
	As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
	A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
	The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
	For your advancement! Do you understand me?

SEBASTIAN	Methinks I do.

ANTONIO	                  And how does your content
	Tender your own good fortune?

SEBASTIAN	I remember
	You did supplant your brother Prospero.

ANTONIO	True:
	And look how well my garments sit upon me;
	Much feater than before: my brother's servants
	Were then my fellows; now they are my men.

SEBASTIAN	But, for your conscience?

ANTONIO	Ay, sir; where lies that? if 'twere a kibe,
	'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not
	This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
	That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they
	And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
	No better than the earth he lies upon,
	If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
	Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
	Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
	To the perpetual wink for aye might put
	This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
	Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
	They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
	They'll tell the clock to any business that
	We say befits the hour.

SEBASTIAN	Thy case, dear friend,
	Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
	I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
	Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
	And I the king shall love thee.

ANTONIO	Draw together;
	And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
	To fall it on Gonzalo.

SEBASTIAN	O, but one word.

	[They talk apart]

	[Re-enter ARIEL, invisible]

ARIEL	My master through his art foresees the danger
	That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth--
	For else his project dies--to keep them living.

	[Sings in GONZALO's ear]

	While you here do snoring lie,
	Open-eyed conspiracy
	His time doth take.
	If of life you keep a care,
	Shake off slumber, and beware:
	Awake, awake!

ANTONIO	Then let us both be sudden.

GONZALO	Now, good angels
	Preserve the king.

	[They wake]

ALONSO	Why, how now? ho, awake! Why are you drawn?
	Wherefore this ghastly looking?

GONZALO	What's the matter?

SEBASTIAN	Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
	Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
	Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you?
	It struck mine ear most terribly.

ALONSO	I heard nothing.

ANTONIO	O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
	To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar
	Of a whole herd of lions.

ALONSO	Heard you this, Gonzalo?

GONZALO	Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
	And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
	I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd,
	I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise,
	That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard,
	Or that we quit this place; let's draw our weapons.

ALONSO	Lead off this ground; and let's make further search
	For my poor son.

GONZALO	Heavens keep him from these beasts!
	For he is, sure, i' the island.

ALONSO	Lead away.

ARIEL	Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:
	So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT II



SCENE II	Another part of the island.


	[Enter CALIBAN with a burden of wood. A noise of
	thunder heard]

CALIBAN	All the infections that the sun sucks up
	From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
	By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me
	And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
	Fright me with urchin--shows, pitch me i' the mire,
	Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
	Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
	For every trifle are they set upon me;
	Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me
	And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which
	Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount
	Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
	All wound with adders who with cloven tongues
	Do hiss me into madness.

	[Enter TRINCULO]

		    Lo, now, lo!

	Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
	For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat;
	Perchance he will not mind me.

TRINCULO	Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off
	any weather at all, and another storm brewing;
	I hear it sing i' the wind: yond same black
	cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul
	bombard that would shed his liquor. If it
	should thunder as it did before, I know not
	where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot
	choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we
	here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish:
	he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-
	like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-
	John. A strange fish! Were I in England now,
	as once I was, and had but this fish painted,
	not a holiday fool there but would give a piece
	of silver: there would this monster make a
	man; any strange beast there makes a man:
	when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame
	beggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead
	Indian. Legged like a man and his fins like
	arms! Warm o' my troth! I do now let loose
	my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish,
	but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a
	thunderbolt.

	[Thunder]

	Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to
	creep under his gaberdine; there is no other
	shelter hereabouts: misery acquaints a man with
	strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the
	dregs of the storm be past.

	[Enter STEPHANO, singing: a bottle in his hand]

STEPHANO	   I shall no more to sea, to sea,
	Here shall I die ashore--

	This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's
	funeral: well, here's my comfort. [Drinks]

	[Sings]

	The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
	The gunner and his mate
	Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
	But none of us cared for Kate;
	For she had a tongue with a tang,
	Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
	She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
	Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:
	Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

	This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort.
	[Drinks]

CALIBAN	Do not torment me: Oh!

STEPHANO	What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put
	tricks upon's with savages and men of Ind, ha? I
	have not scaped drowning to be afeard now of your
	four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as
	ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground;
	and it shall be said so again while Stephano
	breathes at's nostrils.

CALIBAN	The spirit torments me; Oh!

STEPHANO	This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who
	hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil
	should he learn our language? I will give him some
	relief, if it be but for that. if I can recover him
	and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he's a
	present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather.

CALIBAN	Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood home faster.

STEPHANO	He's in his fit now and does not talk after the
	wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have
	never drunk wine afore will go near to remove his
	fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will
	not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that
	hath him, and that soundly.

CALIBAN	Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I
	know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

STEPHANO	Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that
	which will give language to you, cat: open your
	mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you,
	and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend:
	open your chaps again.

TRINCULO	I should know that voice: it should be--but he is
	drowned; and these are devils: O defend me!

STEPHANO	Four legs and two voices: a most delicate monster!
	His forward voice now is to speak well of his
	friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches
	and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will
	recover him, I will help his ague. Come. Amen! I
	will pour some in thy other mouth.

TRINCULO	Stephano!

STEPHANO	Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! This is
	a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no
	long spoon.

TRINCULO	Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me and
	speak to me: for I am Trinculo--be not afeard--thy
	good friend Trinculo.

STEPHANO	If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I'll pull thee
	by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs,
	these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How
	camest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can
	he vent Trinculos?

TRINCULO	I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But
	art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art
	not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me
	under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of
	the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O
	Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped!

STEPHANO	Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.

CALIBAN	[Aside]  These be fine things, an if they be
	not sprites.
	That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor.
	I will kneel to him.

STEPHANO	How didst thou 'scape? How camest thou hither?
	swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. I
	escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors
	heaved o'erboard, by this bottle; which I made of
	the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I was
	cast ashore.

CALIBAN	I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject;
	for the liquor is not earthly.

STEPHANO	Here; swear then how thou escapedst.

TRINCULO	Swum ashore. man, like a duck: I can swim like a
	duck, I'll be sworn.

STEPHANO	Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a
	duck, thou art made like a goose.

TRINCULO	O Stephano. hast any more of this?

STEPHANO	The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the
	sea-side where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
	how does thine ague?

CALIBAN	Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?

STEPHANO	Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i'
	the moon when time was.

CALIBAN	I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee:
	My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and thy bush.

STEPHANO	Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish
	it anon with new contents swear.

TRINCULO	By this good light, this is a very shallow monster!
	I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The man i'
	the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well
	drawn, monster, in good sooth!

CALIBAN	I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
	And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.

TRINCULO	By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
	monster! when 's god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.

CALIBAN	I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject.

STEPHANO	Come on then; down, and swear.

TRINCULO	I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
	monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my
	heart to beat him,--

STEPHANO	Come, kiss.

TRINCULO	But that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster!

CALIBAN	I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
	I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.
	A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
	I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
	Thou wondrous man.

TRINCULO	A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a
	Poor drunkard!

CALIBAN	I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
	And I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts;
	Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how
	To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
	To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee
	Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

STEPHANO	I prithee now, lead the way without any more
	talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company
	else being drowned, we will inherit here: here;
	bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by
	and by again.

CALIBAN	[Sings drunkenly]
	Farewell master; farewell, farewell!

TRINCULO	A howling monster: a drunken monster!

CALIBAN	   No more dams I'll make for fish
	Nor fetch in firing
	At requiring;
	Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish
	'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban
	Has a new master: get a new man.

	Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,
	hey-day, freedom!

STEPHANO	O brave monster! Lead the way.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE I	Before PROSPERO'S Cell.


	[Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log]

FERDINAND	There be some sports are painful, and their labour
	Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
	Are nobly undergone and most poor matters
	Point to rich ends. This my mean task
	Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
	The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead
	And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
	Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,
	And he's composed of harshness. I must remove
	Some thousands of these logs and pile them up,
	Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress
	Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness
	Had never like executor. I forget:
	But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
	Most busy lest, when I do it.

	[Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen]

MIRANDA	Alas, now, pray you,
	Work not so hard: I would the lightning had
	Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile!
	Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns,
	'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
	Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
	He's safe for these three hours.

FERDINAND	O most dear mistress,
	The sun will set before I shall discharge
	What I must strive to do.

MIRANDA	If you'll sit down,
	I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;
	I'll carry it to the pile.

FERDINAND	No, precious creature;
	I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
	Than you should such dishonour undergo,
	While I sit lazy by.

MIRANDA	It would become me
	As well as it does you: and I should do it
	With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
	And yours it is against.

PROSPERO	Poor worm, thou art infected!
	This visitation shows it.

MIRANDA	You look wearily.

FERDINAND	No, noble mistress;'tis fresh morning with me
	When you are by at night. I do beseech you--
	Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers--
	What is your name?

MIRANDA	                  Miranda.--O my father,
	I have broke your hest to say so!

FERDINAND	Admired Miranda!
	Indeed the top of admiration! worth
	What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
	I have eyed with best regard and many a time
	The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
	Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
	Have I liked several women; never any
	With so fun soul, but some defect in her
	Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
	And put it to the foil: but you, O you,
	So perfect and so peerless, are created
	Of every creature's best!

MIRANDA	I do not know
	One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
	Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
	More that I may call men than you, good friend,
	And my dear father: how features are abroad,
	I am skilless of; but, by my modesty,
	The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
	Any companion in the world but you,
	Nor can imagination form a shape,
	Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
	Something too wildly and my father's precepts
	I therein do forget.

FERDINAND	I am in my condition
	A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
	I would, not so!--and would no more endure
	This wooden slavery than to suffer
	The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
	The very instant that I saw you, did
	My heart fly to your service; there resides,
	To make me slave to it; and for your sake
	Am I this patient log--man.

MIRANDA	Do you love me?

FERDINAND	O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound
	And crown what I profess with kind event
	If I speak true! if hollowly, invert
	What best is boded me to mischief! I
	Beyond all limit of what else i' the world
	Do love, prize, honour you.

MIRANDA	I am a fool
	To weep at what I am glad of.

PROSPERO	Fair encounter
	Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
	On that which breeds between 'em!

FERDINAND	Wherefore weep you?

MIRANDA	At mine unworthiness that dare not offer
	What I desire to give, and much less take
	What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
	And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
	The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!
	And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
	I am your wife, it you will marry me;
	If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
	You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
	Whether you will or no.

FERDINAND	My mistress, dearest;
	And I thus humble ever.

MIRANDA	My husband, then?

FERDINAND	Ay, with a heart as willing
	As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

MIRANDA	And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewell
	Till half an hour hence.

FERDINAND	A thousand thousand!

	[Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally]

PROSPERO	So glad of this as they I cannot be,
	Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing
	At nothing can be more. I'll to my book,
	For yet ere supper-time must I perform
	Much business appertaining.

	[Exit]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE II	Another part of the island.


	[Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO]

STEPHANO	Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink
	water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and
	board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me.

TRINCULO	Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They
	say there's but five upon this isle: we are three
	of them; if th' other two be brained like us, the
	state totters.

STEPHANO	Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes
	are almost set in thy head.

TRINCULO	Where should they be set else? he were a brave
	monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.

STEPHANO	My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack:
	for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I
	could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues off
	and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant,
	monster, or my standard.

TRINCULO	Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard.

STEPHANO	We'll not run, Monsieur Monster.

TRINCULO	Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs and yet say
	nothing neither.

STEPHANO	Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a
	good moon-calf.

CALIBAN	How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe.
	I'll not serve him; he's not valiant.

TRINCULO	Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to
	justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou,
	was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much
	sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie,
	being but half a fish and half a monster?

CALIBAN	Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?

TRINCULO	'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!

CALIBAN	Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee.

STEPHANO	Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you
	prove a mutineer,--the next tree! The poor monster's
	my subject and he shall not suffer indignity.

CALIBAN	I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to
	hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?

STEPHANO	Marry, will I	kneel and repeat it; I will stand,
	and so shall Trinculo.

	[Enter ARIEL, invisible]

CALIBAN	As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a
	sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.

ARIEL	Thou liest.

CALIBAN	Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: I would my
	valiant master would destroy thee! I do not lie.

STEPHANO	Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by
	this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.

TRINCULO	Why, I said nothing.

STEPHANO	Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.

CALIBAN	I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
	From me he got it. if thy greatness will
	Revenge it on him,--for I know thou darest,
	But this thing dare not,--

STEPHANO	That's most certain.

CALIBAN	Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee.

STEPHANO	How now shall this be compassed?
	Canst thou bring me to the party?

CALIBAN	Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep,
	Where thou mayst knock a nail into his bead.

ARIEL	Thou liest; thou canst not.

CALIBAN	What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch!
	I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
	And take his bottle from him: when that's gone
	He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him
	Where the quick freshes are.

STEPHANO	Trinculo, run into no further danger:
	interrupt the monster one word further, and,
	by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors
	and make a stock-fish of thee.

TRINCULO	Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther
	off.

STEPHANO	Didst thou not say he lied?

ARIEL	Thou liest.

STEPHANO	Do I so? take thou that.

	[Beats TRINCULO]

	As you like this, give me the lie another time.

TRINCULO	I did not give the lie. Out o' your
	wits and bearing too? A pox o' your bottle!
	this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on
	your monster, and the devil take your fingers!

CALIBAN	Ha, ha, ha!

STEPHANO	Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther
	off.

CALIBAN	Beat him enough: after a little time
	I'll beat him too.

STEPHANO	                  Stand farther. Come, proceed.

CALIBAN	Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him,
	I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
	Having first seized his books, or with a log
	Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
	Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
	First to possess his books; for without them
	He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
	One spirit to command: they all do hate him
	As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
	He has brave utensils,--for so he calls them--
	Which when he has a house, he'll deck withal
	And that most deeply to consider is
	The beauty of his daughter; he himself
	Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
	But only Sycorax my dam and she;
	But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
	As great'st does least.

STEPHANO	Is it so brave a lass?

CALIBAN	Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant.
	And bring thee forth brave brood.

STEPHANO	Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I
	will be king and queen--save our graces!--and
	Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou
	like the plot, Trinculo?

TRINCULO	Excellent.

STEPHANO	Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but,
	while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head.

CALIBAN	Within this half hour will he be asleep:
	Wilt thou destroy him then?

STEPHANO	Ay, on mine honour.

ARIEL	This will I tell my master.

CALIBAN	Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure:
	Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch
	You taught me but while-ere?

STEPHANO	At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any
	reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.

	[Sings]

	Flout 'em and scout 'em
	And scout 'em and flout 'em
	Thought is free.

CALIBAN	That's not the tune.

	[Ariel plays the tune on a tabour and pipe]

STEPHANO	What is this same?

TRINCULO	This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture
	of Nobody.

STEPHANO	If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness:
	if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list.

TRINCULO	O, forgive me my sins!

STEPHANO	He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!

CALIBAN	Art thou afeard?

STEPHANO	No, monster, not I.

CALIBAN	Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
	Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
	Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
	Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
	That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
	Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
	The clouds methought would open and show riches
	Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
	I cried to dream again.

STEPHANO	This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall
	have my music for nothing.

CALIBAN	When Prospero is destroyed.

STEPHANO	That shall be by and by: I remember the story.

TRINCULO	The sound is going away; let's follow it, and
	after do our work.

STEPHANO	Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see
	this tabourer; he lays it on.

TRINCULO	Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE III	Another part of the island.


	[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
	ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others]

GONZALO	By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir;
	My old bones ache: here's a maze trod indeed
	Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,
	I needs must rest me.

ALONSO	Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
	Who am myself attach'd with weariness,
	To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
	Even here I will put off my hope and keep it
	No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd
	Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks
	Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.

ANTONIO	[Aside to SEBASTIAN]  I am right glad that he's so
	out of hope.
	Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
	That you resolved to effect.

SEBASTIAN	[Aside to ANTONIO]  The next advantage
	Will we take throughly.

ANTONIO	[Aside to SEBASTIAN]  Let it be to-night;
	For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
	Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
	As when they are fresh.

SEBASTIAN	[Aside to ANTONIO]  I say, to-night: no more.

	[Solemn and strange music]

ALONSO	What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!

GONZALO	Marvellous sweet music!

	[Enter PROSPERO above, invisible. Enter several
	strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet;
	they dance about it with gentle actions of
	salutation; and, inviting the King, &c. to
	eat, they depart]

ALONSO	Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?

SEBASTIAN	A living drollery. Now I will believe
	That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
	There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix
	At this hour reigning there.

ANTONIO	I'll believe both;
	And what does else want credit, come to me,
	And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did
	lie,
	Though fools at home condemn 'em.

GONZALO	If in Naples
	I should report this now, would they believe me?
	If I should say, I saw such islanders--
	For, certes, these are people of the island--
	Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,
	Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
	Our human generation you shall find
	Many, nay, almost any.

PROSPERO	[Aside]              Honest lord,
	Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
	Are worse than devils.

ALONSO	I cannot too much muse
	Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
	Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
	Of excellent dumb discourse.

PROSPERO	[Aside]	Praise in departing.

FRANCISCO	They vanish'd strangely.

SEBASTIAN	No matter, since
	They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
	Will't please you taste of what is here?

ALONSO	Not I.

GONZALO	Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,
	Who would believe that there were mountaineers
	Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em
	Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
	Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
	Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
	Good warrant of.

ALONSO	                  I will stand to and feed,
	Although my last: no matter, since I feel
	The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,
	Stand to and do as we.

	[Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a
	harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and,
	with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes]

ARIEL	You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
	That hath to instrument this lower world
	And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
	Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island
	Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men
	Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
	And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
	Their proper selves.

	[ALONSO, SEBASTIAN &c. draw their swords]

		You fools! I and my fellows
	Are ministers of Fate: the elements,
	Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
	Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
	Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
	One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers
	Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
	Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
	And will not be uplifted. But remember--
	For that's my business to you--that you three
	From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
	Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it,
	Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed
	The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
	Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
	Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
	They have bereft; and do pronounce by me:
	Lingering perdition, worse than any death
	Can be at once, shall step by step attend
	You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from--
	Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
	Upon your heads--is nothing but heart-sorrow
	And a clear life ensuing.

	[He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music
	enter the Shapes again, and dance, with
	mocks and mows, and carrying out the table]

PROSPERO	Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
	Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
	Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
	In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life
	And observation strange, my meaner ministers
	Their several kinds have done. My high charms work
	And these mine enemies are all knit up
	In their distractions; they now are in my power;
	And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
	Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd,
	And his and mine loved darling.

	[Exit above]

GONZALO	I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you
	In this strange stare?

ALONSO	O, it is monstrous, monstrous:
	Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
	The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
	That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
	The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.
	Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and
	I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded
	And with him there lie mudded.
	[Exit]

SEBASTIAN	But one fiend at a time,
	I'll fight their legions o'er.

ANTONIO	I'll be thy second.

	[Exeunt SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO]

GONZALO	All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,
	Like poison given to work a great time after,
	Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you
	That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly
	And hinder them from what this ecstasy
	May now provoke them to.

ADRIAN	Follow, I pray you.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT IV



SCENE I	Before PROSPERO'S cell.


	[Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA]

PROSPERO	If I have too austerely punish'd you,
	Your compensation makes amends, for I
	Have given you here a third of mine own life,
	Or that for which I live; who once again
	I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations
	Were but my trials of thy love and thou
	Hast strangely stood the test here, afore Heaven,
	I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,
	Do not smile at me that I boast her off,
	For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise
	And make it halt behind her.

FERDINAND	I do believe it
	Against an oracle.

PROSPERO	Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition
	Worthily purchased take my daughter: but
	If thou dost break her virgin-knot before
	All sanctimonious ceremonies may
	With full and holy rite be minister'd,
	No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
	To make this contract grow: but barren hate,
	Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
	The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
	That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,
	As Hymen's lamps shall light you.

FERDINAND	As I hope
	For quiet days, fair issue and long life,
	With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,
	The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion.
	Our worser genius can, shall never melt
	Mine honour into lust, to take away
	The edge of that day's celebration
	When I shall think: or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd,
	Or Night kept chain'd below.

PROSPERO	Fairly spoke.
	Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own.
	What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!

	[Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL	What would my potent master? here I am.

PROSPERO	Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
	Did worthily perform; and I must use you
	In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,
	O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place:
	Incite them to quick motion; for I must
	Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
	Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise,
	And they expect it from me.

ARIEL	Presently?

PROSPERO	Ay, with a twink.

ARIEL	   Before you can say 'come' and 'go,'
	And breathe twice and cry 'so, so,'
	Each one, tripping on his toe,
	Will be here with mop and mow.
	Do you love me, master? no?

PROSPERO	Dearly my delicate Ariel. Do not approach
	Till thou dost hear me call.

ARIEL	Well, I conceive.

	[Exit]

PROSPERO	Look thou be true; do not give dalliance
	Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw
	To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious,
	Or else, good night your vow!

FERDINAND	I warrant you sir;
	The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
	Abates the ardour of my liver.

PROSPERO	Well.
	Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,
	Rather than want a spirit: appear and pertly!
	No tongue! all eyes! be silent.

	[Soft music]

	[Enter IRIS]

IRIS	Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
	Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;
	Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
	And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
	Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
	Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
	To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom -groves,
	Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
	Being lass-lorn: thy pole-clipt vineyard;
	And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
	Where thou thyself dost air;--the queen o' the sky,
	Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
	Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
	Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
	To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain:
	Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

	[Enter CERES]

CERES	Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er
	Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
	Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
	Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers,
	And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
	My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down,
	Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen
	Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green?

IRIS	A contract of true love to celebrate;
	And some donation freely to estate
	On the blest lovers.

CERES	Tell me, heavenly bow,
	If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
	Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot
	The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,
	Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
	I have forsworn.

IRIS	                  Of her society
	Be not afraid: I met her deity
	Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son
	Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
	Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
	Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid
	Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but vain;
	Mars's hot minion is returned again;
	Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
	Swears he will shoot no more but play with sparrows
	And be a boy right out.

CERES	High'st queen of state,
	Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait.

	[Enter JUNO]

JUNO	How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
	To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be
	And honour'd in their issue.

	[They sing:]

JUNO	   Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
	Long continuance, and increasing,
	Hourly joys be still upon you!
	Juno sings her blessings upon you.

CERES	   Earth's increase, foison plenty,
	Barns and garners never empty,
	Vines and clustering bunches growing,
	Plants with goodly burthen bowing;
	Spring come to you at the farthest
	In the very end of harvest!
	Scarcity and want shall shun you;
	Ceres' blessing so is on you.

FERDINAND	This is a most majestic vision, and
	Harmoniously charmingly. May I be bold
	To think these spirits?

PROSPERO	Spirits, which by mine art
	I have from their confines call'd to enact
	My present fancies.

FERDINAND	Let me live here ever;
	So rare a wonder'd father and a wife
	Makes this place Paradise.

	[Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on
	employment]

PROSPERO	Sweet, now, silence!
	Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;
	There's something else to do: hush, and be mute,
	Or else our spell is marr'd.

IRIS	You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
	With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,
	Leave your crisp channels and on this green land
	Answer your summons; Juno does command:
	Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
	A contract of true love; be not too late.

	[Enter certain Nymphs]

	You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
	Come hither from the furrow and be merry:
	Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on
	And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
	In country footing.

	[Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they
	join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance;
	towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts
	suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a
	strange, hollow, and confused noise, they
	heavily vanish]

PROSPERO	[Aside]  I had forgot that foul conspiracy
	Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
	Against my life: the minute of their plot
	Is almost come.

	[To the Spirits]

	Well done! avoid; no more!

FERDINAND	This is strange: your father's in some passion
	That works him strongly.

MIRANDA	Never till this day
	Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

PROSPERO	You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
	As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
	Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
	As I foretold you, were all spirits and
	Are melted into air, into thin air:
	And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
	The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
	The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
	Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
	And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
	Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
	As dreams are made on, and our little life
	Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
	Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
	Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
	If you be pleased, retire into my cell
	And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
	To still my beating mind.


FERDINAND	|
	|  We wish your peace.
MIRANDA	|


	[Exeunt]

PROSPERO	Come with a thought I thank thee, Ariel: come.

	[Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL	Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?

PROSPERO	Spirit,
	We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

ARIEL	Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres,
	I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd
	Lest I might anger thee.

PROSPERO	Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?

ARIEL	I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;
	So fun of valour that they smote the air
	For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
	For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
	Towards their project. Then I beat my tabour;
	At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd
	their ears,
	Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
	As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears
	That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
	Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,
	Which entered their frail shins: at last I left them
	I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,
	There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
	O'erstunk their feet.

PROSPERO	This was well done, my bird.
	Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
	The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
	For stale to catch these thieves.

ARIEL	I go, I go.

	[Exit]

PROSPERO	A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
	Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
	Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
	And as with age his body uglier grows,
	So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
	Even to roaring.

	[Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c]

	Come, hang them on this line.

	[PROSPERO and ARIEL remain invisible. Enter
	CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet]

CALIBAN	Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
	Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.

STEPHANO	Monster, your fairy, which you say is
	a harmless fairy, has done little better than
	played the Jack with us.

TRINCULO	Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at
	which my nose is in great indignation.

STEPHANO	So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take
	a displeasure against you, look you,--

TRINCULO	Thou wert but a lost monster.

CALIBAN	Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
	Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
	Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.
	All's hush'd as midnight yet.

TRINCULO	Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,--

STEPHANO	There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that,
	monster, but an infinite loss.

TRINCULO	That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your
	harmless fairy, monster.

STEPHANO	I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears
	for my labour.

CALIBAN	Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,
	This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter.
	Do that good mischief which may make this island
	Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
	For aye thy foot-licker.

STEPHANO	Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.

TRINCULO	O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look
	what a wardrobe here is for thee!

CALIBAN	Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.

TRINCULO	O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery.
	O king Stephano!

STEPHANO	Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have
	that gown.

TRINCULO	Thy grace shall have it.

CALIBAN	The dropsy drown this fool I what do you mean
	To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone
	And do the murder first: if he awake,
	From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches,
	Make us strange stuff.

STEPHANO	Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line,
	is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under
	the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your
	hair and prove a bald jerkin.

TRINCULO	Do, do: we steal by line and level, an't like your grace.

STEPHANO	I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't:
	wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this
	country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent
	pass of pate; there's another garment for't.

TRINCULO	Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and
	away with the rest.

CALIBAN	I will have none on't: we shall lose our time,
	And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes
	With foreheads villanous low.

STEPHANO	Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this
	away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you
	out of my kingdom: go to, carry this.

TRINCULO	And this.

STEPHANO	Ay, and this.

	[A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits,
	in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them about,
	PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on]

PROSPERO	Hey, Mountain, hey!

ARIEL	Silver I there it goes, Silver!

PROSPERO	Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark! hark!

	[CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, are
	driven out]

	Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints
	With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
	With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them
	Than pard or cat o' mountain.

ARIEL	Hark, they roar!

PROSPERO	Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour
	Lie at my mercy all mine enemies:
	Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
	Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little
	Follow, and do me service.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT V



SCENE I	Before PROSPERO'S cell.


	[Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL]

PROSPERO	Now does my project gather to a head:
	My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time
	Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?

ARIEL	On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
	You said our work should cease.

PROSPERO	I did say so,
	When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
	How fares the king and's followers?

ARIEL	Confined together
	In the same fashion as you gave in charge,
	Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir,
	In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
	They cannot budge till your release. The king,
	His brother and yours, abide all three distracted
	And the remainder mourning over them,
	Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly
	Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord Gonzalo;'
	His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
	From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em
	That if you now beheld them, your affections
	Would become tender.

PROSPERO	Dost thou think so, spirit?

ARIEL	Mine would, sir, were I human.

PROSPERO	And mine shall.
	Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
	Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
	One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
	Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
	Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,
	Yet with my nobler reason 'gaitist my fury
	Do I take part: the rarer action is
	In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
	The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
	Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
	My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
	And they shall be themselves.

ARIEL	I'll fetch them, sir.

	[Exit]

PROSPERO	Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
	And ye that on the sands with printless foot
	Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
	When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
	By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
	Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
	Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
	To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
	Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
	The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
	And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
	Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
	Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
	With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
	Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
	The pine and cedar: graves at my command
	Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
	By my so potent art. But this rough magic
	I here abjure, and, when I have required
	Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
	To work mine end upon their senses that
	This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
	Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
	And deeper than did ever plummet sound
	I'll drown my book.

	[Solemn music]

	[Re-enter ARIEL before: then ALONSO, with a
	frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO;
	SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner,
	attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO   they all
	enter the circle which PROSPERO had made,
	and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO
	observing, speaks:]

	A solemn air and the best comforter
	To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains,
	Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
	For you are spell-stopp'd.
	Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
	Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine,
	Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace,
	And as the morning steals upon the night,
	Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
	Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
	Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
	My true preserver, and a loyal sir
	To him you follow'st! I will pay thy graces
	Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
	Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
	Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
	Thou art pinch'd fort now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,
	You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
	Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,
	Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,
	Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee,
	Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
	Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
	Will shortly fill the reasonable shore
	That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them
	That yet looks on me, or would know me Ariel,
	Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell:
	I will discase me, and myself present
	As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit;
	Thou shalt ere long be free.

	[ARIEL sings and helps to attire him]

	Where the bee sucks. there suck I:
	In a cowslip's bell I lie;
	There I couch when owls do cry.
	On the bat's back I do fly
	After summer merrily.
	Merrily, merrily shall I live now
	Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

PROSPERO	Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee:
	But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so.
	To the king's ship, invisible as thou art:
	There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
	Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain
	Being awake, enforce them to this place,
	And presently, I prithee.

ARIEL	I drink the air before me, and return
	Or ere your pulse twice beat.

	[Exit]

GONZALO	All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement
	Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us
	Out of this fearful country!

PROSPERO	Behold, sir king,
	The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero:
	For more assurance that a living prince
	Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
	And to thee and thy company I bid
	A hearty welcome.

ALONSO	                  Whether thou best he or no,
	Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
	As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse
	Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,
	The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
	I fear, a madness held me: this must crave,
	An if this be at all, a most strange story.
	Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat
	Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero
	Be living and be here?

PROSPERO	First, noble friend,
	Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
	Be measured or confined.

GONZALO	Whether this be
	Or be not, I'll not swear.

PROSPERO	You do yet taste
	Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you
	Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!

	[Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]

	But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
	I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you
	And justify you traitors: at this time
	I will tell no tales.

SEBASTIAN	[Aside]  The devil speaks in him.

PROSPERO	No.
	For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
	Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
	Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require
	My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know,
	Thou must restore.

ALONSO	                  If thou be'st Prospero,
	Give us particulars of thy preservation;
	How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
	Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost--
	How sharp the point of this remembrance is!--
	My dear son Ferdinand.

PROSPERO	I am woe for't, sir.

ALONSO	Irreparable is the loss, and patience
	Says it is past her cure.

PROSPERO	I rather think
	You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace
	For the like loss I have her sovereign aid
	And rest myself content.

ALONSO	You the like loss!

PROSPERO	As great to me as late; and, supportable
	To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
	Than you may call to comfort you, for I
	Have lost my daughter.

ALONSO	A daughter?
	O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
	The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
	Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
	Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?

PROSPERO	In this last tempest. I perceive these lords
	At this encounter do so much admire
	That they devour their reason and scarce think
	Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
	Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have
	Been justled from your senses, know for certain
	That I am Prospero and that very duke
	Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely
	Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed,
	To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
	For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
	Not a relation for a breakfast nor
	Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
	This cell's my court: here have I few attendants
	And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
	My dukedom since you have given me again,
	I will requite you with as good a thing;
	At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
	As much as me my dukedom.

	[Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA
	playing at chess]

MIRANDA	Sweet lord, you play me false.

FERDINAND	No, my dear'st love,
	I would not for the world.

MIRANDA	Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
	And I would call it, fair play.

ALONSO	If this prove
	A vision of the Island, one dear son
	Shall I twice lose.

SEBASTIAN	A most high miracle!

FERDINAND	Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
	I have cursed them without cause.

	[Kneels]

ALONSO	Now all the blessings
	Of a glad father compass thee about!
	Arise, and say how thou camest here.

MIRANDA	O, wonder!
	How many goodly creatures are there here!
	How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
	That has such people in't!

PROSPERO	'Tis new to thee.

ALONSO	What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
	Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
	Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
	And brought us thus together?

FERDINAND	Sir, she is mortal;
	But by immortal Providence she's mine:
	I chose her when I could not ask my father
	For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
	Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
	Of whom so often I have heard renown,
	But never saw before; of whom I have
	Received a second life; and second father
	This lady makes him to me.

ALONSO	I am hers:
	But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
	Must ask my child forgiveness!

PROSPERO	There, sir, stop:
	Let us not burthen our remembrance with
	A heaviness that's gone.

GONZALO	I have inly wept,
	Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you god,
	And on this couple drop a blessed crown!
	For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
	Which brought us hither.

ALONSO	I say, Amen, Gonzalo!

GONZALO	Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
	Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
	Beyond a common joy, and set it down
	With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
	Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
	And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
	Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom
	In a poor isle and all of us ourselves
	When no man was his own.

ALONSO	[To FERDINAND and MIRANDA]  Give me your hands:
	Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
	That doth not wish you joy!

GONZALO	Be it so! Amen!

	[Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain
	amazedly following]

	O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us:
	I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
	This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,
	That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?
	Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?

Boatswain	The best news is, that we have safely found
	Our king and company; the next, our ship--
	Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split--
	Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when
	We first put out to sea.

ARIEL	[Aside to PROSPERO]  Sir, all this service
	Have I done since I went.

PROSPERO	[Aside to ARIEL]  My tricksy spirit!

ALONSO	These are not natural events; they strengthen
	From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?

Boatswain	If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
	I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
	And--how we know not--all clapp'd under hatches;
	Where but even now with strange and several noises
	Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,
	And more diversity of sounds, all horrible,
	We were awaked; straightway, at liberty;
	Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
	Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master
	Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you,
	Even in a dream, were we divided from them
	And were brought moping hither.

ARIEL	[Aside to PROSPERO]          Was't well done?

PROSPERO	[Aside to ARIEL]  Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.

ALONSO	This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod
	And there is in this business more than nature
	Was ever conduct of: some oracle
	Must rectify our knowledge.

PROSPERO	Sir, my liege,
	Do not infest your mind with beating on
	The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure
	Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,
	Which to you shall seem probable, of every
	These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful
	And think of each thing well.

	[Aside to ARIEL]

		        Come hither, spirit:
	Set Caliban and his companions free;
	Untie the spell.

	[Exit ARIEL]

	How fares my gracious sir?
	There are yet missing of your company
	Some few odd lads that you remember not.

	[Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO
	and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel]

STEPHANO	Every man shift for all the rest, and
	let no man take care for himself; for all is
	but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!

TRINCULO	If these be true spies which I wear in my head,
	here's a goodly sight.

CALIBAN	O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
	How fine my master is! I am afraid
	He will chastise me.

SEBASTIAN	Ha, ha!
	What things are these, my lord Antonio?
	Will money buy 'em?

ANTONIO	Very like; one of them
	Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.

PROSPERO	Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
	Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,
	His mother was a witch, and one so strong
	That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
	And deal in her command without her power.
	These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil--
	For he's a bastard one--had plotted with them
	To take my life. Two of these fellows you
	Must know and own; this thing of darkness!
	Acknowledge mine.

CALIBAN	                  I shall be pinch'd to death.

ALONSO	Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

SEBASTIAN	He is drunk now: where had he wine?

ALONSO	And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
	Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
	How camest thou in this pickle?

TRINCULO	I have been in such a pickle since I
	saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of
	my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

SEBASTIAN	Why, how now, Stephano!

STEPHANO	O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp.

PROSPERO	You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah?

STEPHANO	I should have been a sore one then.

ALONSO	This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.

	[Pointing to Caliban]

PROSPERO	He is as disproportion'd in his manners
	As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
	Take with you your companions; as you look
	To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

CALIBAN	Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter
	And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
	Was I, to take this drunkard for a god
	And worship this dull fool!

PROSPERO	Go to; away!

ALONSO	Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.

SEBASTIAN	Or stole it, rather.

	[Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO]

PROSPERO	Sir, I invite your highness and your train
	To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
	For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
	With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
	Go quick away; the story of my life
	And the particular accidents gone by
	Since I came to this isle: and in the morn
	I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples,
	Where I have hope to see the nuptial
	Of these our dear-beloved solemnized;
	And thence retire me to my Milan, where
	Every third thought shall be my grave.

ALONSO	I long
	To hear the story of your life, which must
	Take the ear strangely.

PROSPERO	I'll deliver all;
	And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales
	And sail so expeditious that shall catch
	Your royal fleet far off.

	[Aside to ARIEL]

		    My Ariel, chick,
	That is thy charge: then to the elements
	Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST

	EPILOGUE


	SPOKEN BY PROSPERO

	Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
	And what strength I have's mine own,
	Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
	I must be here confined by you,
	Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
	Since I have my dukedom got
	And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
	In this bare island by your spell;
	But release me from my bands
	With the help of your good hands:
	Gentle breath of yours my sails
	Must fill, or else my project fails,
	Which was to please. Now I want
	Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
	And my ending is despair,
	Unless I be relieved by prayer,
	Which pierces so that it assaults
	Mercy itself and frees all faults.
	As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
	Let your indulgence set me free.
	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


PRIAM	king of Troy.


HECTOR	|
	|
TROILUS	|
	|
PARIS	|  his sons.
	|
DEIPHOBUS	|
	|
HELENUS	|


MARGARELON	a bastard son of Priam.


AENEAS	|
	|  Trojan commanders.
ANTENOR	|


CALCHAS	a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks.

PANDARUS	uncle to Cressida.

AGAMEMNON	the Grecian general.

MENELAUS	his brother.


ACHILLES	|
	|
AJAX	|
	|
ULYSSES	|
	|  Grecian princes.
NESTOR	|
	|
DIOMEDES	|
	|
PATROCLUS	|


THERSITES	a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.

ALEXANDER	servant to Cressida.

	Servant to Troilus. (Boy:)

	Servant to Paris.

	Servant to Diomedes. (Servant:)

HELEN	wife to Menelaus.

ANDROMACHE	wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA	daughter to Priam, a prophetess.

CRESSIDA	daughter to Calchas.

	Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.


SCENE	Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

	PROLOGUE


	In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
	The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
	Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
	Fraught with the ministers and instruments
	Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
	Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
	Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
	To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
	The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
	With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
	To Tenedos they come;
	And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
	Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
	The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
	Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
	Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
	And Antenorides, with massy staples
	And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
	Sperr up the sons of Troy.
	Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
	On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
	Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come
	A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
	Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited
	In like conditions as our argument,
	To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
	Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
	Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
	To what may be digested in a play.
	Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
	Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE I	Troy. Before Priam's palace.


	[Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS]

TROILUS	Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again:
	Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
	That find such cruel battle here within?
	Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
	Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

PANDARUS	Will this gear ne'er be mended?

TROILUS	The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength,
	Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant;
	But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
	Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
	Less valiant than the virgin in the night
	And skilless as unpractised infancy.

PANDARUS	Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part,
	I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will
	have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

TROILUS	Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS	Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
	the bolting.

TROILUS	Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS	Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.

TROILUS	Still have I tarried.

PANDARUS	Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
	'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the
	heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must
	stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

TROILUS	Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
	Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
	At Priam's royal table do I sit;
	And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,--
	So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she thence?

PANDARUS	Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw
	her look, or any woman else.

TROILUS	I was about to tell thee:--when my heart,
	As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
	Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
	I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
	Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
	But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
	Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

PANDARUS	An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's--
	well, go to--there were no more comparison between
	the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I
	would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would
	somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
	will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but--

TROILUS	O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,--
	When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
	Reply not in how many fathoms deep
	They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
	In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'
	Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
	Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
	Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
	In whose comparison all whites are ink,
	Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
	The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
	Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,
	As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
	But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
	Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
	The knife that made it.

PANDARUS	I speak no more than truth.

TROILUS	Thou dost not speak so much.

PANDARUS	Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:
	if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be
	not, she has the mends in her own hands.

TROILUS	Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!

PANDARUS	I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of
	her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and
	between, but small thanks for my labour.

TROILUS	What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

PANDARUS	Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair
	as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as
	fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care
	I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

TROILUS	Say I she is not fair?

PANDARUS	I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to
	stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so
	I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part,
	I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter.

TROILUS	Pandarus,--

PANDARUS	Not I.

TROILUS	Sweet Pandarus,--

PANDARUS	Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I
	found it, and there an end.

	[Exit PANDARUS. An alarum]

TROILUS	Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
	Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
	When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
	I cannot fight upon this argument;
	It is too starved a subject for my sword.
	But Pandarus,--O gods, how do you plague me!
	I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
	And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
	As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
	Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
	What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
	Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
	Between our Ilium and where she resides,
	Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood,
	Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
	Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.

	[Alarum. Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS	How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

TROILUS	Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,
	For womanish it is to be from thence.
	What news, AEneas, from the field to-day?

AENEAS	That Paris is returned home and hurt.

TROILUS	By whom, AEneas?

AENEAS	                  Troilus, by Menelaus.

TROILUS	Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn;
	Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

	[Alarum]

AENEAS	Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!

TROILUS	Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
	But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?

AENEAS	In all swift haste.

TROILUS	Come, go we then together.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE II	The Same. A street.


	[Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER]

CRESSIDA	Who were those went by?

ALEXANDER	Queen Hecuba and Helen.

CRESSIDA	And whither go they?

ALEXANDER	Up to the eastern tower,
	Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
	To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
	Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved:
	He chid Andromache and struck his armourer,
	And, like as there were husbandry in war,
	Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
	And to the field goes he; where every flower
	Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
	In Hector's wrath.

CRESSIDA	                  What was his cause of anger?

ALEXANDER	The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
	A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
	They call him Ajax.

CRESSIDA	Good; and what of him?

ALEXANDER	They say he is a very man per se,
	And stands alone.

CRESSIDA	So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

ALEXANDER	This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their
	particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion,
	churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man
	into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his
	valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with
	discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he
	hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he
	carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without
	cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the
	joints of every thing, but everything so out of joint
	that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use,
	or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

CRESSIDA	But how should this man, that makes
	me smile, make Hector angry?

ALEXANDER	They say he yesterday coped Hector in the battle and
	struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath
	ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

CRESSIDA	Who comes here?

ALEXANDER	Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

	[Enter PANDARUS]

CRESSIDA	Hector's a gallant man.

ALEXANDER	As may be in the world, lady.

PANDARUS	What's that? what's that?

CRESSIDA	Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

PANDARUS	Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?
	Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? When
	were you at Ilium?

CRESSIDA	This morning, uncle.

PANDARUS	What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector
	armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not
	up, was she?

CRESSIDA	Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.

PANDARUS	Even so: Hector was stirring early.

CRESSIDA	That were we talking of, and of his anger.

PANDARUS	Was he angry?

CRESSIDA	So he says here.

PANDARUS	True, he was so: I know the cause too: he'll lay
	about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there's
	Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take
	heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.

CRESSIDA	What, is he angry too?

PANDARUS	Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

CRESSIDA	O Jupiter! there's no comparison.

PANDARUS	What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a
	man if you see him?

CRESSIDA	Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.

PANDARUS	Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.

CRESSIDA	Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

PANDARUS	No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.

CRESSIDA	'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.

PANDARUS	Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were.

CRESSIDA	So he is.

PANDARUS	Condition, I had gone barefoot to India.

CRESSIDA	He is not Hector.

PANDARUS	Himself! no, he's not himself: would a' were
	himself! Well, the gods are above; time must friend
	or end: well, Troilus, well: I would my heart were
	in her body. No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

CRESSIDA	Excuse me.

PANDARUS	He is elder.

CRESSIDA	Pardon me, pardon me.

PANDARUS	Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another
	tale, when th' other's come to't. Hector shall not
	have his wit this year.

CRESSIDA	He shall not need it, if he have his own.

PANDARUS	Nor his qualities.

CRESSIDA	No matter.

PANDARUS	Nor his beauty.

CRESSIDA	'Twould not become him; his own's better.

PANDARUS	You have no judgment, niece: Helen
	herself swore th' other day, that Troilus, for
	a brown favour--for so 'tis, I must confess,--
	not brown neither,--

CRESSIDA	No, but brown.

PANDARUS	'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.

CRESSIDA	To say the truth, true and not true.

PANDARUS	She praised his complexion above Paris.

CRESSIDA	Why, Paris hath colour enough.

PANDARUS	So he has.

CRESSIDA	Then Troilus should have too much: if she praised
	him above, his complexion is higher than his; he
	having colour enough, and the other higher, is too
	flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as
	lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for
	a copper nose.

PANDARUS	I swear to you. I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

CRESSIDA	Then she's a merry Greek indeed.

PANDARUS	Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other
	day into the compassed window,--and, you know, he
	has not past three or four hairs on his chin,--

CRESSIDA	Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his
	particulars therein to a total.

PANDARUS	Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within
	three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

CRESSIDA	Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?

PANDARUS	But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came
	and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin--

CRESSIDA	Juno have mercy! how came it cloven?

PANDARUS	Why, you know 'tis dimpled: I think his smiling
	becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

CRESSIDA	O, he smiles valiantly.

PANDARUS	Does he not?

CRESSIDA	O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

PANDARUS	Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that Helen
	loves Troilus,--

CRESSIDA	Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll
	prove it so.

PANDARUS	Troilus! why, he esteems her no more than I esteem
	an addle egg.

CRESSIDA	If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle
	head, you would eat chickens i' the shell.

PANDARUS	I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled
	his chin: indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I
	must needs confess,--

CRESSIDA	Without the rack.

PANDARUS	And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.

CRESSIDA	Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

PANDARUS	But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laughed
	that her eyes ran o'er.

CRESSIDA	With mill-stones.

PANDARUS	And Cassandra laughed.

CRESSIDA	But there was more temperate fire under the pot of
	her eyes: did her eyes run o'er too?

PANDARUS	And Hector laughed.

CRESSIDA	At what was all this laughing?

PANDARUS	Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

CRESSIDA	An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed
	too.

PANDARUS	They laughed not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.

CRESSIDA	What was his answer?

PANDARUS	Quoth she, 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your
	chin, and one of them is white.

CRESSIDA	This is her question.

PANDARUS	That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and
	fifty hairs' quoth he, 'and one white: that white
	hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.'
	'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'which of these hairs is Paris,
	my husband? 'The forked one,' quoth he, 'pluck't
	out, and give it him.' But there was such laughing!
	and Helen so blushed, an Paris so chafed, and all the
	rest so laughed, that it passed.

CRESSIDA	So let it now; for it has been while going by.

PANDARUS	Well, cousin. I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

CRESSIDA	So I do.

PANDARUS	I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere
	a man born in April.

CRESSIDA	And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle
	against May.

	[A retreat sounded]

PANDARUS	Hark! they are coming from the field: shall we
	stand up here, and see them as they pass toward
	Ilium? good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.

CRESSIDA	At your pleasure.

PANDARUS	Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may
	see most bravely: I'll tell you them all by their
	names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.

CRESSIDA	Speak not so loud.

	[AENEAS passes]

PANDARUS	That's AEneas: is not that a brave man? he's one of
	the flowers of Troy, I can tell you: but mark
	Troilus; you shall see anon.

	[ANTENOR passes]

CRESSIDA	Who's that?

PANDARUS	That's Antenor: he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you;
	and he's a man good enough, he's one o' the soundest
	judgments in whosoever, and a proper man of person.
	When comes Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon: if
	he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

CRESSIDA	Will he give you the nod?

PANDARUS	You shall see.

CRESSIDA	If he do, the rich shall have more.

	[HECTOR passes]

PANDARUS	That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a
	fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There's a brave man,
	niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks! there's
	a countenance! is't not a brave man?

CRESSIDA	O, a brave man!

PANDARUS	Is a' not? it does a man's heart good. Look you
	what hacks are on his helmet! look you yonder, do
	you see? look you there: there's no jesting;
	there's laying on, take't off who will, as they say:
	there be hacks!

CRESSIDA	Be those with swords?

PANDARUS	Swords! any thing, he cares not; an the devil come
	to him, it's all one: by God's lid, it does one's
	heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.

	[PARIS passes]

	Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man too,
	is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who said he came
	hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, this will do
	Helen's heart good now, ha! Would I could see
	Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon.

	[HELENUS passes]

CRESSIDA	Who's that?

PANDARUS	That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's
	Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus.

CRESSIDA	Can Helenus fight, uncle?

PANDARUS	Helenus? no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well. I
	marvel where Troilus is. Hark! do you not hear the
	people cry 'Troilus'? Helenus is a priest.

CRESSIDA	What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

	[TROILUS passes]

PANDARUS	Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus!
	there's a man, niece! Hem! Brave Troilus! the
	prince of chivalry!

CRESSIDA	Peace, for shame, peace!

PANDARUS	Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon
	him, niece: look you how his sword is bloodied, and
	his helm more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks,
	and how he goes! O admirable youth! he ne'er saw
	three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way!
	Had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess,
	he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris?
	Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to
	change, would give an eye to boot.

CRESSIDA	Here come more.

	[Forces pass]

PANDARUS	Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran!
	porridge after meat! I could live and die i' the
	eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look: the eagles
	are gone: crows and daws, crows and daws! I had
	rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and
	all Greece.

CRESSIDA	There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.

PANDARUS	Achilles! a drayman, a porter, a very camel.

CRESSIDA	Well, well.

PANDARUS	'Well, well!' why, have you any discretion? have
	you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not
	birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood,
	learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality,
	and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?

CRESSIDA	Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date
	in the pie, for then the man's date's out.

PANDARUS	You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you
	lie.

CRESSIDA	Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to
	defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine
	honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to
	defend all these: and at all these wards I lie, at a
	thousand watches.

PANDARUS	Say one of your watches.

CRESSIDA	Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the
	chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would
	not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took
	the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it's
	past watching.

PANDARUS	You are such another!

	[Enter Troilus's Boy]

Boy	Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

PANDARUS	Where?

Boy	At your own house; there he unarms him.

PANDARUS	Good boy, tell him I come.

	[Exit boy]

	I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.

CRESSIDA	Adieu, uncle.

PANDARUS	I'll be with you, niece, by and by.

CRESSIDA	To bring, uncle?

PANDARUS	Ay, a token from Troilus.

CRESSIDA	By the same token, you are a bawd.

	[Exit PANDARUS]

	Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
	He offers in another's enterprise;
	But more in Troilus thousand fold I see
	Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be;
	Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
	Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.
	That she beloved knows nought that knows not this:
	Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is:
	That she was never yet that ever knew
	Love got so sweet as when desire did sue.
	Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
	Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech:
	Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
	Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE III	The Grecian camp. Before Agamemnon's tent.


	[Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES,
	MENELAUS, and others]

AGAMEMNON	Princes,
	What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
	The ample proposition that hope makes
	In all designs begun on earth below
	Fails in the promised largeness: cheques and disasters
	Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,
	As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
	Infect the sound pine and divert his grain
	Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
	Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
	That we come short of our suppose so far
	That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand;
	Sith every action that hath gone before,
	Whereof we have record, trial did draw
	Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
	And that unbodied figure of the thought
	That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
	Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works,
	And call them shames? which are indeed nought else
	But the protractive trials of great Jove
	To find persistive constancy in men:
	The fineness of which metal is not found
	In fortune's love; for then the bold and coward,
	The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
	The hard and soft seem all affined and kin:
	But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
	Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
	Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
	And what hath mass or matter, by itself
	Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.

NESTOR	With due observance of thy godlike seat,
	Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
	Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
	Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,
	How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
	Upon her patient breast, making their way
	With those of nobler bulk!
	But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
	The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
	The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
	Bounding between the two moist elements,
	Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat
	Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
	Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled,
	Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
	Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide
	In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
	The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
	Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
	Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
	And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of courage
	As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize,
	And with an accent tuned in selfsame key
	Retorts to chiding fortune.

ULYSSES	Agamemnon,
	Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
	Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit.
	In whom the tempers and the minds of all
	Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks.
	Besides the applause and approbation To which,

	[To AGAMEMNON]

	most mighty for thy place and sway,

	[To NESTOR]

	And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life
	I give to both your speeches, which were such
	As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
	Should hold up high in brass, and such again
	As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,
	Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
	On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears
	To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both,
	Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.

AGAMEMNON	Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect
	That matter needless, of importless burden,
	Divide thy lips, than we are confident,
	When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
	We shall hear music, wit and oracle.

ULYSSES	Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
	And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
	But for these instances.
	The specialty of rule hath been neglected:
	And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
	Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
	When that the general is not like the hive
	To whom the foragers shall all repair,
	What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
	The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
	The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
	Observe degree, priority and place,
	Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
	Office and custom, in all line of order;
	And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
	In noble eminence enthroned and sphered
	Amidst the other; whose medicinable eye
	Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
	And posts, like the commandment of a king,
	Sans cheque to good and bad: but when the planets
	In evil mixture to disorder wander,
	What plagues and what portents! what mutiny!
	What raging of the sea! shaking of earth!
	Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors,
	Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
	The unity and married calm of states
	Quite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked,
	Which is the ladder to all high designs,
	Then enterprise is sick! How could communities,
	Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities,
	Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
	The primogenitive and due of birth,
	Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
	But by degree, stand in authentic place?
	Take but degree away, untune that string,
	And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets
	In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
	Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores
	And make a sop of all this solid globe:
	Strength should be lord of imbecility,
	And the rude son should strike his father dead:
	Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong,
	Between whose endless jar justice resides,
	Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
	Then every thing includes itself in power,
	Power into will, will into appetite;
	And appetite, an universal wolf,
	So doubly seconded with will and power,
	Must make perforce an universal prey,
	And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
	This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
	Follows the choking.
	And this neglection of degree it is
	That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
	It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
	By him one step below, he by the next,
	That next by him beneath; so every step,
	Exampled by the first pace that is sick
	Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
	Of pale and bloodless emulation:
	And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
	Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
	Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.

NESTOR	Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
	The fever whereof all our power is sick.

AGAMEMNON	The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
	What is the remedy?

ULYSSES	The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
	The sinew and the forehand of our host,
	Having his ear full of his airy fame,
	Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
	Lies mocking our designs: with him Patroclus
	Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
	Breaks scurril jests;
	And with ridiculous and awkward action,
	Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,
	He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
	Thy topless deputation he puts on,
	And, like a strutting player, whose conceit
	Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
	To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
	'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,--
	Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
	He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
	'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared,
	Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd
	Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
	The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
	From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
	Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.
	Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
	As he being drest to some oration.'
	That's done, as near as the extremest ends
	Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife:
	Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent!
	'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
	Arming to answer in a night alarm.'
	And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
	Must be the scene of mirth; to cough and spit,
	And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
	Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sport
	Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus;
	Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
	In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion,
	All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
	Severals and generals of grace exact,
	Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
	Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
	Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
	As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

NESTOR	And in the imitation of these twain--
	Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
	With an imperial voice--many are infect.
	Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his head
	In such a rein, in full as proud a place
	As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
	Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
	Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
	A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
	To match us in comparisons with dirt,
	To weaken and discredit our exposure,
	How rank soever rounded in with danger.

ULYSSES	They tax our policy, and call it cowardice,
	Count wisdom as no member of the war,
	Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
	But that of hand: the still and mental parts,
	That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
	When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
	Of their observant toil the enemies' weight,--
	Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:
	They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war;
	So that the ram that batters down the wall,
	For the great swing and rudeness of his poise,
	They place before his hand that made the engine,
	Or those that with the fineness of their souls
	By reason guide his execution.

NESTOR	Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
	Makes many Thetis' sons.

	[A tucket]

AGAMEMNON	What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

MENELAUS	From Troy.

	[Enter AENEAS]

AGAMEMNON	What would you 'fore our tent?

AENEAS	Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?

AGAMEMNON	Even this.

AENEAS	May one, that is a herald and a prince,
	Do a fair message to his kingly ears?

AGAMEMNON	With surety stronger than Achilles' arm
	'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
	Call Agamemnon head and general.

AENEAS	Fair leave and large security. How may
	A stranger to those most imperial looks
	Know them from eyes of other mortals?

AGAMEMNON	How!

AENEAS	Ay;
	I ask, that I might waken reverence,
	And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
	Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
	The youthful Phoebus:
	Which is that god in office, guiding men?
	Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

AGAMEMNON	This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
	Are ceremonious courtiers.

AENEAS	Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
	As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
	But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
	Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and,
	Jove's accord,
	Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas,
	Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
	The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
	If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:
	But what the repining enemy commends,
	That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure,
	transcends.

AGAMEMNON	Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself AEneas?

AENEAS	Ay, Greek, that is my name.

AGAMEMNON	What's your affair I pray you?

AENEAS	Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

AGAMEMNON	He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.

AENEAS	Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:
	I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
	To set his sense on the attentive bent,
	And then to speak.

AGAMEMNON	                  Speak frankly as the wind;
	It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour:
	That thou shalt know. Trojan, he is awake,
	He tells thee so himself.

AENEAS	Trumpet, blow loud,
	Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
	And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
	What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.

	[Trumpet sounds]

	We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
	A prince call'd Hector,--Priam is his father,--
	Who in this dull and long-continued truce
	Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet,
	And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!
	If there be one among the fair'st of Greece
	That holds his honour higher than his ease,
	That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
	That knows his valour, and knows not his fear,
	That loves his mistress more than in confession,
	With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
	And dare avow her beauty and her worth
	In other arms than hers,--to him this challenge.
	Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
	Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,
	He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
	Than ever Greek did compass in his arms,
	And will to-morrow with his trumpet call
	Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
	To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:
	If any come, Hector shall honour him;
	If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,
	The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
	The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

AGAMEMNON	This shall be told our lovers, Lord AEneas;
	If none of them have soul in such a kind,
	We left them all at home: but we are soldiers;
	And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,
	That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
	If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
	That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

NESTOR	Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
	When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now;
	But if there be not in our Grecian host
	One noble man that hath one spark of fire,
	To answer for his love, tell him from me
	I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver
	And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,
	And meeting him will tell him that my lady
	Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste
	As may be in the world: his youth in flood,
	I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.

AENEAS	Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

ULYSSES	Amen.

AGAMEMNON	Fair Lord AEneas, let me touch your hand;
	To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
	Achilles shall have word of this intent;
	So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent:
	Yourself shall feast with us before you go
	And find the welcome of a noble foe.

	[Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR]

ULYSSES	Nestor!

NESTOR	What says Ulysses?

ULYSSES	I have a young conception in my brain;
	Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

NESTOR	What is't?

ULYSSES	This 'tis:
	Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride
	That hath to this maturity blown up
	In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd,
	Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
	To overbulk us all.

NESTOR	Well, and how?

ULYSSES	This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
	However it is spread in general name,
	Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

NESTOR	The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
	Whose grossness little characters sum up:
	And, in the publication, make no strain,
	But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
	As banks of Libya,--though, Apollo knows,
	'Tis dry enough,--will, with great speed of judgment,
	Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
	Pointing on him.

ULYSSES	And wake him to the answer, think you?

NESTOR	Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,
	That can from Hector bring his honour off,
	If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,
	Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
	For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
	With their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
	Our imputation shall be oddly poised
	In this wild action; for the success,
	Although particular, shall give a scantling
	Of good or bad unto the general;
	And in such indexes, although small pricks
	To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
	The baby figure of the giant mass
	Of things to come at large. It is supposed
	He that meets Hector issues from our choice
	And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
	Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
	As 'twere from us all, a man distill'd
	Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
	What heart receives from hence the conquering part,
	To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
	Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
	In no less working than are swords and bows
	Directive by the limbs.

ULYSSES	Give pardon to my speech:
	Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
	Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
	And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
	The lustre of the better yet to show,
	Shall show the better. Do not consent
	That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
	For both our honour and our shame in this
	Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

NESTOR	I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?

ULYSSES	What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
	Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
	But he already is too insolent;
	And we were better parch in Afric sun
	Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
	Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd,
	Why then, we did our main opinion crush
	In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
	And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
	The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
	Give him allowance for the better man;
	For that will physic the great Myrmidon
	Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
	His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
	If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
	We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
	Yet go we under our opinion still
	That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
	Our project's life this shape of sense assumes:
	Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.

NESTOR	Ulysses,
	Now I begin to relish thy advice;
	And I will give a taste of it forthwith
	To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
	Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
	Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE I	A part of the Grecian camp.


	[Enter AJAX and THERSITES]

AJAX	Thersites!

THERSITES	Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all over,
	generally?

AJAX	Thersites!

THERSITES	And those boils did run? say so: did not the
	general run then? were not that a botchy core?

AJAX	Dog!

THERSITES	Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.

AJAX	Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear?

	[Beating him]

	Feel, then.

THERSITES	The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
	beef-witted lord!

AJAX	Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will
	beat thee into handsomeness.

THERSITES	I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but,
	I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration than
	thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike,
	canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

AJAX	Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

THERSITES	Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

AJAX	The proclamation!

THERSITES	Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.

AJAX	Do not, porpentine, do not: my fingers itch.

THERSITES	I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had
	the scratching of thee; I would make thee the
	loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in
	the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

AJAX	I say, the proclamation!

THERSITES	Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles,
	and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as
	Cerberus is at Proserpine's beauty, ay, that thou
	barkest at him.

AJAX	Mistress Thersites!

THERSITES	Thou shouldest strike him.

AJAX	Cobloaf!

THERSITES	He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
	sailor breaks a biscuit.

AJAX	[Beating him]  You whoreson cur!

THERSITES	Do, do.

AJAX	Thou stool for a witch!

THERSITES	Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no
	more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego
	may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art
	here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and
	sold among those of any wit, like a barbarian slave.
	If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and
	tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no
	bowels, thou!

AJAX	You dog!

THERSITES	You scurvy lord!

AJAX	[Beating him]  You cur!

THERSITES	Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

	[Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

ACHILLES	Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you thus? How now,
	Thersites! what's the matter, man?

THERSITES	You see him there, do you?

ACHILLES	Ay; what's the matter?

THERSITES	Nay, look upon him.

ACHILLES	So I do: what's the matter?

THERSITES	Nay, but regard him well.

ACHILLES	'Well!' why, I do so.

THERSITES	But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever you
	take him to be, he is Ajax.

ACHILLES	I know that, fool.

THERSITES	Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

AJAX	Therefore I beat thee.

THERSITES	Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his
	evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his
	brain more than he has beat my bones: I will buy
	nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not
	worth the nineth part of a sparrow. This lord,
	Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly and
	his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of
	him.

ACHILLES	What?

THERSITES	I say, this Ajax--

	[Ajax offers to beat him]

ACHILLES	Nay, good Ajax.

THERSITES	Has not so much wit--

ACHILLES	Nay, I must hold you.

THERSITES	As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he
	comes to fight.

ACHILLES	Peace, fool!

THERSITES	I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will
	not: he there: that he: look you there.

AJAX	O thou damned cur! I shall--

ACHILLES	Will you set your wit to a fool's?

THERSITES	No, I warrant you; for a fools will shame it.

PATROCLUS	Good words, Thersites.

ACHILLES	What's the quarrel?

AJAX	I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of the
	proclamation, and he rails upon me.

THERSITES	I serve thee not.

AJAX	Well, go to, go to.

THERSITES	I serve here voluntarily.

ACHILLES	Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not
	voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was
	here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

THERSITES	E'en so; a great deal of your wit, too, lies in your
	sinews, or else there be liars. Hector have a great
	catch, if he knock out either of your brains: a'
	were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

ACHILLES	What, with me too, Thersites?

THERSITES	There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose wit was mouldy
	ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, yoke you
	like draught-oxen and make you plough up the wars.

ACHILLES	What, what?

THERSITES	Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!

AJAX	I shall cut out your tongue.

THERSITES	'Tis no matter! I shall speak as much as thou
	afterwards.

PATROCLUS	No more words, Thersites; peace!

THERSITES	I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I?

ACHILLES	There's for you, Patroclus.

THERSITES	I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come
	any more to your tents: I will keep where there is
	wit stirring and leave the faction of fools.

	[Exit]

PATROCLUS	A good riddance.

ACHILLES	Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host:
	That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
	Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy
	To-morrow morning call some knight to arms
	That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
	Maintain--I know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell.

AJAX	Farewell. Who shall answer him?

ACHILLES	I know not: 'tis put to lottery; otherwise
	He knew his man.

AJAX	O, meaning you. I will go learn more of it.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE II	Troy. A room in Priam's palace.


	[Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS]

PRIAM	After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
	Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
	'Deliver Helen, and all damage else--
	As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
	Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed
	In hot digestion of this cormorant war--
	Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't?

HECTOR	Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I
	As far as toucheth my particular,
	Yet, dread Priam,
	There is no lady of more softer bowels,
	More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
	More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?'
	Than Hector is: the wound of peace is surety,
	Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
	The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
	To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
	Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
	Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,
	Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:
	If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
	To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us,
	Had it our name, the value of one ten,
	What merit's in that reason which denies
	The yielding of her up?

TROILUS	Fie, fie, my brother!
	Weigh you the worth and honour of a king
	So great as our dread father in a scale
	Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
	The past proportion of his infinite?
	And buckle in a waist most fathomless
	With spans and inches so diminutive
	As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!

HELENUS	No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
	You are so empty of them. Should not our father
	Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
	Because your speech hath none that tells him so?

TROILUS	You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
	You fur your gloves with reason. Here are
	your reasons:
	You know an enemy intends you harm;
	You know a sword employ'd is perilous,
	And reason flies the object of all harm:
	Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
	A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
	The very wings of reason to his heels
	And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
	Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason,
	Let's shut our gates and sleep: manhood and honour
	Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat
	their thoughts
	With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
	Make livers pale and lustihood deject.

HECTOR	Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
	The holding.

TROILUS	                  What is aught, but as 'tis valued?

HECTOR	But value dwells not in particular will;
	It holds his estimate and dignity
	As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
	As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry
	To make the service greater than the god
	And the will dotes that is attributive
	To what infectiously itself affects,
	Without some image of the affected merit.

TROILUS	I take to-day a wife, and my election
	Is led on in the conduct of my will;
	My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
	Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
	Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
	Although my will distaste what it elected,
	The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
	To blench from this and to stand firm by honour:
	We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
	When we have soil'd them, nor the remainder viands
	We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
	Because we now are full. It was thought meet
	Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
	Your breath of full consent bellied his sails;
	The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce
	And did him service: he touch'd the ports desired,
	And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive,
	He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
	Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
	Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
	Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
	Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
	And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
	If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went--
	As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go,'--
	If you'll confess he brought home noble prize--
	As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands
	And cried 'Inestimable!'--why do you now
	The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
	And do a deed that fortune never did,
	Beggar the estimation which you prized
	Richer than sea and land? O, theft most base,
	That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep!
	But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n,
	That in their country did them that disgrace,
	We fear to warrant in our native place!

CASSANDRA	[Within]  Cry, Trojans, cry!

PRIAM	What noise? what shriek is this?

TROILUS	'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

CASSANDRA	[Within]  Cry, Trojans!

HECTOR	It is Cassandra.

	[Enter CASSANDRA, raving]

CASSANDRA	Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes,
	And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

HECTOR	Peace, sister, peace!

CASSANDRA	Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
	Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
	Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
	A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
	Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
	Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
	Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
	Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe:
	Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

	[Exit]

HECTOR	Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
	Of divination in our sister work
	Some touches of remorse? or is your blood
	So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
	Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
	Can qualify the same?

TROILUS	Why, brother Hector,
	We may not think the justness of each act
	Such and no other than event doth form it,
	Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
	Because Cassandra's mad: her brain-sick raptures
	Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
	Which hath our several honours all engaged
	To make it gracious. For my private part,
	I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons:
	And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
	Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
	To fight for and maintain!

PARIS	Else might the world convince of levity
	As well my undertakings as your counsels:
	But I attest the gods, your full consent
	Gave wings to my propension and cut off
	All fears attending on so dire a project.
	For what, alas, can these my single arms?
	What Propugnation is in one man's valour,
	To stand the push and enmity of those
	This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
	Were I alone to pass the difficulties
	And had as ample power as I have will,
	Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done,
	Nor faint in the pursuit.

PRIAM	Paris, you speak
	Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
	You have the honey still, but these the gall;
	So to be valiant is no praise at all.

PARIS	Sir, I propose not merely to myself
	The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
	But I would have the soil of her fair rape
	Wiped off, in honourable keeping her.
	What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
	Disgrace to your great worths and shame to me,
	Now to deliver her possession up
	On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
	That so degenerate a strain as this
	Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
	There's not the meanest spirit on our party
	Without a heart to dare or sword to draw
	When Helen is defended, nor none so noble
	Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfamed
	Where Helen is the subject; then, I say,
	Well may we fight for her whom, we know well,
	The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

HECTOR	Paris and Troilus, you have both said well,
	And on the cause and question now in hand
	Have glozed, but superficially: not much
	Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought
	Unfit to hear moral philosophy:
	The reasons you allege do more conduce
	To the hot passion of distemper'd blood
	Than to make up a free determination
	'Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and revenge
	Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
	Of any true decision. Nature craves
	All dues be render'd to their owners: now,
	What nearer debt in all humanity
	Than wife is to the husband? If this law
	Of nature be corrupted through affection,
	And that great minds, of partial indulgence
	To their benumbed wills, resist the same,
	There is a law in each well-order'd nation
	To curb those raging appetites that are
	Most disobedient and refractory.
	If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,
	As it is known she is, these moral laws
	Of nature and of nations speak aloud
	To have her back return'd: thus to persist
	In doing wrong extenuates not wrong,
	But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
	Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless,
	My spritely brethren, I propend to you
	In resolution to keep Helen still,
	For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
	Upon our joint and several dignities.

TROILUS	Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
	Were it not glory that we more affected
	Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
	I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
	Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
	She is a theme of honour and renown,
	A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
	Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
	And fame in time to come canonize us;
	For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
	So rich advantage of a promised glory
	As smiles upon the forehead of this action
	For the wide world's revenue.

HECTOR	I am yours,
	You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
	I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
	The dun and factious nobles of the Greeks
	Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:
	I was advertised their great general slept,
	Whilst emulation in the army crept:
	This, I presume, will wake him.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE III	The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


	[Enter THERSITES, solus]

THERSITES	How now, Thersites! what lost in the labyrinth of
	thy fury! Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He
	beats me, and I rail at him: O, worthy satisfaction!
	would it were otherwise; that I could beat him,
	whilst he railed at me. 'Sfoot, I'll learn to
	conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of
	my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a
	rare enginer! If Troy be not taken till these two
	undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of
	themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
	forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods and,
	Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy
	caduceus, if ye take not that little, little less
	than little wit from them that they have! which
	short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant
	scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
	from a spider, without drawing their massy irons and
	cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the
	whole camp! or rather, the bone-ache! for that,
	methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war
	for a placket. I have said my prayers and devil Envy
	say Amen. What ho! my Lord Achilles!

	[Enter PATROCLUS]

PATROCLUS	Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.

THERSITES	If I could have remembered a gilt counterfeit, thou
	wouldst not have slipped out of my contemplation: but
	it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common
	curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in
	great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and
	discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy
	direction till thy death! then if she that lays thee
	out says thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and
	sworn upon't she never shrouded any but lazars.
	Amen. Where's Achilles?

PATROCLUS	What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?

THERSITES	Ay: the heavens hear me!

	[Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES	Who's there?

PATROCLUS	Thersites, my lord.

ACHILLES	Where, where? Art thou come? why, my cheese, my
	digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to
	my table so many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?

THERSITES	Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus,
	what's Achilles?

PATROCLUS	Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray thee,
	what's thyself?

THERSITES	Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus,
	what art thou?

PATROCLUS	Thou mayst tell that knowest.

ACHILLES	O, tell, tell.

THERSITES	I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands
	Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus'
	knower, and Patroclus is a fool.

PATROCLUS	You rascal!

THERSITES	Peace, fool! I have not done.

ACHILLES	He is a privileged man. Proceed, Thersites.

THERSITES	Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites
	is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.

ACHILLES	Derive this; come.

THERSITES	Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles;
	Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon;
	Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and
	Patroclus is a fool positive.

PATROCLUS	Why am I a fool?

THERSITES	Make that demand of the prover. It suffices me thou
	art. Look you, who comes here?

ACHILLES	Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody.
	Come in with me, Thersites.

	[Exit]

THERSITES	Here is such patchery, such juggling and such
	knavery! all the argument is a cuckold and a
	whore; a good quarrel to draw emulous factions
	and bleed to death upon. Now, the dry serpigo on
	the subject! and war and lechery confound all!

	[Exit]

	[Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, and AJAX]

AGAMEMNON	Where is Achilles?

PATROCLUS	Within his tent; but ill disposed, my lord.

AGAMEMNON	Let it be known to him that we are here.
	He shent our messengers; and we lay by
	Our appertainments, visiting of him:
	Let him be told so; lest perchance he think
	We dare not move the question of our place,
	Or know not what we are.

PATROCLUS	I shall say so to him.

	[Exit]

ULYSSES	We saw him at the opening of his tent:
	He is not sick.

AJAX	Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you may call it
	melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my
	head, 'tis pride: but why, why? let him show us the
	cause. A word, my lord.

	[Takes AGAMEMNON aside]

NESTOR	What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

ULYSSES	Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.

NESTOR	Who, Thersites?

ULYSSES	He.

NESTOR	Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.

ULYSSES	No, you see, he is his argument that has his
	argument, Achilles.

NESTOR	All the better; their fraction is more our wish than
	their faction: but it was a strong composure a fool
	could disunite.

ULYSSES	The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily
	untie. Here comes Patroclus.

	[Re-enter PATROCLUS]

NESTOR	No Achilles with him.

ULYSSES	The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy:
	his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

PATROCLUS	Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
	If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
	Did move your greatness and this noble state
	To call upon him; he hopes it is no other
	But for your health and your digestion sake,
	And after-dinner's breath.

AGAMEMNON	Hear you, Patroclus:
	We are too well acquainted with these answers:
	But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
	Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
	Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
	Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his virtues,
	Not virtuously on his own part beheld,
	Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss,
	Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
	Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
	We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin,
	If you do say we think him over-proud
	And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
	Than in the note of judgment; and worthier
	than himself
	Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
	Disguise the holy strength of their command,
	And underwrite in an observing kind
	His humorous predominance; yea, watch
	His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
	The passage and whole carriage of this action
	Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
	That if he overhold his price so much,
	We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
	Not portable, lie under this report:
	'Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
	A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
	Before a sleeping giant.' Tell him so.

PATROCLUS	I shall; and bring his answer presently.

	[Exit]

AGAMEMNON	In second voice we'll not be satisfied;
	We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.

	[Exit ULYSSES]

AJAX	What is he more than another?

AGAMEMNON	No more than what he thinks he is.

AJAX	Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a
	better man than I am?

AGAMEMNON	No question.

AJAX	Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is?

AGAMEMNON	No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as
	wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether
	more tractable.

AJAX	Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I
	know not what pride is.

AGAMEMNON	Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the
	fairer. He that is proud eats up himself: pride is
	his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle;
	and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours
	the deed in the praise.

AJAX	I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

NESTOR	Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?

	[Aside]

	[Re-enter ULYSSES]

ULYSSES	Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

AGAMEMNON	What's his excuse?

ULYSSES	                  He doth rely on none,
	But carries on the stream of his dispose
	Without observance or respect of any,
	In will peculiar and in self-admission.

AGAMEMNON	Why will he not upon our fair request
	Untent his person and share the air with us?

ULYSSES	Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
	He makes important: possess'd he is with greatness,
	And speaks not to himself but with a pride
	That quarrels at self-breath: imagined worth
	Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse
	That 'twixt his mental and his active parts
	Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages
	And batters down himself: what should I say?
	He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it
	Cry 'No recovery.'

AGAMEMNON	                  Let Ajax go to him.
	Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent:
	'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led
	At your request a little from himself.

ULYSSES	O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
	We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
	When they go from Achilles: shall the proud lord
	That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
	And never suffers matter of the world
	Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve
	And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd
	Of that we hold an idol more than he?
	No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
	Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired;
	Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
	As amply titled as Achilles is,
	By going to Achilles:
	That were to enlard his fat already pride
	And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
	With entertaining great Hyperion.
	This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
	And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.'

NESTOR	[Aside to DIOMEDES]  O, this is well; he rubs the
	vein of him.

DIOMEDES	[Aside to NESTOR]  And how his silence drinks up
	this applause!

AJAX	If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the face.

AGAMEMNON	O, no, you shall not go.

AJAX	An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride:
	Let me go to him.

ULYSSES	Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

AJAX	A paltry, insolent fellow!

NESTOR	How he describes himself!

AJAX	Can he not be sociable?

ULYSSES	The raven chides blackness.

AJAX	I'll let his humours blood.

AGAMEMNON	He will be the physician that should be the patient.

AJAX	An all men were o' my mind,--

ULYSSES	Wit would be out of fashion.

AJAX	A' should not bear it so, a' should eat swords first:
	shall pride carry it?

NESTOR	An 'twould, you'ld carry half.

ULYSSES	A' would have ten shares.

AJAX	I will knead him; I'll make him supple.

NESTOR	He's not yet through warm: force him with praises:
	pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

ULYSSES	[To AGAMEMNON]  My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

NESTOR	Our noble general, do not do so.

DIOMEDES	You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

ULYSSES	Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
	Here is a man--but 'tis before his face;
	I will be silent.

NESTOR	                  Wherefore should you so?
	He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

ULYSSES	Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

AJAX	A whoreson dog, that shall pelter thus with us!
	Would he were a Trojan!

NESTOR	What a vice were it in Ajax now,--

ULYSSES	If he were proud,--

DIOMEDES	Or covetous of praise,--

ULYSSES	Ay, or surly borne,--

DIOMEDES	Or strange, or self-affected!

ULYSSES	Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
	Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
	Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
	Thrice famed, beyond all erudition:
	But he that disciplined thy arms to fight,
	Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
	And give him half: and, for thy vigour,
	Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
	To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
	Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
	Thy spacious and dilated parts: here's Nestor;
	Instructed by the antiquary times,
	He must, he is, he cannot but be wise:
	Put pardon, father Nestor, were your days
	As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd,
	You should not have the eminence of him,
	But be as Ajax.

AJAX	                  Shall I call you father?

NESTOR	Ay, my good son.

DIOMEDES	                  Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.

ULYSSES	There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
	Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
	To call together all his state of war;
	Fresh kings are come to Troy: to-morrow
	We must with all our main of power stand fast:
	And here's a lord,--come knights from east to west,
	And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

AGAMEMNON	Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
	Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE I	Troy. Priam's palace.


	[Enter a Servant and PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow
	the young Lord Paris?

Servant	Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

PANDARUS	You depend upon him, I mean?

Servant	Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

PANDARUS	You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs
	praise him.

Servant	The lord be praised!

PANDARUS	You know me, do you not?

Servant	Faith, sir, superficially.

PANDARUS	Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.

Servant	I hope I shall know your honour better.

PANDARUS	I do desire it.

Servant	You are in the state of grace.

PANDARUS	Grace! not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles.

	[Music within]

	What music is this?

Servant	I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.

PANDARUS	Know you the musicians?

Servant	Wholly, sir.

PANDARUS	Who play they to?

Servant	To the hearers, sir.

PANDARUS	At whose pleasure, friend

Servant	At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.

PANDARUS	Command, I mean, friend.

Servant	Who shall I command, sir?

PANDARUS	Friend, we understand not one another: I am too
	courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request
	do these men play?

Servant	That's to 't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request
	of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him,
	the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's
	invisible soul,--

PANDARUS	Who, my cousin Cressida?

Servant	No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her
	attributes?

PANDARUS	It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the
	Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the
	Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault
	upon him, for my business seethes.

Servant	Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed!

	[Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended]

PANDARUS	Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
	company! fair desires, in all fair measure,
	fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen!
	fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

HELEN	Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

PANDARUS	You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair
	prince, here is good broken music.

PARIS	You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you
	shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out
	with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full
	of harmony.

PANDARUS	Truly, lady, no.

HELEN	O, sir,--

PANDARUS	Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

PARIS	Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.

PANDARUS	I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord,
	will you vouchsafe me a word?

HELEN	Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you
	sing, certainly.

PANDARUS	Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But,
	marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed
	friend, your brother Troilus,--

HELEN	My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,--

PANDARUS	Go to, sweet queen, to go:--commends himself most
	affectionately to you,--

HELEN	You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,
	our melancholy upon your head!

PANDARUS	Sweet queen, sweet queen! that's a sweet queen, i' faith.

HELEN	And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.

PANDARUS	Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall not,
	in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no,
	no. And, my lord, he desires you, that if the king
	call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

HELEN	My Lord Pandarus,--

PANDARUS	What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

PARIS	What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?

HELEN	Nay, but, my lord,--

PANDARUS	What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out
	with you. You must not know where he sups.

PARIS	I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

PANDARUS	No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your
	disposer is sick.

PARIS	Well, I'll make excuse.

PANDARUS	Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,
	your poor disposer's sick.

PARIS	I spy.

PANDARUS	You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an
	instrument. Now, sweet queen.

HELEN	Why, this is kindly done.

PANDARUS	My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have,
	sweet queen.

HELEN	She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

PANDARUS	He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.

HELEN	Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

PANDARUS	Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing
	you a song now.

HELEN	Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou
	hast a fine forehead.

PANDARUS	Ay, you may, you may.

HELEN	Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
	O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

PANDARUS	Love! ay, that it shall, i' faith.

PARIS	Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

PANDARUS	In good troth, it begins so.

	[Sings]

	Love, love, nothing but love, still more!
	For, O, love's bow
	Shoots buck and doe:
	The shaft confounds,
	Not that it wounds,
	But tickles still the sore.
	These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!
	Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
	Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
	So dying love lives still:
	Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
	Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
	Heigh-ho!

HELEN	In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.

PARIS	He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot
	blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
	thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

PANDARUS	Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot
	thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers:
	is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's
	a-field to-day?

PARIS	Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
	gallantry of Troy: I  would fain have armed to-day,
	but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my
	brother Troilus went not?

HELEN	He hangs the lip at something: you know all, Lord Pandarus.

PANDARUS	Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they
	sped to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?

PARIS	To a hair.

PANDARUS	Farewell, sweet queen.

HELEN	Commend me to your niece.

PANDARUS	I will, sweet queen.

	[Exit]

	[A retreat sounded]

PARIS	They're come from field: let us to Priam's hall,
	To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
	To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
	With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
	Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
	Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
	Than all the island kings,--disarm great Hector.

HELEN	'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
	Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
	Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
	Yea, overshines ourself.

PARIS	Sweet, above thought I love thee.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE II	The same. Pandarus' orchard.


	[Enter PANDARUS and Troilus's Boy, meeting]

PANDARUS	How now! where's thy master? at my cousin
	Cressida's?

Boy	No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.

PANDARUS	O, here he comes.

	[Enter TROILUS]

	How now, how now!

TROILUS	Sirrah, walk off.

	[Exit Boy]

PANDARUS	Have you seen my cousin?

TROILUS	No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door,
	Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
	Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
	And give me swift transportance to those fields
	Where I may wallow in the lily-beds
	Proposed for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus,
	From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings
	And fly with me to Cressid!

PANDARUS	Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring her straight.

	[Exit]

TROILUS	I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
	The imaginary relish is so sweet
	That it enchants my sense: what will it be,
	When that the watery palate tastes indeed
	Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me,
	Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine,
	Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness,
	For the capacity of my ruder powers:
	I fear it much; and I do fear besides,
	That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
	As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
	The enemy flying.

	[Re-enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	She's making her ready, she'll come straight: you
	must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches
	her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a
	sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest
	villain: she fetches her breath as short as a
	new-ta'en sparrow.

	[Exit]

TROILUS	Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom:
	My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse;
	And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
	Like vassalage at unawares encountering
	The eye of majesty.

	[Re-enter PANDARUS with CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS	Come, come, what need you blush? shame's a baby.
	Here she is now: swear the oaths now to her that
	you have sworn to me. What, are you gone again?
	you must be watched ere you be made tame, must you?
	Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw backward,
	we'll put you i' the fills. Why do you not speak to
	her? Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your
	picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend
	daylight! an 'twere dark, you'ld close sooner.
	So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now!
	a kiss in fee-farm! build there, carpenter; the air
	is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere
	I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the
	ducks i' the river: go to, go to.

TROILUS	You have bereft me of all words, lady.

PANDARUS	Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll
	bereave you o' the deeds too, if she call your
	activity in question. What, billing again? Here's
	'In witness whereof the parties interchangeably'--
	Come in, come in: I'll go get a fire.

	[Exit]

CRESSIDA	Will you walk in, my lord?

TROILUS	O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus!

CRESSIDA	Wished, my lord! The gods grant,--O my lord!

TROILUS	What should they grant? what makes this pretty
	abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet
	lady in the fountain of our love?

CRESSIDA	More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.

TROILUS	Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly.

CRESSIDA	Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer
	footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to
	fear the worst oft cures the worse.

TROILUS	O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all Cupid's
	pageant there is presented no monster.

CRESSIDA	Nor nothing monstrous neither?

TROILUS	Nothing, but our undertakings; when we vow to weep
	seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking
	it harder for our mistress to devise imposition
	enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed.
	This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will
	is infinite and the execution confined, that the
	desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

CRESSIDA	They say all lovers swear more performance than they
	are able and yet reserve an ability that they never
	perform, vowing more than the perfection of ten and
	discharging less than the tenth part of one. They
	that have the voice of lions and the act of hares,
	are they not monsters?

TROILUS	Are there such? such are not we: praise us as we
	are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go
	bare till merit crown it: no perfection in reversion
	shall have a praise in present: we will not name
	desert before his birth, and, being born, his addition
	shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus
	shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst
	shall be a mock for his truth, and what truth can
	speak truest not truer than Troilus.

CRESSIDA	Will you walk in, my lord?

	[Re-enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	What, blushing still? have you not done talking yet?

CRESSIDA	Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.

PANDARUS	I thank you for that: if my lord get a boy of you,
	you'll give him me. Be true to my lord: if he
	flinch, chide me for it.

TROILUS	You know now your hostages; your uncle's word and my
	firm faith.

PANDARUS	Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred,
	though they be long ere they are wooed, they are
	constant being won: they are burs, I can tell you;
	they'll stick where they are thrown.

CRESSIDA	Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart.
	Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day
	For many weary months.

TROILUS	Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

CRESSIDA	Hard to seem won: but I was won, my lord,
	With the first glance that ever--pardon me--
	If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
	I love you now; but not, till now, so much
	But I might master it: in faith, I lie;
	My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
	Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
	Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us,
	When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
	But, though I loved you well, I woo'd you not;
	And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
	Or that we women had men's privilege
	Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
	For in this rapture I shall surely speak
	The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,
	Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
	My very soul of counsel! stop my mouth.

TROILUS	And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.

PANDARUS	Pretty, i' faith.

CRESSIDA	My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
	'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss:
	I am ashamed. O heavens! what have I done?
	For this time will I take my leave, my lord.

TROILUS	Your leave, sweet Cressid!

PANDARUS	Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morning,--

CRESSIDA	Pray you, content you.

TROILUS	What offends you, lady?

CRESSIDA	Sir, mine own company.

TROILUS	You cannot shun Yourself.

CRESSIDA	        Let me go and try:
	I have a kind of self resides with you;
	But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
	To be another's fool. I would be gone:
	Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.

TROILUS	Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.

CRESSIDA	Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;
	And fell so roundly to a large confession,
	To angle for your thoughts: but you are wise,
	Or else you love not, for to be wise and love
	Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.

TROILUS	O that I thought it could be in a woman--
	As, if it can, I will presume in you--
	To feed for aye her ramp and flames of love;
	To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
	Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
	That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
	Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,
	That my integrity and truth to you
	Might be affronted with the match and weight
	Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
	How were I then uplifted! but, alas!
	I am as true as truth's simplicity
	And simpler than the infancy of truth.

CRESSIDA	In that I'll war with you.

TROILUS	O virtuous fight,
	When right with right wars who shall be most right!
	True swains in love shall in the world to come
	Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes,
	Full of protest, of oath and big compare,
	Want similes, truth tired with iteration,
	As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
	As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
	As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre,
	Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
	As truth's authentic author to be cited,
	'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse,
	And sanctify the numbers.

CRESSIDA	Prophet may you be!
	If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
	When time is old and hath forgot itself,
	When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
	And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
	And mighty states characterless are grated
	To dusty nothing, yet let memory,
	From false to false, among false maids in love,
	Upbraid my falsehood! when they've said 'as false
	As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
	As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,
	Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son,'
	'Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
	'As false as Cressid.'

PANDARUS	Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll be the
	witness. Here I hold your hand, here my cousin's.
	If ever you prove false one to another, since I have
	taken such pains to bring you together, let all
	pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end
	after my name; call them all Pandars; let all
	constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids,
	and all brokers-between Pandars! say, amen.

TROILUS	Amen.

CRESSIDA	Amen.

PANDARUS	Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber with a
	bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your
	pretty encounters, press it to death: away!
	And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here
	Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear!

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE III	The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


	[Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX,
	MENELAUS, and CALCHAS]

CALCHAS	Now, princes, for the service I have done you,
	The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
	To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind
	That, through the sight I bear in things to love,
	I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
	Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself,
	From certain and possess'd conveniences,
	To doubtful fortunes; sequestering from me all
	That time, acquaintance, custom and condition
	Made tame and most familiar to my nature,
	And here, to do you service, am become
	As new into the world, strange, unacquainted:
	I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
	To give me now a little benefit,
	Out of those many register'd in promise,
	Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

AGAMEMNON	What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make demand.

CALCHAS	You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor,
	Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear.
	Oft have you--often have you thanks therefore--
	Desired my Cressid in right great exchange,
	Whom Troy hath still denied: but this Antenor,
	I know, is such a wrest in their affairs
	That their negotiations all must slack,
	Wanting his manage; and they will almost
	Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
	In change of him: let him be sent, great princes,
	And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
	Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
	In most accepted pain.

AGAMEMNON	Let Diomedes bear him,
	And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have
	What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
	Furnish you fairly for this interchange:
	Withal bring word if Hector will to-morrow
	Be answer'd in his challenge: Ajax is ready.

DIOMEDES	This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
	Which I am proud to bear.

	[Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS]

	[Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS, before their tent]

ULYSSES	Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent:
	Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
	As if he were forgot; and, princes all,
	Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:
	I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
	Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him:
	If so, I have derision medicinable,
	To use between your strangeness and his pride,
	Which his own will shall have desire to drink:
	It may be good: pride hath no other glass
	To show itself but pride, for supple knees
	Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.

AGAMEMNON	We'll execute your purpose, and put on
	A form of strangeness as we pass along:
	So do each lord, and either greet him not,
	Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
	Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.

ACHILLES	What, comes the general to speak with me?
	You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

AGAMEMNON	What says Achilles? would he aught with us?

NESTOR	Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

ACHILLES	No.

NESTOR	Nothing, my lord.

AGAMEMNON	The better.

	[Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR]

ACHILLES	Good day, good day.

MENELAUS	How do you? how do you?

	[Exit]

ACHILLES	What, does the cuckold scorn me?

AJAX	How now, Patroclus!

ACHILLES	Good morrow, Ajax.

AJAX	Ha?

ACHILLES	Good morrow.

AJAX	Ay, and good next day too.

	[Exit]

ACHILLES	What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?

PATROCLUS	They pass by strangely: they were used to bend
	To send their smiles before them to Achilles;
	To come as humbly as they used to creep
	To holy altars.

ACHILLES	                  What, am I poor of late?
	'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
	Must fall out with men too: what the declined is
	He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
	As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,
	Show not their mealy wings but to the summer,
	And not a man, for being simply man,
	Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
	That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
	Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
	Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
	The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
	Do one pluck down another and together
	Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
	Fortune and I are friends: I do enjoy
	At ample point all that I did possess,
	Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
	Something not worth in me such rich beholding
	As they have often given. Here is Ulysses;
	I'll interrupt his reading.
	How now Ulysses!

ULYSSES	                  Now, great Thetis' son!

ACHILLES	What are you reading?

ULYSSES	A strange fellow here
	Writes me: 'That man, how dearly ever parted,
	How much in having, or without or in,
	Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
	Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
	As when his virtues shining upon others
	Heat them and they retort that heat again
	To the first giver.'

ACHILLES	This is not strange, Ulysses.
	The beauty that is borne here in the face
	The bearer knows not, but commends itself
	To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself,
	That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself,
	Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed
	Salutes each other with each other's form;
	For speculation turns not to itself,
	Till it hath travell'd and is mirror'd there
	Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.

ULYSSES	I do not strain at the position,--
	It is familiar,--but at the author's drift;
	Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves
	That no man is the lord of any thing,
	Though in and of him there be much consisting,
	Till he communicate his parts to others:
	Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
	Till he behold them form'd in the applause
	Where they're extended; who, like an arch,
	reverberates
	The voice again, or, like a gate of steel
	Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
	His figure and his heat.  I was much wrapt in this;
	And apprehended here immediately
	The unknown Ajax.
	Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse,
	That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are
	Most abject in regard and dear in use!
	What things again most dear in the esteem
	And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow--
	An act that very chance doth throw upon him--
	Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
	While some men leave to do!
	How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
	Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
	How one man eats into another's pride,
	While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
	To see these Grecian lords!--why, even already
	They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
	As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast
	And great Troy shrieking.

ACHILLES	I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
	As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me
	Good word nor look: what, are my deeds forgot?

ULYSSES	Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
	Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
	A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
	Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
	As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
	As done: perseverance, dear my lord,
	Keeps honour bright: to have done is to hang
	Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
	In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
	For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
	Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path;
	For emulation hath a thousand sons
	That one by one pursue: if you give way,
	Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
	Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by
	And leave you hindmost;
	Or like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
	Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
	O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present,
	Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
	For time is like a fashionable host
	That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
	And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
	Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles,
	And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not
	virtue seek
	Remuneration for the thing it was;
	For beauty, wit,
	High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
	Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
	To envious and calumniating time.
	One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,
	That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
	Though they are made and moulded of things past,
	And give to dust that is a little gilt
	More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
	The present eye praises the present object.
	Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
	That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
	Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
	Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
	And still it might, and yet it may again,
	If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive
	And case thy reputation in thy tent;
	Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
	Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves
	And drave great Mars to faction.

ACHILLES	Of this my privacy
	I have strong reasons.

ULYSSES	But 'gainst your privacy
	The reasons are more potent and heroical:
	'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
	With one of Priam's daughters.

ACHILLES	Ha! known!

ULYSSES	Is that a wonder?
	The providence that's in a watchful state
	Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold,
	Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps,
	Keeps place with thought and almost, like the gods,
	Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
	There is a mystery--with whom relation
	Durst never meddle--in the soul of state;
	Which hath an operation more divine
	Than breath or pen can give expressure to:
	All the commerce that you have had with Troy
	As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;
	And better would it fit Achilles much
	To throw down Hector than Polyxena:
	But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
	When fame shall in our islands sound her trump,
	And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,
	'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win,
	But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.'
	Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;
	The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.

	[Exit]

PATROCLUS	To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you:
	A woman impudent and mannish grown
	Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
	In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
	They think my little stomach to the war
	And your great love to me restrains you thus:
	Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
	Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
	And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
	Be shook to air.

ACHILLES	                  Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

PATROCLUS	Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.

ACHILLES	I see my reputation is at stake
	My fame is shrewdly gored.

PATROCLUS	O, then, beware;
	Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves:
	Omission to do what is necessary
	Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
	And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
	Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

ACHILLES	Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus:
	I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him
	To invite the Trojan lords after the combat
	To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing,
	An appetite that I am sick withal,
	To see great Hector in his weeds of peace,
	To talk with him and to behold his visage,
	Even to my full of view.

	[Enter THERSITES]

		   A labour saved!

THERSITES	A wonder!

ACHILLES	What?

THERSITES	Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

ACHILLES	How so?

THERSITES	He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so
	prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he
	raves in saying nothing.

ACHILLES	How can that be?

THERSITES	Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,--a stride
	and a stand: ruminates like an hostess that hath no
	arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning:
	bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should
	say 'There were wit in this head, an 'twould out;'
	and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire
	in a flint, which will not show without knocking.
	The man's undone forever; for if Hector break not his
	neck i' the combat, he'll break 't himself in
	vain-glory. He knows not me: I said 'Good morrow,
	Ajax;' and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think
	you of this man that takes me for the general? He's
	grown a very land-fish, language-less, a monster.
	A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both
	sides, like a leather jerkin.

ACHILLES	Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

THERSITES	Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not
	answering: speaking is for beggars; he wears his
	tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence: let
	Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the
	pageant of Ajax.

ACHILLES	To him, Patroclus; tell him I humbly desire the
	valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector
	to come unarmed to my tent, and to procure
	safe-conduct for his person of the magnanimous
	and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honoured
	captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon,
	et cetera. Do this.

PATROCLUS	Jove bless great Ajax!

THERSITES	Hum!

PATROCLUS	I come from the worthy Achilles,--

THERSITES	Ha!

PATROCLUS	Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent,--

THERSITES	Hum!

PATROCLUS	And to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon.

THERSITES	Agamemnon!

PATROCLUS	Ay, my lord.

THERSITES	Ha!

PATROCLUS	What say you to't?

THERSITES	God b' wi' you, with all my heart.

PATROCLUS	Your answer, sir.

THERSITES	If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will
	go one way or other: howsoever, he shall pay for me
	ere he has me.

PATROCLUS	Your answer, sir.

THERSITES	Fare you well, with all my heart.

ACHILLES	Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

THERSITES	No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in
	him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know
	not; but, I am sure, none, unless the fiddler Apollo
	get his sinews to make catlings on.

ACHILLES	Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

THERSITES	Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more
	capable creature.

ACHILLES	My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
	And I myself see not the bottom of it.

	[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

THERSITES	Would the fountain of your mind were clear again,
	that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a
	tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance.

	[Exit]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE I	Troy. A street.


	[Enter, from one side, AENEAS, and Servant with a
	torch; from the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR,
	DIOMEDES, and others, with torches]

PARIS	See, ho! who is that there?

DEIPHOBUS	It is the Lord AEneas.

AENEAS	Is the prince there in person?
	Had I so good occasion to lie long
	As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
	Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

DIOMEDES	That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord AEneas.

PARIS	A valiant Greek, AEneas,--take his hand,--
	Witness the process of your speech, wherein
	You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
	Did haunt you in the field.

AENEAS	Health to you, valiant sir,
	During all question of the gentle truce;
	But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
	As heart can think or courage execute.

DIOMEDES	The one and other Diomed embraces.
	Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health!
	But when contention and occasion meet,
	By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life
	With all my force, pursuit and policy.

AENEAS	And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
	With his face backward. In humane gentleness,
	Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
	Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
	No man alive can love in such a sort
	The thing he means to kill more excellently.

DIOMEDES	We sympathize: Jove, let AEneas live,
	If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
	A thousand complete courses of the sun!
	But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
	With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!

AENEAS	We know each other well.

DIOMEDES	We do; and long to know each other worse.

PARIS	This is the most despiteful gentle greeting,
	The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
	What business, lord, so early?

AENEAS	I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not.

PARIS	His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek
	To Calchas' house, and there to render him,
	For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid:
	Let's have your company, or, if you please,
	Haste there before us: I constantly do think--
	Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge--
	My brother Troilus lodges there to-night:
	Rouse him and give him note of our approach.
	With the whole quality wherefore: I fear
	We shall be much unwelcome.

AENEAS	That I assure you:
	Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
	Than Cressid borne from Troy.

PARIS	There is no help;
	The bitter disposition of the time
	Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.

AENEAS	Good morrow, all.

	[Exit with Servant]

PARIS	And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,
	Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,
	Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best,
	Myself or Menelaus?

DIOMEDES	Both alike:
	He merits well to have her, that doth seek her,
	Not making any scruple of her soilure,
	With such a hell of pain and world of charge,
	And you as well to keep her, that defend her,
	Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
	With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
	He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
	The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
	You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
	Are pleased to breed out your inheritors:
	Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more;
	But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

PARIS	You are too bitter to your countrywoman.

DIOMEDES	She's bitter to her country: hear me, Paris:
	For every false drop in her bawdy veins
	A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
	Of her contaminated carrion weight,
	A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
	She hath not given so many good words breath
	As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

PARIS	Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
	Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
	But we in silence hold this virtue well,
	We'll but commend what we intend to sell.
	Here lies our way.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same. Court of Pandarus' house.


	[Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA]

TROILUS	Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold.

CRESSIDA	Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
	He shall unbolt the gates.

TROILUS	Trouble him not;
	To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
	And give as soft attachment to thy senses
	As infants' empty of all thought!

CRESSIDA	Good morrow, then.

TROILUS	I prithee now, to bed.

CRESSIDA	Are you a-weary of me?

TROILUS	O Cressida! but that the busy day,
	Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,
	And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
	I would not from thee.

CRESSIDA	Night hath been too brief.

TROILUS	Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
	As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
	With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
	You will catch cold, and curse me.

CRESSIDA	Prithee, tarry:
	You men will never tarry.
	O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
	And then you would have tarried. Hark!
	there's one up.

PANDARUS	[Within]  What, 's all the doors open here?

TROILUS	It is your uncle.

CRESSIDA	A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking:
	I shall have such a life!

	[Enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	How now, how now! how go maidenheads? Here, you
	maid! where's my cousin Cressid?

CRESSIDA	Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
	You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.

PANDARUS	To do what? to do what? let her say
	what: what have I brought you to do?

CRESSIDA	Come, come, beshrew your heart! you'll ne'er be good,
	Nor suffer others.

PANDARUS	Ha! ha! Alas, poor wretch! ah, poor capocchia!
	hast not slept to-night? would he not, a naughty
	man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him!

CRESSIDA	Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' the head!

	[Knocking within]

	Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.
	My lord, come you again into my chamber:
	You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

TROILUS	Ha, ha!

CRESSIDA	Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing.

	[Knocking within]

	How earnestly they knock! Pray you, come in:
	I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

	[Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS	Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat
	down the door? How now! what's the matter?

	[Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS	Good morrow, lord, good morrow.

PANDARUS	Who's there? my Lord AEneas! By my troth,
	I knew you not: what news with you so early?

AENEAS	Is not Prince Troilus here?

PANDARUS	Here! what should he do here?

AENEAS	Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him:
	It doth import him much to speak with me.

PANDARUS	Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, I'll
	be sworn: for my own part, I came in late. What
	should he do here?

AENEAS	Who!--nay, then: come, come, you'll do him wrong
	ere you're ware: you'll be so true to him, to be
	false to him: do not you know of him, but yet go
	fetch him hither; go.

	[Re-enter TROILUS]

TROILUS	How now! what's the matter?

AENEAS	My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
	My matter is so rash: there is at hand
	Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
	The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
	Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
	Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
	We must give up to Diomedes' hand
	The Lady Cressida.

TROILUS	                  Is it so concluded?

AENEAS	By Priam and the general state of Troy:
	They are at hand and ready to effect it.

TROILUS	How my achievements mock me!
	I will go meet them: and, my Lord AEneas,
	We met by chance; you did not find me here.

AENEAS	Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
	Have not more gift in taciturnity.

	[Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS]

PANDARUS	Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? The devil
	take Antenor! the young prince will go mad: a
	plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke 's neck!

	[Re-enter CRESSIDA]

CRESSIDA	How now! what's the matter? who was here?

PANDARUS	Ah, ah!

CRESSIDA	Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord? gone!
	Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

PANDARUS	Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

CRESSIDA	O the gods! what's the matter?

PANDARUS	Prithee, get thee in: would thou hadst ne'er been
	born! I knew thou wouldst be his death. O, poor
	gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!

CRESSIDA	Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees! beseech you,
	what's the matter?

PANDARUS	Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou
	art changed for Antenor: thou must to thy father,
	and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death;
	'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

CRESSIDA	O you immortal gods! I will not go.

PANDARUS	Thou must.

CRESSIDA	I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;
	I know no touch of consanguinity;
	No kin no love, no blood, no soul so near me
	As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine!
	Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,
	If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
	Do to this body what extremes you can;
	But the strong base and building of my love
	Is as the very centre of the earth,
	Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep,--

PANDARUS	Do, do.

CRESSIDA	Tear my bright hair and scratch my praised cheeks,
	Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart
	With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same. Street before Pandarus' house.


	[Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR,
	and DIOMEDES]

PARIS	It is great morning, and the hour prefix'd
	Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
	Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,
	Tell you the lady what she is to do,
	And haste her to the purpose.

TROILUS	Walk into her house;
	I'll bring her to the Grecian presently:
	And to his hand when I deliver her,
	Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
	A priest there offering to it his own heart.

	[Exit]

PARIS	I know what 'tis to love;
	And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
	Please you walk in, my lords.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The same. Pandarus' house.


	[Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS	Be moderate, be moderate.

CRESSIDA	Why tell you me of moderation?
	The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
	And violenteth in a sense as strong
	As that which causeth it: how can I moderate it?
	If I could temporize with my affection,
	Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
	The like allayment could I give my grief.
	My love admits no qualifying dross;
	No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

PANDARUS	Here, here, here he comes.

	[Enter TROILUS]

	Ah, sweet ducks!

CRESSIDA	O Troilus! Troilus!

	[Embracing him]

PANDARUS	What a pair of spectacles is here!
	Let me embrace too. 'O heart,' as the goodly saying is,
	'--O heart, heavy heart,
	Why sigh'st thou without breaking?
	where he answers again,
	'Because thou canst not ease thy smart
	By friendship nor by speaking.'
	There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away
	nothing, for we may live to have need of such a
	verse: we see it, we see it. How now, lambs?

TROILUS	Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity,
	That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy,
	More bright in zeal than the devotion which
	Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.

CRESSIDA	Have the gods envy?

PANDARUS	Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.

CRESSIDA	And is it true that I must go from Troy?

TROILUS	A hateful truth.

CRESSIDA	                  What, and from Troilus too?

TROILUS	From Troy and Troilus.

CRESSIDA	Is it possible?

TROILUS	And suddenly; where injury of chance
	Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
	All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
	Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
	Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
	Even in the birth of our own labouring breath:
	We two, that with so many thousand sighs
	Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
	With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
	Injurious time now with a robber's haste
	Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how:
	As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
	With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
	He fumbles up into a lose adieu,
	And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
	Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

AENEAS	[Within]  My lord, is the lady ready?

TROILUS	Hark! you are call'd: some say the Genius so
	Cries 'come' to him that instantly must die.
	Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.

PANDARUS	Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or
	my heart will be blown up by the root.

	[Exit]

CRESSIDA	I must then to the Grecians?

TROILUS	No remedy.

CRESSIDA	A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
	When shall we see again?

TROILUS	Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart,--

CRESSIDA	I true! how now! what wicked deem is this?

TROILUS	Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
	For it is parting from us:
	I speak not 'be thou true,' as fearing thee,
	For I will throw my glove to Death himself,
	That there's no maculation in thy heart:
	But 'be thou true,' say I, to fashion in
	My sequent protestation; be thou true,
	And I will see thee.

CRESSIDA	O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers
	As infinite as imminent! but I'll be true.

TROILUS	And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.

CRESSIDA	And you this glove. When shall I see you?

TROILUS	I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
	To give thee nightly visitation.
	But yet be true.

CRESSIDA	                  O heavens! 'be true' again!

TROILUS	Hear while I speak it, love:
	The Grecian youths are full of quality;
	They're loving, well composed with gifts of nature,
	Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise:
	How novelty may move, and parts with person,
	Alas, a kind of godly jealousy--
	Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin--
	Makes me afeard.

CRESSIDA	                  O heavens! you love me not.

TROILUS	Die I a villain, then!
	In this I do not call your faith in question
	So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
	Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
	Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
	To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant:
	But I can tell that in each grace of these
	There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
	That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.

CRESSIDA	Do you think I will?

TROILUS	No.
	But something may be done that we will not:
	And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
	When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
	Presuming on their changeful potency.

AENEAS	[Within]  Nay, good my lord,--

TROILUS	Come, kiss; and let us part.

PARIS	[Within]  Brother Troilus!

TROILUS	Good brother, come you hither;
	And bring AEneas and the Grecian with you.

CRESSIDA	My lord, will you be true?

TROILUS	Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
	Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
	I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
	Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
	With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
	Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
	Is 'plain and true;' there's all the reach of it.

	[Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS,
	and DIOMEDES]

	Welcome, Sir Diomed! here is the lady
	Which for Antenor we deliver you:
	At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand,
	And by the way possess thee what she is.
	Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
	If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
	Name Cressida and thy life shall be as safe
	As Priam is in Ilion.

DIOMEDES	Fair Lady Cressid,
	So please you, save the thanks this prince expects:
	The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
	Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
	You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.

TROILUS	Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
	To shame the zeal of my petition to thee
	In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,
	She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises
	As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
	I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
	For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
	Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
	I'll cut thy throat.

DIOMEDES	O, be not moved, Prince Troilus:
	Let me be privileged by my place and message,
	To be a speaker free; when I am hence
	I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord,
	I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth
	She shall be prized; but that you say 'be't so,'
	I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, 'no.'

TROILUS	Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed,
	This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
	Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk,
	To our own selves bend we our needful talk.

	[Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES]

	[Trumpet within]

PARIS	Hark! Hector's trumpet.

AENEAS	How have we spent this morning!
	The prince must think me tardy and remiss,
	That sore to ride before him to the field.

PARIS	'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with him.

DEIPHOBUS	Let us make ready straight.

AENEAS	Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
	Let us address to tend on Hector's heels:
	The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
	On his fair worth and single chivalry.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE V	The Grecian camp. Lists set out.


	[Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS,
	MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, and others]

AGAMEMNON	Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
	Anticipating time with starting courage.
	Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
	Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air
	May pierce the head of the great combatant
	And hale him hither.

AJAX	Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.
	Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
	Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
	Outswell the colic of puff'd Aquilon:
	Come, stretch thy chest and let thy eyes spout blood;
	Thou blow'st for Hector.

	[Trumpet sounds]

ULYSSES	No trumpet answers.

ACHILLES	'Tis but early days.

AGAMEMNON	Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter?

ULYSSES	'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait;
	He rises on the toe: that spirit of his
	In aspiration lifts him from the earth.

	[Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA]

AGAMEMNON	Is this the Lady Cressid?

DIOMEDES	Even she.

AGAMEMNON	Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.

NESTOR	Our general doth salute you with a kiss.

ULYSSES	Yet is the kindness but particular;
	'Twere better she were kiss'd in general.

NESTOR	And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.
	So much for Nestor.

ACHILLES	I'll take what winter from your lips, fair lady:
	Achilles bids you welcome.

MENELAUS	I had good argument for kissing once.

PATROCLUS	But that's no argument for kissing now;
	For this popp'd Paris in his hardiment,
	And parted thus you and your argument.

ULYSSES	O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!
	For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.

PATROCLUS	The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine:
	Patroclus kisses you.

MENELAUS	O, this is trim!

PATROCLUS	Paris and I kiss evermore for him.

MENELAUS	I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.

CRESSIDA	In kissing, do you render or receive?

PATROCLUS	Both take and give.

CRESSIDA	I'll make my match to live,
	The kiss you take is better than you give;
	Therefore no kiss.

MENELAUS	I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.

CRESSIDA	You're an odd man; give even or give none.

MENELAUS	An odd man, lady! every man is odd.

CRESSIDA	No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true,
	That you are odd, and he is even with you.

MENELAUS	You fillip me o' the head.

CRESSIDA	No, I'll be sworn.

ULYSSES	It were no match, your nail against his horn.
	May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?

CRESSIDA	You may.

ULYSSES	       I do desire it.

CRESSIDA	Why, beg, then.

ULYSSES	Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss,
	When Helen is a maid again, and his.

CRESSIDA	I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

ULYSSES	Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.

DIOMEDES	Lady, a word: I'll bring you to your father.

	[Exit with CRESSIDA]

NESTOR	A woman of quick sense.

ULYSSES	Fie, fie upon her!
	There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
	Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
	At every joint and motive of her body.
	O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue,
	That give accosting welcome ere it comes,
	And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
	To every ticklish reader! set them down
	For sluttish spoils of opportunity
	And daughters of the game.

	[Trumpet within]

ALL	The Trojans' trumpet.

AGAMEMNON	Yonder comes the troop.

	[Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, and other
	Trojans, with Attendants]

AENEAS	Hail, all you state of Greece! what shall be done
	To him that victory commands? or do you purpose
	A victor shall be known? will you the knights
	Shall to the edge of all extremity
	Pursue each other, or shall be divided
	By any voice or order of the field?
	Hector bade ask.

AGAMEMNON	Which way would Hector have it?

AENEAS	He cares not; he'll obey conditions.

ACHILLES	'Tis done like Hector; but securely done,
	A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
	The knight opposed.

AENEAS	If not Achilles, sir,
	What is your name?

ACHILLES	                  If not Achilles, nothing.

AENEAS	Therefore Achilles: but, whate'er, know this:
	In the extremity of great and little,
	Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
	The one almost as infinite as all,
	The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
	And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
	This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood:
	In love whereof, half Hector stays at home;
	Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
	This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.

ACHILLES	A maiden battle, then? O, I perceive you.

	[Re-enter DIOMEDES]

AGAMEMNON	Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,
	Stand by our Ajax: as you and Lord AEneas
	Consent upon the order of their fight,
	So be it; either to the uttermost,
	Or else a breath: the combatants being kin
	Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.

	[AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists]

ULYSSES	They are opposed already.

AGAMEMNON	What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?

ULYSSES	The youngest son of Priam, a true knight,
	Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word,
	Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;
	Not soon provoked nor being provoked soon calm'd:
	His heart and hand both open and both free;
	For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows;
	Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty,
	Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath;
	Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
	For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
	To tender objects, but he in heat of action
	Is more vindicative than jealous love:
	They call him Troilus, and on him erect
	A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
	Thus says AEneas; one that knows the youth
	Even to his inches, and with private soul
	Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.

	[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight]

AGAMEMNON	They are in action.

NESTOR	Now, Ajax, hold thine own!

TROILUS	Hector, thou sleep'st;
	Awake thee!

AGAMEMNON	His blows are well disposed: there, Ajax!

DIOMEDES	You must no more.

	[Trumpets cease]

AENEAS	                  Princes, enough, so please you.

AJAX	I am not warm yet; let us fight again.

DIOMEDES	As Hector pleases.

HECTOR	                  Why, then will I no more:
	Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
	A cousin-german to great Priam's seed;
	The obligation of our blood forbids
	A gory emulation 'twixt us twain:
	Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so
	That thou couldst say 'This hand is Grecian all,
	And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg
	All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
	Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
	Bounds in my father's;' by Jove multipotent,
	Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
	Wherein my sword had not impressure made
	Of our rank feud: but the just gods gainsay
	That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother,
	My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
	Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
	By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
	Hector would have them fall upon him thus:
	Cousin, all honour to thee!

AJAX	I thank thee, Hector
	Thou art too gentle and too free a man:
	I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
	A great addition earned in thy death.

HECTOR	Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
	On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes
	Cries 'This is he,' could promise to himself
	A thought of added honour torn from Hector.

AENEAS	There is expectance here from both the sides,
	What further you will do.

HECTOR	We'll answer it;
	The issue is embracement: Ajax, farewell.

AJAX	If I might in entreaties find success--
	As seld I have the chance--I would desire
	My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.

DIOMEDES	'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles
	Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.

HECTOR	AEneas, call my brother Troilus to me,
	And signify this loving interview
	To the expecters of our Trojan part;
	Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;
	I will go eat with thee and see your knights.

AJAX	Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

HECTOR	The worthiest of them tell me name by name;
	But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes
	Shall find him by his large and portly size.

AGAMEMNON	Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one
	That would be rid of such an enemy;
	But that's no welcome: understand more clear,
	What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks
	And formless ruin of oblivion;
	But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
	Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
	Bids thee, with most divine integrity,
	From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.

HECTOR	I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.

AGAMEMNON	[To TROILUS]  My well-famed lord of Troy, no
	less to you.

MENELAUS	Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting:
	You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.

HECTOR	Who must we answer?

AENEAS	The noble Menelaus.

HECTOR	O, you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks!
	Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath;
	Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove:
	She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.

MENELAUS	Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.

HECTOR	O, pardon; I offend.

NESTOR	I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft
	Labouring for destiny make cruel way
	Through ranks of Greekish youth, and I have seen thee,
	As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
	Despising many forfeits and subduements,
	When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air,
	Not letting it decline on the declined,
	That I have said to some my standers by
	'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!'
	And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,
	When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
	Like an Olympian wrestling: this have I seen;
	But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
	I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
	And once fought with him: he was a soldier good;
	But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
	Never saw like thee. Let an old man embrace thee;
	And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

AENEAS	'Tis the old Nestor.

HECTOR	Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
	That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time:
	Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

NESTOR	I would my arms could match thee in contention,
	As they contend with thee in courtesy.

HECTOR	I would they could.

NESTOR	Ha!
	By this white beard, I'ld fight with thee to-morrow.
	Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.

ULYSSES	I wonder now how yonder city stands
	When we have here her base and pillar by us.

HECTOR	I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
	Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
	Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
	In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

ULYSSES	Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
	My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
	For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
	Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
	Must kiss their own feet.

HECTOR	I must not believe you:
	There they stand yet, and modestly I think,
	The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
	A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all,
	And that old common arbitrator, Time,
	Will one day end it.

ULYSSES	So to him we leave it.
	Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome:
	After the general, I beseech you next
	To feast with me and see me at my tent.

ACHILLES	I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!
	Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
	I have with exact view perused thee, Hector,
	And quoted joint by joint.

HECTOR	Is this Achilles?

ACHILLES	I am Achilles.

HECTOR	Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee.

ACHILLES	Behold thy fill.

HECTOR	                  Nay, I have done already.

ACHILLES	Thou art too brief: I will the second time,
	As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

HECTOR	O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
	But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
	Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?

ACHILLES	Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
	Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there, or there?
	That I may give the local wound a name
	And make distinct the very breach whereout
	Hector's great spirit flew: answer me, heavens!

HECTOR	It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
	To answer such a question: stand again:
	Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
	As to prenominate in nice conjecture
	Where thou wilt hit me dead?

ACHILLES	I tell thee, yea.

HECTOR	Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
	I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
	For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
	But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
	I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.
	You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag;
	His insolence draws folly from my lips;
	But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
	Or may I never--

AJAX	                  Do not chafe thee, cousin:
	And you, Achilles, let these threats alone,
	Till accident or purpose bring you to't:
	You may have every day enough of Hector
	If you have stomach; the general state, I fear,
	Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.

HECTOR	I pray you, let us see you in the field:
	We have had pelting wars, since you refused
	The Grecians' cause.

ACHILLES	Dost thou entreat me, Hector?
	To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
	To-night all friends.

HECTOR	Thy hand upon that match.

AGAMEMNON	First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;
	There in the full convive we: afterwards,
	As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
	Concur together, severally entreat him.
	Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow,
	That this great soldier may his welcome know.

	[Exeunt all except TROILUS and ULYSSES]

TROILUS	My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
	In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

ULYSSES	At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus:
	There Diomed doth feast with him to-night;
	Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,
	But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
	On the fair Cressid.

TROILUS	Shall sweet lord, be bound to you so much,
	After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
	To bring me thither?

ULYSSES	You shall command me, sir.
	As gentle tell me, of what honour was
	This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there
	That wails her absence?


TROILUS	O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars
	A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
	She was beloved, she loved; she is, and doth:
	But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE I	The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


	[Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

ACHILLES	I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,
	Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
	Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

PATROCLUS	Here comes Thersites.

	[Enter THERSITES]

ACHILLES	How now, thou core of envy!
	Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?

THERSITES	Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol
	of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.

ACHILLES	From whence, fragment?

THERSITES	Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

PATROCLUS	Who keeps the tent now?

THERSITES	The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound.

PATROCLUS	Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks?

THERSITES	Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk:
	thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet.

PATROCLUS	Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?

THERSITES	Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases
	of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs,
	loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold
	palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing
	lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas,
	limekilns i' the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the
	rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take
	again such preposterous discoveries!

PATROCLUS	Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest
	thou to curse thus?

THERSITES	Do I curse thee?

PATROCLUS	Why no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson
	indistinguishable cur, no.

THERSITES	No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle
	immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou green sarcenet
	flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's
	purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered
	with such waterflies, diminutives of nature!

PATROCLUS	Out, gall!

THERSITES	Finch-egg!

ACHILLES	My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
	From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
	Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
	A token from her daughter, my fair love,
	Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
	An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it:
	Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
	My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
	Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:
	This night in banqueting must all be spent.
	Away, Patroclus!

	[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

THERSITES	With too much blood and too little brain, these two
	may run mad; but, if with too much brain and too
	little blood they do, I'll be a curer of madmen.
	Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough and one
	that loves quails; but he has not so much brain as
	earwax: and the goodly transformation of Jupiter
	there, his brother, the bull,--the primitive statue,
	and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty
	shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's
	leg,--to what form but that he is, should wit larded
	with malice and malice forced with wit turn him to?
	To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to
	an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a
	dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an
	owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would
	not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire
	against destiny. Ask me not, what I would be, if I
	were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse
	of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus! Hey-day!
	spirits and fires!

	[Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES,
	NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights]

AGAMEMNON	We go wrong, we go wrong.

AJAX	No, yonder 'tis;
	There, where we see the lights.

HECTOR	I trouble you.

AJAX	No, not a whit.

ULYSSES	                  Here comes himself to guide you.

	[Re-enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES	Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all.

AGAMEMNON	So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good night.
	Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.

HECTOR	Thanks and good night to the Greeks' general.

MENELAUS	Good night, my lord.

HECTOR	Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.

THERSITES	Sweet draught: 'sweet' quoth 'a! sweet sink,
	sweet sewer.

ACHILLES	Good night and welcome, both at once, to those
	That go or tarry.

AGAMEMNON	Good night.

	[Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS]

ACHILLES	Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,
	Keep Hector company an hour or two.

DIOMEDES	I cannot, lord; I have important business,
	The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.

HECTOR	Give me your hand.

ULYSSES	[Aside to TROILUS]  Follow his torch; he goes to
	Calchas' tent:
	I'll keep you company.

TROILUS	Sweet sir, you honour me.

HECTOR	And so, good night.

	[Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following]

ACHILLES	Come, come, enter my tent.

	[Exeunt ACHILLES, HECTOR, AJAX, and NESTOR]

THERSITES	That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most
	unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers
	than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend
	his mouth, and promise, like Brabbler the hound:
	but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it
	is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun
	borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his
	word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than
	not to dog him: they say he keeps a Trojan
	drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll
	after. Nothing but lechery! all incontinent varlets!

	[Exit]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE II	The same. Before Calchas' tent.


	[Enter DIOMEDES]

DIOMEDES	What, are you up here, ho? speak.

CALCHAS	[Within]  Who calls?

DIOMEDES	Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter?

CALCHAS	[Within]  She comes to you.

	[Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance;
	after them, THERSITES]

ULYSSES	Stand where the torch may not discover us.

	[Enter CRESSIDA]

TROILUS	Cressid comes forth to him.

DIOMEDES	How now, my charge!

CRESSIDA	Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.

	[Whispers]

TROILUS	Yea, so familiar!

ULYSSES	She will sing any man at first sight.

THERSITES	And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff;
	she's noted.

DIOMEDES	Will you remember?

CRESSIDA	Remember! yes.

DIOMEDES	Nay, but do, then;
	And let your mind be coupled with your words.

TROILUS	What should she remember?

ULYSSES	List.

CRESSIDA	Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.

THERSITES	Roguery!

DIOMEDES	Nay, then,--

CRESSIDA	I'll tell you what,--

DIOMEDES	Foh, foh! come, tell a pin: you are forsworn.

CRESSIDA	In faith, I cannot: what would you have me do?

THERSITES	A juggling trick,--to be secretly open.

DIOMEDES	What did you swear you would bestow on me?

CRESSIDA	I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;
	Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.

DIOMEDES	Good night.

TROILUS	Hold, patience!

ULYSSES	How now, Trojan!

CRESSIDA	Diomed,--

DIOMEDES	No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more.

TROILUS	Thy better must.

CRESSIDA	Hark, one word in your ear.

TROILUS	O plague and madness!

ULYSSES	You are moved, prince; let us depart, I pray you,
	Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
	To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous;
	The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.

TROILUS	Behold, I pray you!

ULYSSES	Nay, good my lord, go off:
	You flow to great distraction; come, my lord.

TROILUS	I pray thee, stay.

ULYSSES	                  You have not patience; come.

TROILUS	I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments
	I will not speak a word!

DIOMEDES	And so, good night.

CRESSIDA	Nay, but you part in anger.

TROILUS	Doth that grieve thee?
	O wither'd truth!

ULYSSES	                  Why, how now, lord!

TROILUS	By Jove,
	I will be patient.

CRESSIDA	                  Guardian!--why, Greek!

DIOMEDES	Foh, foh! adieu; you palter.

CRESSIDA	In faith, I do not: come hither once again.

ULYSSES	You shake, my lord, at something: will you go?
	You will break out.

TROILUS	She strokes his cheek!

ULYSSES	Come, come.

TROILUS	Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
	There is between my will and all offences
	A guard of patience: stay a little while.

THERSITES	How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and
	potato-finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry!

DIOMEDES	But will you, then?

CRESSIDA	In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.

DIOMEDES	Give me some token for the surety of it.

CRESSIDA	I'll fetch you one.

	[Exit]

ULYSSES	You have sworn patience.

TROILUS	Fear me not, sweet lord;
	I will not be myself, nor have cognition
	Of what I feel: I am all patience.

	[Re-enter CRESSIDA]

THERSITES	Now the pledge; now, now, now!

CRESSIDA	Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.

TROILUS	O beauty! where is thy faith?

ULYSSES	My lord,--

TROILUS	I will be patient; outwardly I will.

CRESSIDA	You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.
	He loved me--O false wench!--Give't me again.

DIOMEDES	Whose was't?

CRESSIDA	It is no matter, now I have't again.
	I will not meet with you to-morrow night:
	I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.

THERSITES	Now she sharpens: well said, whetstone!

DIOMEDES	I shall have it.

CRESSIDA	                  What, this?

DIOMEDES	Ay, that.

CRESSIDA	O, all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!
	Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
	Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
	And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,
	As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;
	He that takes that doth take my heart withal.

DIOMEDES	I had your heart before, this follows it.

TROILUS	I did swear patience.

CRESSIDA	You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;
	I'll give you something else.

DIOMEDES	I will have this: whose was it?

CRESSIDA	It is no matter.

DIOMEDES	Come, tell me whose it was.

CRESSIDA	'Twas one's that loved me better than you will.
	But, now you have it, take it.

DIOMEDES	Whose was it?

CRESSIDA	By all Diana's waiting-women yond,
	And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

DIOMEDES	To-morrow will I wear it on my helm,
	And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

TROILUS	Wert thou the devil, and worest it on thy horn,
	It should be challenged.

CRESSIDA	Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past: and yet it is not;
	I will not keep my word.

DIOMEDES	Why, then, farewell;
	Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

CRESSIDA	You shall not go: one cannot speak a word,
	But it straight starts you.

DIOMEDES	I do not like this fooling.

THERSITES	Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you pleases me best.

DIOMEDES	What, shall I come? the hour?

CRESSIDA	Ay, come:--O Jove!--do come:--I shall be plagued.

DIOMEDES	Farewell till then.

CRESSIDA	Good night: I prithee, come.

	[Exit DIOMEDES]

	Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee
	But with my heart the other eye doth see.
	Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
	The error of our eye directs our mind:
	What error leads must err; O, then conclude
	Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.

	[Exit]

THERSITES	A proof of strength she could not publish more,
	Unless she said ' My mind is now turn'd whore.'

ULYSSES	All's done, my lord.

TROILUS	It is.

ULYSSES	Why stay we, then?

TROILUS	To make a recordation to my soul
	Of every syllable that here was spoke.
	But if I tell how these two did co-act,
	Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
	Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
	An esperance so obstinately strong,
	That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears,
	As if those organs had deceptious functions,
	Created only to calumniate.
	Was Cressid here?

ULYSSES	                  I cannot conjure, Trojan.

TROILUS	She was not, sure.

ULYSSES	                  Most sure she was.

TROILUS	Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

ULYSSES	Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but now.

TROILUS	Let it not be believed for womanhood!
	Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
	To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,
	For depravation, to square the general sex
	By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid.

ULYSSES	What hath she done, prince, that can soil our mothers?

TROILUS	Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

THERSITES	Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes?

TROILUS	This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:
	If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
	If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,
	If sanctimony be the gods' delight,
	If there be rule in unity itself,
	This is not she. O madness of discourse,
	That cause sets up with and against itself!
	Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
	Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
	Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.
	Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
	Of this strange nature that a thing inseparate
	Divides more wider than the sky and earth,
	And yet the spacious breadth of this division
	Admits no orifex for a point as subtle
	As Ariachne's broken woof to enter.
	Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;
	Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:
	Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;
	The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and loosed;
	And with another knot, five-finger-tied,
	The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
	The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relics
	Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

ULYSSES	May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
	With that which here his passion doth express?

TROILUS	Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
	In characters as red as Mars his heart
	Inflamed with Venus: never did young man fancy
	With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.
	Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
	So much by weight hate I her Diomed:
	That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm;
	Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill,
	My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout
	Which shipmen do the hurricano call,
	Constringed in mass by the almighty sun,
	Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
	In his descent than shall my prompted sword
	Falling on Diomed.

THERSITES	He'll tickle it for his concupy.

TROILUS	O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
	Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
	And they'll seem glorious.

ULYSSES	O, contain yourself
	Your passion draws ears hither.

	[Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS	I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:
	Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
	Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.


TROILUS	Have with you, prince. My courteous lord, adieu.
	Farewell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,
	Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head!

ULYSSES	I'll bring you to the gates.

TROILUS	Accept distracted thanks.

	[Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS, and ULYSSES]

THERSITES	Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would
	croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode.
	Patroclus will give me any thing for the
	intelligence of this whore: the parrot will not
	do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab.
	Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing
	else holds fashion: a burning devil take them!

	[Exit]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE III	Troy. Before Priam's palace.


	[Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE]

ANDROMACHE	When was my lord so much ungently temper'd,
	To stop his ears against admonishment?
	Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.

HECTOR	You train me to offend you; get you in:
	By all the everlasting gods, I'll go!

ANDROMACHE	My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.

HECTOR	No more, I say.

	[Enter CASSANDRA]

CASSANDRA	                  Where is my brother Hector?

ANDROMACHE	Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent.
	Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
	Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd
	Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
	Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.

CASSANDRA	O, 'tis true.

HECTOR	                  Ho! bid my trumpet sound!

CASSANDRA	No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother.

HECTOR	Be gone, I say: the gods have heard me swear.

CASSANDRA	The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows:
	They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
	Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

ANDROMACHE	O, be persuaded! do not count it holy
	To hurt by being just: it is as lawful,
	For we would give much, to use violent thefts,
	And rob in the behalf of charity.

CASSANDRA	It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
	But vows to every purpose must not hold:
	Unarm, sweet Hector.

HECTOR	Hold you still, I say;
	Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate:
	Lie every man holds dear; but the brave man
	Holds honour far more precious-dear than life.

	[Enter TROILUS]

	How now, young man! mean'st thou to fight to-day?

ANDROMACHE	Cassandra, call my father to persuade.

	[Exit CASSANDRA]

HECTOR	No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;
	I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry:
	Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
	And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
	Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave boy,
	I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy.

TROILUS	Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
	Which better fits a lion than a man.

HECTOR	What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me for it.

TROILUS	When many times the captive Grecian falls,
	Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
	You bid them rise, and live.

HECTOR	O,'tis fair play.

TROILUS	                  Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.

HECTOR	How now! how now!

TROILUS	                  For the love of all the gods,
	Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers,
	And when we have our armours buckled on,
	The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
	Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth.

HECTOR	Fie, savage, fie!

TROILUS	                  Hector, then 'tis wars.

HECTOR	Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.

TROILUS	Who should withhold me?
	Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
	Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
	Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
	Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears;
	Not you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
	Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way,
	But by my ruin.

	[Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM]

CASSANDRA	Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast:
	He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,
	Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,
	Fall all together.

PRIAM	                  Come, Hector, come, go back:
	Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had visions;
	Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself
	Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt
	To tell thee that this day is ominous:
	Therefore, come back.

HECTOR	AEneas is a-field;
	And I do stand engaged to many Greeks,
	Even in the faith of valour, to appear
	This morning to them.

PRIAM	Ay, but thou shalt not go.

HECTOR	I must not break my faith.
	You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
	Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
	To take that course by your consent and voice,
	Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.

CASSANDRA	O Priam, yield not to him!

ANDROMACHE	Do not, dear father.

HECTOR	Andromache, I am offended with you:
	Upon the love you bear me, get you in.

	[Exit ANDROMACHE]

TROILUS	This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
	Makes all these bodements.

CASSANDRA	O, farewell, dear Hector!
	Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale!
	Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents!
	Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out!
	How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth!
	Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement,
	Like witless antics, one another meet,
	And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!

TROILUS	Away! away!

CASSANDRA	Farewell: yet, soft! Hector! take my leave:
	Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.

	[Exit]

HECTOR	You are amazed, my liege, at her exclaim:
	Go in and cheer the town: we'll forth and fight,
	Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.

PRIAM	Farewell: the gods with safety stand about thee!

	[Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums]

TROILUS	They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
	I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.

	[Enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?

TROILUS	What now?

PANDARUS	Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.

TROILUS	Let me read.

PANDARUS	A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so
	troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl;
	and what one thing, what another, that I shall
	leave you one o' these days: and I have a rheum
	in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones
	that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what
	to think on't. What says she there?

TROILUS	Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart:
	The effect doth operate another way.

	[Tearing the letter]

	Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
	My love with words and errors still she feeds;
	But edifies another with her deeds.

	[Exeunt severally]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE IV	Plains between Troy and the Grecian camp.


	[Alarums: excursions. Enter THERSITES]

THERSITES	Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go
	look on. That dissembling abominable varlets Diomed,
	has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's
	sleeve of Troy there in his helm: I would fain see
	them meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that
	loves the whore there, might send that Greekish
	whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the
	dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand.
	O' the t'other side, the policy of those crafty
	swearing rascals, that stale old mouse-eaten dry
	cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is
	not proved worthy a blackberry: they set me up, in
	policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of
	as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax
	prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm
	to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim
	barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.
	Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.

	[Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following]

TROILUS	Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx,
	I would swim after.

DIOMEDES	Thou dost miscall retire:
	I do not fly, but advantageous care
	Withdrew me from the odds of multitude:
	Have at thee!

THERSITES	Hold thy whore, Grecian!--now for thy whore,
	Trojan!--now the sleeve, now the sleeve!

	[Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES, fighting]

	[Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR	What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match?
	Art thou of blood and honour?

THERSITES	No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave:
	a very filthy rogue.

HECTOR	I do believe thee: live.

	[Exit]

THERSITES	God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a
	plague break thy neck for frightening me! What's
	become of the wenching rogues? I think they have
	swallowed one another: I would laugh at that
	miracle: yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself.
	I'll seek them.

	[Exit]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter DIOMEDES and a Servant]

DIOMEDES	Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse;
	Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid:
	Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
	Tell her I have chastised the amorous Trojan,
	And am her knight by proof.

Servant	I go, my lord.

	[Exit]

	[Enter AGAMEMNON]

AGAMEMNON	Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas
	Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon
	Hath Doreus prisoner,
	And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,
	Upon the pashed corses of the kings
	Epistrophus and Cedius: Polyxenes is slain,
	Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt,
	Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes
	Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadful Sagittary
	Appals our numbers: haste we, Diomed,
	To reinforcement, or we perish all.

	[Enter NESTOR]

NESTOR	Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles;
	And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame.
	There is a thousand Hectors in the field:
	Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
	And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot,
	And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
	Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
	And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
	Fall down before him, like the mower's swath:
	Here, there, and every where, he leaves and takes,
	Dexterity so obeying appetite
	That what he will he does, and does so much
	That proof is call'd impossibility.

	[Enter ULYSSES]

ULYSSES	O, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles
	Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance:
	Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy blood,
	Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
	That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him,
	Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
	And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it,
	Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to-day
	Mad and fantastic execution,
	Engaging and redeeming of himself
	With such a careless force and forceless care
	As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,
	Bade him win all.

	[Enter AJAX]

AJAX	Troilus! thou coward Troilus!

	[Exit]

DIOMEDES	Ay, there, there.

NESTOR	So, so, we draw together.

	[Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES	Where is this Hector?
	Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;
	Know what it is to meet Achilles angry:
	Hector? where's Hector? I will none but Hector.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VI	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter AJAX]

AJAX	Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head!

	[Enter DIOMEDES]

DIOMEDES	Troilus, I say! where's Troilus?

AJAX	What wouldst thou?

DIOMEDES	I would correct him.

AJAX	Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office
	Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! what, Troilus!

	[Enter TROILUS]

TROILUS	O traitor Diomed! turn thy false face, thou traitor,
	And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse!

DIOMEDES	Ha, art thou there?

AJAX	I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed.

DIOMEDES	He is my prize; I will not look upon.

TROILUS	Come, both you cogging Greeks; have at you both!

	[Exeunt, fighting]

	[Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR	Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!

	[Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES	Now do I see thee, ha! have at thee, Hector!

HECTOR	Pause, if thou wilt.

ACHILLES	I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan:
	Be happy that my arms are out of use:
	My rest and negligence befriends thee now,
	But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
	Till when, go seek thy fortune.

	[Exit]

HECTOR	Fare thee well:
	I would have been much more a fresher man,
	Had I expected thee. How now, my brother!

	[Re-enter TROILUS]

TROILUS	Ajax hath ta'en AEneas: shall it be?
	No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
	He shall not carry him: I'll be ta'en too,
	Or bring him off: fate, hear me what I say!
	I reck not though I end my life to-day.

	[Exit]

	[Enter one in sumptuous armour]

HECTOR	Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark:
	No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;
	I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all,
	But I'll be master of it: wilt thou not,
	beast, abide?
	Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VII	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons]

ACHILLES	Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
	Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel:
	Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath:
	And when I have the bloody Hector found,
	Empale him with your weapons round about;
	In fellest manner execute your aims.
	Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye:
	It is decreed Hector the great must die.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting:
	then THERSITES]

THERSITES	The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now,
	bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-
	henned sparrow! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the
	game: ware horns, ho!

	[Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS]

	[Enter MARGARELON]

MARGARELON	Turn, slave, and fight.

THERSITES	What art thou?

MARGARELON	A bastard son of Priam's.

THERSITES	I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard
	begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard
	in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will
	not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard?
	Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the
	son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment:
	farewell, bastard.

	[Exit]

MARGARELON	The devil take thee, coward!

	[Exit]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VIII	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR	Most putrefied core, so fair without,
	Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
	Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
	Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death.

	[Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield
	behind him]

	[Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons]

ACHILLES	Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
	How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:
	Even with the vail and darking of the sun,
	To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

HECTOR	I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.

ACHILLES	Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.

	[HECTOR falls]

	So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down!
	Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
	On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
	'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'

	[A retreat sounded]

	Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.

MYRMIDONS	The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.

ACHILLES	The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth,
	And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
	My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
	Pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.

	[Sheathes his sword]

	Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
	Along the field I will the Trojan trail.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE IX	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES,
	and others, marching. Shouts within]

AGAMEMNON	Hark! hark! what shout is that?

NESTOR	Peace, drums!

	[Within]

	Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles.

DIOMEDES	The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.

AJAX	If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
	Great Hector was a man as good as he.

AGAMEMNON	March patiently along: let one be sent
	To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
	If in his death the gods have us befriended,
	Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.

	[Exeunt, marching]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE X	Another part of the plains.


	[Enter AENEAS and Trojans]

AENEAS	Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field:
	Never go home; here starve we out the night.

	[Enter TROILUS]

TROILUS	Hector is slain.

ALL	                  Hector! the gods forbid!

TROILUS	He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
	In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.
	Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
	Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
	I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
	And linger not our sure destructions on!

AENEAS	My lord, you do discomfort all the host!

TROILUS	You understand me not that tell me so:
	I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
	But dare all imminence that gods and men
	Address their dangers in. Hector is gone:
	Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
	Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd,
	Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
	There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
	Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
	Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word,
	Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away:
	Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
	Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,
	Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
	Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
	I'll through and through you! and, thou great-sized coward,
	No space of earth shall sunder our two hates:
	I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
	That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.
	Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
	Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.

	[Exeunt AENEAS and Trojans]

	[As TROILUS is going out, enter, from the other
	side, PANDARUS]

PANDARUS	But hear you, hear you!

TROILUS	Hence, broker-lackey! ignomy and shame
	Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!

	[Exit]

PANDARUS	A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world!
	world! world! thus is the poor agent despised!
	O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set
	a-work, and how ill requited! why should our
	endeavour be so loved and the performance so loathed?
	what verse for it? what instance for it? Let me see:
	Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
	Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
	And being once subdued in armed tail,
	Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
	Good traders in the flesh, set this in your
	painted cloths.
	As many as be here of pander's hall,
	Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall;
	Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
	Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
	Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
	Some two months hence my will shall here be made:
	It should be now, but that my fear is this,
	Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss:
	Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases,
	And at that time bequeathe you my diseases.

	[Exit]

	TWELFTH NIGHT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ORSINO	Duke of Illyria. (DUKE ORSINO:)

SEBASTIAN	brother to Viola.

ANTONIO	a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.

	A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. (Captain:)


VALENTINE	|
	|  gentlemen attending on the Duke.
CURIO	|


SIR TOBY BELCH	uncle to Olivia.

SIR ANDREW
AGUECHEEK	(SIR ANDREW:)

MALVOLIO	steward to Olivia.


FABIAN		|
		|  servants to Olivia.
FESTE	a Clown  (Clown:)	|


OLIVIA:

VIOLA:

MARIA	Olivia's woman.

	Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians,
	and other Attendants.
	(Priest:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Servant:)


SCENE	A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it.




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE I	DUKE ORSINO's palace.


	[Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and other Lords;
	Musicians attending]

DUKE ORSINO	If music be the food of love, play on;
	Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
	The appetite may sicken, and so die.
	That strain again! it had a dying fall:
	O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
	That breathes upon a bank of violets,
	Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
	'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
	O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
	That, notwithstanding thy capacity
	Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
	Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
	But falls into abatement and low price,
	Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
	That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO	Will you go hunt, my lord?

DUKE ORSINO	What, Curio?

CURIO	The hart.

DUKE ORSINO	        Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
	O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
	Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
	That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
	And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
	E'er since pursue me.

	[Enter VALENTINE]

		How now! what news from her?

VALENTINE	So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
	But from her handmaid do return this answer:
	The element itself, till seven years' heat,
	Shall not behold her face at ample view;
	But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
	And water once a day her chamber round
	With eye-offending brine: all this to season
	A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
	And lasting in her sad remembrance.

DUKE ORSINO	O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
	To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
	How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
	Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
	That live in her; when liver, brain and heart,
	These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
	Her sweet perfections with one self king!
	Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:
	Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE II	The sea-coast.


	[Enter VIOLA, a Captain, and Sailors]

VIOLA	What country, friends, is this?

Captain	This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA	And what should I do in Illyria?
	My brother he is in Elysium.
	Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors?

Captain	It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA	O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

Captain	True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
	Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
	When you and those poor number saved with you
	Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
	Most provident in peril, bind himself,
	Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
	To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
	Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
	I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
	So long as I could see.

VIOLA	For saying so, there's gold:
	Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
	Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
	The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Captain	Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
	Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA	Who governs here?

Captain	A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA	What is the name?

Captain	Orsino.

VIOLA	Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
	He was a bachelor then.

Captain	And so is now, or was so very late;
	For but a month ago I went from hence,
	And then 'twas fresh in murmur,--as, you know,
	What great ones do the less will prattle of,--
	That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA	What's she?

Captain	A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
	That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
	In the protection of his son, her brother,
	Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
	They say, she hath abjured the company
	And sight of men.

VIOLA	                  O that I served that lady
	And might not be delivered to the world,
	Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
	What my estate is!

Captain	That were hard to compass;
	Because she will admit no kind of suit,
	No, not the duke's.

VIOLA	There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
	And though that nature with a beauteous wall
	Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
	I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
	With this thy fair and outward character.
	I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
	Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
	For such disguise as haply shall become
	The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
	Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him:
	It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
	And speak to him in many sorts of music
	That will allow me very worth his service.
	What else may hap to time I will commit;
	Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Captain	Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
	When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA	I thank thee: lead me on.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE III	OLIVIA'S house.


	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH	What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
	her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

MARIA	By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
	nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great
	exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, let her except, before excepted.

MARIA	Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
	limits of order.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am:
	these clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be
	these boots too: an they be not, let them hang
	themselves in their own straps.

MARIA	That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard
	my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish
	knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA	Ay, he.

SIR TOBY BELCH	He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

MARIA	What's that to the purpose?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA	Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
	he's a very fool and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
	viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages
	word for word without book, and hath all the good
	gifts of nature.

MARIA	He hath indeed, almost natural: for besides that
	he's a fool, he's a great quarreller: and but that
	he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he
	hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent
	he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY BELCH	By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
	that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA	They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY BELCH	With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to
	her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
	drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill
	that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
	o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
	Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

	[Enter SIR ANDREW]

SIR ANDREW	Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW	Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA	And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW	What's that?

SIR TOBY BELCH	My niece's chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW	Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA	My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Good Mistress Mary Accost,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
	her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW	By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
	company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?

MARIA	Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY BELCH	An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
	never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW	An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
	draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
	fools in hand?

MARIA	Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR ANDREW	Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

MARIA	Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
	your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW	Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

MARIA	It's dry, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
	keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

MARIA	A dry jest, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Are you full of them?

MARIA	Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
	now I let go your hand, I am barren.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
	see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW	Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
	put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
	than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
	great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.

SIR TOBY BELCH	No question.

SIR ANDREW	An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
	to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW	What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
	bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
	fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
	followed the arts!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR ANDREW	Why, would that have mended my hair?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

SIR ANDREW	But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
	hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
	and spin it off.

SIR ANDREW	Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
	will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one
	she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.

SIR TOBY BELCH	She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above
	her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
	have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't,
	man.

SIR ANDREW	I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the
	strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques
	and revels sometimes altogether.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

SIR ANDREW	As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
	degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
	with an old man.

SIR TOBY BELCH	What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

SIR ANDREW	Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TOBY BELCH	And I can cut the mutton to't.

SIR ANDREW	And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
	as any man in Illyria.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
	these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to
	take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost
	thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in
	a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not
	so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
	dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in?
	I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy
	leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

SIR ANDREW	Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
	flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SIR TOBY BELCH	What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

SIR ANDREW	Taurus! That's sides and heart.

SIR TOBY BELCH	No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
	caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE IV	DUKE ORSINO's palace.


	[Enter VALENTINE and VIOLA in man's attire]

VALENTINE	If the duke continue these favours towards you,
	Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath
	known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

VIOLA	You either fear his humour or my negligence, that
	you call in question the continuance of his love:
	is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

VALENTINE	No, believe me.

VIOLA	I thank you. Here comes the count.

	[Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and Attendants]

DUKE ORSINO	Who saw Cesario, ho?

VIOLA	On your attendance, my lord; here.

DUKE ORSINO	Stand you a while aloof, Cesario,
	Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
	To thee the book even of my secret soul:
	Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
	Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
	And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
	Till thou have audience.

VIOLA	Sure, my noble lord,
	If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
	As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

DUKE ORSINO	Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
	Rather than make unprofited return.

VIOLA	Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

DUKE ORSINO	O, then unfold the passion of my love,
	Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
	It shall become thee well to act my woes;
	She will attend it better in thy youth
	Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

VIOLA	I think not so, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO	Dear lad, believe it;
	For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
	That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
	Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
	Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
	And all is semblative a woman's part.
	I know thy constellation is right apt
	For this affair. Some four or five attend him;
	All, if you will; for I myself am best
	When least in company. Prosper well in this,
	And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
	To call his fortunes thine.

VIOLA	I'll do my best
	To woo your lady:

	[Aside]

	yet, a barful strife!
	Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE V	OLIVIA'S house.


	[Enter MARIA and Clown]

MARIA	Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will
	not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in
	way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clown	Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this
	world needs to fear no colours.

MARIA	Make that good.

Clown	He shall see none to fear.

MARIA	A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that
	saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.'

Clown	Where, good Mistress Mary?

MARIA	In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clown	Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those
	that are fools, let them use their talents.

MARIA	Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or,
	to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clown	Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and,
	for turning away, let summer bear it out.

MARIA	You are resolute, then?

Clown	Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points.

MARIA	That if one break, the other will hold; or, if both
	break, your gaskins fall.

Clown	Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy way; if
	Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
	piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

MARIA	Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my
	lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.

	[Exit]

Clown	Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
	Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft
	prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may
	pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus?
	'Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.'

	[Enter OLIVIA with MALVOLIO]

	God bless thee, lady!

OLIVIA	Take the fool away.

Clown	Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

OLIVIA	Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
	besides, you grow dishonest.

Clown	Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
	will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is
	the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend
	himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if
	he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing
	that's mended is but patched: virtue that
	transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that
	amends is but patched with virtue. If that this
	simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
	what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but
	calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take
	away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

OLIVIA	Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clown	Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non
	facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not
	motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
	prove you a fool.

OLIVIA	Can you do it?

Clown	Dexterously, good madonna.

OLIVIA	Make your proof.

Clown	I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse
	of virtue, answer me.

OLIVIA	Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Clown	Good madonna, why mournest thou?

OLIVIA	Good fool, for my brother's death.

Clown	I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

OLIVIA	I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Clown	The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
	soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

OLIVIA	What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

MALVOLIO	Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death shake him:
	infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the
	better fool.

Clown	God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
	better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be
	sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his
	word for two pence that you are no fool.

OLIVIA	How say you to that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO	I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a
	barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day
	with an ordinary fool that has no more brain
	than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard
	already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
	him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men,
	that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better
	than the fools' zanies.

OLIVIA	Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
	with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
	guiltless and of free disposition, is to take those
	things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets:
	there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do
	nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet
	man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clown	Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
	speakest well of fools!

	[Re-enter MARIA]

MARIA	Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much
	desires to speak with you.

OLIVIA	From the Count Orsino, is it?

MARIA	I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

OLIVIA	Who of my people hold him in delay?

MARIA	Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

OLIVIA	Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but
	madman: fie on him!

	[Exit MARIA]

	Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I
	am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it.

	[Exit MALVOLIO]

	Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
	people dislike it.

Clown	Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest
	son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with
	brains! for,--here he comes,--one of thy kin has a
	most weak pia mater.

	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH]

OLIVIA	By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?

SIR TOBY BELCH	A gentleman.

OLIVIA	A gentleman! what gentleman?

SIR TOBY BELCH	'Tis a gentle man here--a plague o' these
	pickle-herring! How now, sot!

Clown	Good Sir Toby!

OLIVIA	Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

OLIVIA	Ay, marry, what is he?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: give
	me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.

	[Exit]

OLIVIA	What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clown	Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one
	draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads
	him; and a third drowns him.

OLIVIA	Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my
	coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's
	drowned: go, look after him.

Clown	He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look
	to the madman.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO	Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with
	you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to
	understand so much, and therefore comes to speak
	with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to
	have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore
	comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
	lady? he's fortified against any denial.

OLIVIA	Tell him he shall not speak with me.

MALVOLIO	Has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your
	door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to
	a bench, but he'll speak with you.

OLIVIA	What kind o' man is he?

MALVOLIO	Why, of mankind.

OLIVIA	What manner of man?

MALVOLIO	Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

OLIVIA	Of what personage and years is he?

MALVOLIO	Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for
	a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a
	cooling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him
	in standing water, between boy and man. He is very
	well-favoured and he speaks very shrewishly; one
	would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

OLIVIA	Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.

MALVOLIO	Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter MARIA]

OLIVIA	Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face.
	We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

	[Enter VIOLA, and Attendants]

VIOLA	The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

OLIVIA	Speak to me; I shall answer for her.
	Your will?

VIOLA	Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable beauty,--I
	pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house,
	for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away
	my speech, for besides that it is excellently well
	penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
	beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very
	comptible, even to the least sinister usage.

OLIVIA	Whence came you, sir?

VIOLA	I can say little more than I have studied, and that
	question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me
	modest assurance if you be the lady of the house,
	that I may proceed in my speech.

OLIVIA	Are you a comedian?

VIOLA	No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs
	of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you
	the lady of the house?

OLIVIA	If I do not usurp myself, I am.

VIOLA	Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
	yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours
	to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will
	on with my speech in your praise, and then show you
	the heart of my message.

OLIVIA	Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

VIOLA	Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

OLIVIA	It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you,
	keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates,
	and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you
	than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if
	you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of
	moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

MARIA	Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way.

VIOLA	No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little
	longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet
	lady. Tell me your mind: I am a messenger.

OLIVIA	Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when
	the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

VIOLA	It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of
	war, no taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my
	hand; my words are as fun of peace as matter.

OLIVIA	Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?

VIOLA	The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
	learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
	would, are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears,
	divinity, to any other's, profanation.

OLIVIA	Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.

	[Exeunt MARIA and Attendants]

	Now, sir, what is your text?

VIOLA	Most sweet lady,--

OLIVIA	A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
	Where lies your text?

VIOLA	In Orsino's bosom.

OLIVIA	In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

VIOLA	To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

OLIVIA	O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

VIOLA	Good madam, let me see your face.

OLIVIA	Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate
	with my face? You are now out of your text: but
	we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
	Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: is't
	not well done?

	[Unveiling]

VIOLA	Excellently done, if God did all.

OLIVIA	'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

VIOLA	'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
	Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
	Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
	If you will lead these graces to the grave
	And leave the world no copy.

OLIVIA	O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give
	out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be
	inventoried, and every particle and utensil
	labelled to my will: as, item, two lips,
	indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to
	them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were
	you sent hither to praise me?

VIOLA	I see you what you are, you are too proud;
	But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
	My lord and master loves you: O, such love
	Could be but recompensed, though you were crown'd
	The nonpareil of beauty!

OLIVIA	How does he love me?

VIOLA	With adorations, fertile tears,
	With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

OLIVIA	Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him:
	Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
	Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
	In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant;
	And in dimension and the shape of nature
	A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
	He might have took his answer long ago.

VIOLA	If I did love you in my master's flame,
	With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
	In your denial I would find no sense;
	I would not understand it.

OLIVIA	Why, what would you?

VIOLA	Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
	And call upon my soul within the house;
	Write loyal cantons of contemned love
	And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
	Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
	And make the babbling gossip of the air
	Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
	Between the elements of air and earth,
	But you should pity me!

OLIVIA	You might do much.
	What is your parentage?

VIOLA	Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
	I am a gentleman.

OLIVIA	                  Get you to your lord;
	I cannot love him: let him send no more;
	Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
	To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
	I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.

VIOLA	I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse:
	My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
	Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
	And let your fervor, like my master's, be
	Placed in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.

	[Exit]

OLIVIA	'What is your parentage?'
	'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
	I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
	Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit,
	Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast:
	soft, soft!
	Unless the master were the man. How now!
	Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
	Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
	With an invisible and subtle stealth
	To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
	What ho, Malvolio!

	[Re-enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO	                  Here, madam, at your service.

OLIVIA	Run after that same peevish messenger,
	The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
	Would I or not: tell him I'll none of it.
	Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
	Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
	If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
	I'll give him reasons for't: hie thee, Malvolio.

MALVOLIO	Madam, I will.

	[Exit]

OLIVIA	I do I know not what, and fear to find
	Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
	Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
	What is decreed must be, and be this so.

	[Exit]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE I	The sea-coast.


	[Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]

ANTONIO	Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you?

SEBASTIAN	By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over
	me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps
	distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your
	leave that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad
	recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

ANTONIO: Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

SEBASTIAN	No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere
	extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a
	touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me
	what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges
	me in manners the rather to express myself. You
	must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
	which I called Roderigo. My father was that
	Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard
	of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both
	born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased,
	would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that;
	for some hour before you took me from the breach of
	the sea was my sister drowned.

ANTONIO	Alas the day!

SEBASTIAN	A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled
	me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but,
	though I could not with such estimable wonder
	overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly
	publish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but
	call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt
	water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

ANTONIO	Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

SEBASTIAN	O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

ANTONIO	If you will not murder me for my love, let me be
	your servant.

SEBASTIAN	If you will not undo what you have done, that is,
	kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not.
	Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness,
	and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that
	upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell
	tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell.

	[Exit]

ANTONIO	The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
	I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
	Else would I very shortly see thee there.
	But, come what may, I do adore thee so,
	That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.

	[Exit]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE II	A street.


	[Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following]

MALVOLIO	Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

VIOLA	Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
	arrived but hither.

MALVOLIO	She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have
	saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself.
	She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord
	into a desperate assurance she will none of him:
	and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to
	come again in his affairs, unless it be to report
	your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

VIOLA	She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.

MALVOLIO	Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her
	will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth
	stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be
	it his that finds it.

	[Exit]

VIOLA	I left no ring with her: what means this lady?
	Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
	She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
	That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
	For she did speak in starts distractedly.
	She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
	Invites me in this churlish messenger.
	None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
	I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis,
	Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
	Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
	Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
	How easy is it for the proper-false
	In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
	Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
	For such as we are made of, such we be.
	How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly;
	And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
	And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
	What will become of this? As I am man,
	My state is desperate for my master's love;
	As I am woman,--now alas the day!--
	What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
	O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
	It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

	[Exit]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE III	OLIVIA's house.


	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after
	midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo
	surgere,' thou know'st,--

SIR ANDREW	Nay, my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up
	late is to be up late.

SIR TOBY BELCH	A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can.
	To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is
	early: so that to go to bed after midnight is to go
	to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the
	four elements?

SIR ANDREW	Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists
	of eating and drinking.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
	Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!

	[Enter Clown]

SIR ANDREW	Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Clown	How now, my hearts! did you never see the picture
	of 'we three'?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

SIR ANDREW	By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I
	had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg,
	and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In
	sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last
	night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the
	Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas
	very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy
	leman: hadst it?

Clown	I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose
	is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the
	Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

SIR ANDREW	Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all
	is done. Now, a song.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

SIR ANDREW	There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a--

Clown	Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

SIR TOBY BELCH	A love-song, a love-song.

SIR ANDREW	Ay, ay: I care not for good life.

Clown	[Sings]

	O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
	O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
	That can sing both high and low:
	Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
	Journeys end in lovers meeting,
	Every wise man's son doth know.

SIR ANDREW	Excellent good, i' faith.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Good, good.

Clown	[Sings]

	What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
	Present mirth hath present laughter;
	What's to come is still unsure:
	In delay there lies no plenty;
	Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
	Youth's a stuff will not endure.

SIR ANDREW	A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

SIR TOBY BELCH	A contagious breath.

SIR ANDREW	Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.

SIR TOBY BELCH	To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
	But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we
	rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three
	souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

SIR ANDREW	An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Clown	By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

SIR ANDREW	Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

Clown	'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be
	constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

SIR ANDREW	'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to
	call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'

Clown	I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

SIR ANDREW	Good, i' faith. Come, begin.

	[Catch sung]

	[Enter MARIA]

MARIA	What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady
	have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him
	turn you out of doors, never trust me.

SIR TOBY BELCH	My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's
	a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three merry men be we.' Am not
	I consanguineous? am I not of her blood?
	Tillyvally. Lady!

	[Sings]

	'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!'

Clown	Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

SIR ANDREW	Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do
	I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it
	more natural.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Sings]  'O, the twelfth day of December,'--

MARIA	For the love o' God, peace!

	[Enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO	My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have ye
	no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like
	tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an
	alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your
	coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse
	of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
	time in you?

SIR TOBY BELCH	We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

MALVOLIO	Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me
	tell you, that, though she harbours you as her
	kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If
	you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you
	are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please
	you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid
	you farewell.

SIR TOBY BELCH	'Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.'

MARIA	Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clown	'His eyes do show his days are almost done.'

MALVOLIO	Is't even so?

SIR TOBY BELCH	'But I will never die.'

Clown	Sir Toby, there you lie.

MALVOLIO	This is much credit to you.

SIR TOBY BELCH	'Shall I bid him go?'

Clown	'What an if you do?'

SIR TOBY BELCH	'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'

Clown	'O no, no, no, no, you dare not.'

SIR TOBY BELCH	Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more than a
	steward? Dost thou think, because thou art
	virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clown	Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the
	mouth too.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with
	crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!

MALVOLIO	Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any
	thing more than contempt, you would not give means
	for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand.

	[Exit]

MARIA	Go shake your ears.

SIR ANDREW	'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's
	a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to
	break promise with him and make a fool of him.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll
	deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

MARIA	Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight: since the
	youth of the count's was today with thy lady, she is
	much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me
	alone with him: if I do not gull him into a
	nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not
	think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed:
	I know I can do it.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

MARIA	Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.

SIR ANDREW	O, if I thought that I'ld beat him like a dog!

SIR TOBY BELCH	What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason,
	dear knight?

SIR ANDREW	I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
	good enough.

MARIA	The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing
	constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass,
	that cons state without book and utters it by great
	swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so
	crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is
	his grounds of faith that all that look on him love
	him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find
	notable cause to work.

SIR TOBY BELCH	What wilt thou do?

MARIA	I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of
	love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape
	of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure
	of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find
	himself most feelingly personated. I can write very
	like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we
	can hardly make distinction of our hands.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Excellent! I smell a device.

SIR ANDREW	I have't in my nose too.

SIR TOBY BELCH	He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop,
	that they come from my niece, and that she's in
	love with him.

MARIA	My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

SIR ANDREW	And your horse now would make him an ass.

MARIA	Ass, I doubt not.

SIR ANDREW	O, 'twill be admirable!

MARIA	Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic will
	work with him. I will plant you two, and let the
	fool make a third, where he shall find the letter:
	observe his construction of it. For this night, to
	bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Good night, Penthesilea.

SIR ANDREW	Before me, she's a good wench.

SIR TOBY BELCH	She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me:
	what o' that?

SIR ANDREW	I was adored once too.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for
	more money.

SIR ANDREW	If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i'
	the end, call me cut.

SIR ANDREW	If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late
	to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE IV	DUKE ORSINO's palace.


	[Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and others]

DUKE ORSINO	Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.
	Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
	That old and antique song we heard last night:
	Methought it did relieve my passion much,
	More than light airs and recollected terms
	Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
	Come, but one verse.

CURIO	He is not here, so please your lordship that should sing it.

DUKE ORSINO	Who was it?

CURIO	Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady
	Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house.

DUKE ORSINO	Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

	[Exit CURIO. Music plays]

	Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,
	In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
	For such as I am all true lovers are,
	Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
	Save in the constant image of the creature
	That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?

VIOLA	It gives a very echo to the seat
	Where Love is throned.

DUKE ORSINO	Thou dost speak masterly:
	My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
	Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves:
	Hath it not, boy?

VIOLA	                  A little, by your favour.

DUKE ORSINO	What kind of woman is't?

VIOLA	Of your complexion.

DUKE ORSINO	She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?

VIOLA	About your years, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO	Too old by heaven: let still the woman take
	An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
	So sways she level in her husband's heart:
	For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
	Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
	More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
	Than women's are.

VIOLA	                  I think it well, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO	Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
	Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
	For women are as roses, whose fair flower
	Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

VIOLA	And so they are: alas, that they are so;
	To die, even when they to perfection grow!

	[Re-enter CURIO and Clown]

DUKE ORSINO	O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
	Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
	The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
	And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
	Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
	And dallies with the innocence of love,
	Like the old age.

Clown	Are you ready, sir?

DUKE ORSINO	Ay; prithee, sing.

	[Music]
	
	SONG.
Clown	Come away, come away, death,
	And in sad cypress let me be laid;
	Fly away, fly away breath;
	I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
	My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
	O, prepare it!
	My part of death, no one so true
	Did share it.
	Not a flower, not a flower sweet
	On my black coffin let there be strown;
	Not a friend, not a friend greet
	My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
	A thousand thousand sighs to save,
	Lay me, O, where
	Sad true lover never find my grave,
	To weep there!

DUKE ORSINO	There's for thy pains.

Clown	No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.

DUKE ORSINO	I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clown	Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

DUKE ORSINO	Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clown	Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the
	tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for
	thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such
	constancy put to sea, that their business might be
	every thing and their intent every where; for that's
	it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

	[Exit]

DUKE ORSINO	Let all the rest give place.

	[CURIO and Attendants retire]

		       Once more, Cesario,
	Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty:
	Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
	Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
	The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
	Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
	But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems
	That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.

VIOLA	But if she cannot love you, sir?

DUKE ORSINO	I cannot be so answer'd.

VIOLA	Sooth, but you must.
	Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
	Hath for your love a great a pang of heart
	As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
	You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd?

DUKE ORSINO	There is no woman's sides
	Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
	As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
	So big, to hold so much; they lack retention
	Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
	No motion of the liver, but the palate,
	That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt;
	But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
	And can digest as much: make no compare
	Between that love a woman can bear me
	And that I owe Olivia.

VIOLA	Ay, but I know--

DUKE ORSINO	What dost thou know?

VIOLA	Too well what love women to men may owe:
	In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
	My father had a daughter loved a man,
	As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
	I should your lordship.

DUKE ORSINO	And what's her history?

VIOLA	A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
	But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
	Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
	And with a green and yellow melancholy
	She sat like patience on a monument,
	Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
	We men may say more, swear more: but indeed
	Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
	Much in our vows, but little in our love.

DUKE ORSINO	But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

VIOLA	I am all the daughters of my father's house,
	And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
	Sir, shall I to this lady?

DUKE ORSINO	Ay, that's the theme.
	To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
	My love can give no place, bide no denay.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE V	OLIVIA's garden.


	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

FABIAN	Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport,
	let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly
	rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

FABIAN	I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
	favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.

SIR TOBY BELCH	To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
	fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?

SIR ANDREW	An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Here comes the little villain.

	[Enter MARIA]

	How now, my metal of India!

MARIA	Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
	coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the
	sun practising behavior to his own shadow this half
	hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I
	know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of
	him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there,

	[Throws down a letter]

	for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

	[Exit]

	[Enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO	'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told
	me she did affect me: and I have heard herself come
	thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one
	of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more
	exalted respect than any one else that follows her.
	What should I think on't?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Here's an overweening rogue!

FABIAN	O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
	of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!

SIR ANDREW	'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Peace, I say.

MALVOLIO	To be Count Malvolio!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Ah, rogue!

SIR ANDREW	Pistol him, pistol him.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Peace, peace!

MALVOLIO	There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
	married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

SIR ANDREW	Fie on him, Jezebel!

FABIAN	O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how
	imagination blows him.

MALVOLIO	Having been three months married to her, sitting in
	my state,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!

MALVOLIO	Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet
	gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left
	Olivia sleeping,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	Fire and brimstone!

FABIAN	O, peace, peace!

MALVOLIO	And then to have the humour of state; and after a
	demure travel of regard, telling them I know my
	place as I would they should do theirs, to for my
	kinsman Toby,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	Bolts and shackles!

FABIAN	O peace, peace, peace! now, now.

MALVOLIO	Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make
	out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind
	up watch, or play with my--some rich jewel. Toby
	approaches; courtesies there to me,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	Shall this fellow live?

FABIAN	Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

MALVOLIO	I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar
	smile with an austere regard of control,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

MALVOLIO	Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on
	your niece give me this prerogative of speech,'--

SIR TOBY BELCH	What, what?

MALVOLIO	'You must amend your drunkenness.'

SIR TOBY BELCH	Out, scab!

FABIAN	Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

MALVOLIO	'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
	a foolish knight,'--

SIR ANDREW	That's me, I warrant you.

MALVOLIO	'One Sir Andrew,'--

SIR ANDREW	I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

MALVOLIO	What employment have we here?

	[Taking up the letter]

FABIAN	Now is the woodcock near the gin.

SIR TOBY BELCH	O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading
	aloud to him!

MALVOLIO	By my life, this is my lady's hand these be her
	very C's, her U's and her T's and thus makes she her
	great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

SIR ANDREW	Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that?

MALVOLIO	[Reads]  'To the unknown beloved, this, and my good
	wishes:'--her very phrases! By your leave, wax.
	Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she
	uses to seal: 'tis my lady. To whom should this be?

FABIAN	This wins him, liver and all.

MALVOLIO	[Reads]

	Jove knows I love: But who?
	Lips, do not move;
	No man must know.
	'No man must know.' What follows? the numbers
	altered! 'No man must know:' if this should be
	thee, Malvolio?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Marry, hang thee, brock!

MALVOLIO	[Reads]
	I may command where I adore;
	But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
	With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
	M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

FABIAN	A fustian riddle!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Excellent wench, say I.

MALVOLIO	'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but first, let
	me see, let me see, let me see.

FABIAN	What dish o' poison has she dressed him!

SIR TOBY BELCH	And with what wing the staniel cheques at it!

MALVOLIO	'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command
	me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is
	evident to any formal capacity; there is no
	obstruction in this: and the end,--what should
	that alphabetical position portend? If I could make
	that resemble something in me,--Softly! M, O, A,
	I,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent.

FABIAN	Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as
	rank as a fox.

MALVOLIO	M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.

FABIAN	Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is
	excellent at faults.

MALVOLIO	M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
	that suffers under probation A should follow but O does.

FABIAN	And O shall end, I hope.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O!

MALVOLIO	And then I comes behind.

FABIAN	Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see
	more detraction at your heels than fortunes before
	you.

MALVOLIO	M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former: and
	yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for
	every one of these letters are in my name. Soft!
	here follows prose.

	[Reads]

	'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I
	am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some
	are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
	have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open
	their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
	and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
	cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be
	opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let
	thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
	the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee
	that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy
	yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever
	cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art
	made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see
	thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and
	not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell.
	She that would alter services with thee,
		         THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
	Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is
	open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors,
	I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
	acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man.
	I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade
	me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady
	loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
	late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered;
	and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
	with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits
	of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will
	be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
	cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
	on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
	postscript.

	[Reads]

	'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
	entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling;
	thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my
	presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.'
	Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
	everything that thou wilt have me.

	[Exit]

FABIAN	I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
	of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I could marry this wench for this device.

SIR ANDREW	So could I too.

SIR TOBY BELCH	And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

SIR ANDREW	Nor I neither.

FABIAN	Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

	[Re-enter MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

SIR ANDREW	Or o' mine either?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
	bond-slave?

SIR ANDREW	I' faith, or I either?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
	the image of it leaves him he must run mad.

MARIA	Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

MARIA	If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark
	his first approach before my lady: he will come to
	her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she
	abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests;
	and he will smile upon her, which will now be so
	unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
	melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him
	into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow
	me.

SIR TOBY BELCH	To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

SIR ANDREW	I'll make one too.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE I	OLIVIA's garden.


	[Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabour]

VIOLA	Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
	thy tabour?

Clown	No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA	Art thou a churchman?

Clown	No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
	I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
	the church.

VIOLA	So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
	beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
	tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Clown	You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
	but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
	wrong side may be turned outward!

VIOLA	Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with
	words may quickly make them wanton.

Clown	I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

VIOLA	Why, man?

Clown	Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that
	word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words
	are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

VIOLA	Thy reason, man?

Clown	Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and
	words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
	reason with them.

VIOLA	I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing.

Clown	Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my
	conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be
	to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

VIOLA	Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

Clown	No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she
	will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and
	fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to
	herrings; the husband's the bigger: I am indeed not
	her fool, but her corrupter of words.

VIOLA	I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Clown	Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun,
	it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but
	the fool should be as oft with your master as with
	my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

VIOLA	Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
	Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Clown	Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

VIOLA	By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for
	one;

	[Aside]

	though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy
	lady within?

Clown	Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

VIOLA	Yes, being kept together and put to use.

Clown	I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring
	a Cressida to this Troilus.

VIOLA	I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.

Clown	The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but
	a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is
	within, sir. I will construe to them whence you
	come; who you are and what you would are out of my
	welkin, I might say 'element,' but the word is over-worn.

	[Exit]

VIOLA	This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
	And to do that well craves a kind of wit:
	He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
	The quality of persons, and the time,
	And, like the haggard, cheque at every feather
	That comes before his eye. This is a practise
	As full of labour as a wise man's art
	For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
	But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, and SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Save you, gentleman.

VIOLA	And you, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

VIOLA	Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

SIR ANDREW	I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous
	you should enter, if your trade be to her.

VIOLA	I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the
	list of my voyage.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.

VIOLA	My legs do better understand me, sir, than I
	understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

VIOLA	I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we
	are prevented.

	[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]

	Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
	odours on you!

SIR ANDREW	That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain odours;' well.

VIOLA	My matter hath no voice, to your own most pregnant
	and vouchsafed ear.

SIR ANDREW	'Odours,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em
	all three all ready.

OLIVIA	Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

	[Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA]

	Give me your hand, sir.

VIOLA	My duty, madam, and most humble service.

OLIVIA	What is your name?

VIOLA	Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

OLIVIA	My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
	Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
	You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

VIOLA	And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
	Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

OLIVIA	For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
	Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!

VIOLA	Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
	On his behalf.

OLIVIA	                  O, by your leave, I pray you,
	I bade you never speak again of him:
	But, would you undertake another suit,
	I had rather hear you to solicit that
	Than music from the spheres.

VIOLA	Dear lady,--

OLIVIA	Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
	After the last enchantment you did here,
	A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse
	Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you:
	Under your hard construction must I sit,
	To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
	Which you knew none of yours: what might you think?
	Have you not set mine honour at the stake
	And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
	That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
	Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
	Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.

VIOLA	I pity you.

OLIVIA	          That's a degree to love.

VIOLA	No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof,
	That very oft we pity enemies.

OLIVIA	Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
	O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
	If one should be a prey, how much the better
	To fall before the lion than the wolf!

	[Clock strikes]

	The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
	Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
	And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
	Your were is alike to reap a proper man:
	There lies your way, due west.

VIOLA	Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
	Attend your ladyship!
	You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

OLIVIA	Stay:
	I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.

VIOLA	That you do think you are not what you are.

OLIVIA	If I think so, I think the same of you.

VIOLA	Then think you right: I am not what I am.

OLIVIA	I would you were as I would have you be!

VIOLA	Would it be better, madam, than I am?
	I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

OLIVIA	O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
	In the contempt and anger of his lip!
	A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
	Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
	Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
	By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,
	I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
	Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
	Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
	For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause,
	But rather reason thus with reason fetter,
	Love sought is good, but given unsought better.

VIOLA	By innocence I swear, and by my youth
	I have one heart, one bosom and one truth,
	And that no woman has; nor never none
	Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
	And so adieu, good madam: never more
	Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

OLIVIA	Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
	That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE II	OLIVIA's house.


	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

SIR ANDREW	No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

FABIAN	You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW	Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the
	count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me;
	I saw't i' the orchard.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

SIR ANDREW	As plain as I see you now.

FABIAN	This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

SIR ANDREW	'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?

FABIAN	I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
	judgment and reason.

SIR TOBY BELCH	And they have been grand-jury-men since before Noah
	was a sailor.

FABIAN	She did show favour to the youth in your sight only
	to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to
	put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver.
	You should then have accosted her; and with some
	excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should
	have banged the youth into dumbness. This was
	looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the
	double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash
	off, and you are now sailed into the north of my
	lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle
	on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by
	some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

SIR ANDREW	An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy
	I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a
	politician.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
	valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight
	with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall
	take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
	love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's
	commendation with woman than report of valour.

FABIAN	There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW	Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief;
	it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun
	of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink:
	if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be
	amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of
	paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
	bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it.
	Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou
	write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.

SIR ANDREW	Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY BELCH	We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go.

	[Exit SIR ANDREW]

FABIAN	This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand
	strong, or so.

FABIAN	We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll
	not deliver't?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the
	youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes
	cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were
	opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as
	will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of
	the anatomy.

FABIAN	And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no
	great presage of cruelty.

	[Enter MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes.

MARIA	If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourself
	into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is
	turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no
	Christian, that means to be saved by believing
	rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages
	of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

SIR TOBY BELCH	And cross-gartered?

MARIA	Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school
	i' the church. I have dogged him, like his
	murderer. He does obey every point of the letter
	that I dropped to betray him: he does smile his
	face into more lines than is in the new map with the
	augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such
	a thing as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things
	at him. I know my lady will strike him: if she do,
	he'll smile and take't for a great favour.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE III	A street.


	[Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]

SEBASTIAN	I would not by my will have troubled you;
	But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
	I will no further chide you.

ANTONIO	I could not stay behind you: my desire,
	More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
	And not all love to see you, though so much
	As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,
	But jealousy what might befall your travel,
	Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
	Unguided and unfriended, often prove
	Rough and unhospitable: my willing love,
	The rather by these arguments of fear,
	Set forth in your pursuit.

SEBASTIAN	My kind Antonio,
	I can no other answer make but thanks,
	And thanks; and ever [         ] oft good turns
	Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay:
	But, were my worth as is my conscience firm,
	You should find better dealing. What's to do?
	Shall we go see the reliques of this town?

ANTONIO	To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging.

SEBASTIAN	I am not weary, and 'tis long to night:
	I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
	With the memorials and the things of fame
	That do renown this city.

ANTONIO	Would you'ld pardon me;
	I do not without danger walk these streets:
	Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his galleys
	I did some service; of such note indeed,
	That were I ta'en here it would scarce be answer'd.

SEBASTIAN	Belike you slew great number of his people.

ANTONIO	The offence is not of such a bloody nature;
	Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
	Might well have given us bloody argument.
	It might have since been answer'd in repaying
	What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
	Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
	For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
	I shall pay dear.

SEBASTIAN	                  Do not then walk too open.

ANTONIO	It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse.
	In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
	Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
	Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
	With viewing of the town: there shall you have me.

SEBASTIAN	Why I your purse?

ANTONIO	Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
	You have desire to purchase; and your store,
	I think, is not for idle markets, sir.

SEBASTIAN	I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you
	For an hour.

ANTONIO	To the Elephant.

SEBASTIAN	                  I do remember.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE IV	OLIVIA's garden.


	[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]

OLIVIA	I have sent after him: he says he'll come;
	How shall I feast him? what bestow of him?
	For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.
	I speak too loud.
	Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil,
	And suits well for a servant with my fortunes:
	Where is Malvolio?

MARIA	He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He
	is, sure, possessed, madam.

OLIVIA	Why, what's the matter? does he rave?

MARIA	No. madam, he does nothing but smile: your
	ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if
	he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in's wits.

OLIVIA	Go call him hither.

	[Exit MARIA]

	I am as mad as he,
	If sad and merry madness equal be.

	[Re-enter MARIA, with MALVOLIO]

	How now, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO	Sweet lady, ho, ho.

OLIVIA	Smilest thou?
	I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

MALVOLIO	Sad, lady! I could be sad: this does make some
	obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but
	what of that? if it please the eye of one, it is
	with me as the very true sonnet is, 'Please one, and
	please all.'

OLIVIA	Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

MALVOLIO	Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It
	did come to his hands, and commands shall be
	executed: I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

OLIVIA	Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO	To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come to thee.

OLIVIA	God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss
	thy hand so oft?

MARIA	How do you, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO	At your request! yes; nightingales answer daws.

MARIA	Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

MALVOLIO	'Be not afraid of greatness:' 'twas well writ.

OLIVIA	What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO	'Some are born great,'--

OLIVIA	Ha!

MALVOLIO	'Some achieve greatness,'--

OLIVIA	What sayest thou?

MALVOLIO	'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'

OLIVIA	Heaven restore thee!

MALVOLIO	'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'--

OLIVIA	Thy yellow stockings!

MALVOLIO	'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.'

OLIVIA	Cross-gartered!

MALVOLIO	'Go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be so;'--

OLIVIA	Am I made?

MALVOLIO	'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'

OLIVIA	Why, this is very midsummer madness.

	[Enter Servant]

Servant	Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
	returned: I could hardly entreat him back: he
	attends your ladyship's pleasure.

OLIVIA	I'll come to him.

	[Exit Servant]

	Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's
	my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special
	care of him: I would not have him miscarry for the
	half of my dowry.

	[Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA]

MALVOLIO	O, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than
	Sir Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with
	the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may
	appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that
	in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says she;
	'be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants;
	let thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put
	thyself into the trick of singularity;' and
	consequently sets down the manner how; as, a sad
	face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the
	habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have
	limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me
	thankful! And when she went away now, 'Let this
	fellow be looked to:' fellow! not Malvolio, nor
	after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing
	adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no
	scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous
	or unsafe circumstance--What can be said? Nothing
	that can be can come between me and the full
	prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the
	doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

	[Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY BELCH and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all
	the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion
	himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him.

FABIAN	Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir?
	how is't with you, man?

MALVOLIO	Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my private: go
	off.

MARIA	Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not
	I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a
	care of him.

MALVOLIO	Ah, ha! does she so?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently
	with him: let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? how
	is't with you? What, man! defy the devil:
	consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

MALVOLIO	Do you know what you say?

MARIA	La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes
	it at heart! Pray God, he be not bewitched!

FABIAN	Carry his water to the wise woman.

MARIA	Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I
	live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

MALVOLIO	How now, mistress!

MARIA	O Lord!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Prithee, hold thy peace; this is not the way: do
	you not see you move him? let me alone with him.

FABIAN	No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is
	rough, and will not be roughly used.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, how now, my bawcock! how dost thou, chuck?

MALVOLIO	Sir!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for
	gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: hang
	him, foul collier!

MARIA	Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.

MALVOLIO	My prayers, minx!

MARIA	No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.

MALVOLIO	Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow
	things: I am not of your element: you shall know
	more hereafter.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Is't possible?

FABIAN	If this were played upon a stage now, I could
	condemn it as an improbable fiction.

SIR TOBY BELCH	His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

MARIA	Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.

FABIAN	Why, we shall make him mad indeed.

MARIA	The house will be the quieter.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My
	niece is already in the belief that he's mad: we
	may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his penance,
	till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt
	us to have mercy on him: at which time we will
	bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a
	finder of madmen. But see, but see.

	[Enter SIR ANDREW]

FABIAN	More matter for a May morning.

SIR ANDREW	Here's the challenge, read it: warrant there's
	vinegar and pepper in't.

FABIAN	Is't so saucy?

SIR ANDREW	Ay, is't, I warrant him: do but read.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Give me.

	[Reads]

	'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.'

FABIAN	Good, and valiant.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Reads]  'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind,
	why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.'

FABIAN	A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Reads]  'Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my
	sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy
	throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee for.'

FABIAN	Very brief, and to exceeding good sense--less.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Reads]  'I will waylay thee going home; where if it
	be thy chance to kill me,'--

FABIAN	Good.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Reads]  'Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain.'

FABIAN	Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: good.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[Reads]  'Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon
	one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but
	my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy
	friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
		                  ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
	If this letter move him not, his legs cannot:
	I'll give't him.

MARIA	You may have very fit occasion for't: he is now in
	some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Go, Sir Andrew: scout me for him at the corner the
	orchard like a bum-baily: so soon as ever thou seest
	him, draw; and, as thou drawest swear horrible; for
	it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a
	swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood
	more approbation than ever proof itself would have
	earned him. Away!

SIR ANDREW	Nay, let me alone for swearing.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Now will not I deliver his letter: for the behavior
	of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good
	capacity and breeding; his employment between his
	lord and my niece confirms no less: therefore this
	letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no
	terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a
	clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by
	word of mouth; set upon Aguecheek a notable report
	of valour; and drive the gentleman, as I know his
	youth will aptly receive it, into a most hideous
	opinion of his rage, skill, fury and impetuosity.
	This will so fright them both that they will kill
	one another by the look, like cockatrices.

	[Re-enter OLIVIA, with VIOLA]

FABIAN	Here he comes with your niece: give them way till
	he take leave, and presently after him.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I will meditate the while upon some horrid message
	for a challenge.

	[Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, FABIAN, and MARIA]

OLIVIA	I have said too much unto a heart of stone
	And laid mine honour too unchary out:
	There's something in me that reproves my fault;
	But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
	That it but mocks reproof.

VIOLA	With the same 'havior that your passion bears
	Goes on my master's grief.

OLIVIA	Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
	Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you;
	And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
	What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
	That honour saved may upon asking give?

VIOLA	Nothing but this; your true love for my master.

OLIVIA	How with mine honour may I give him that
	Which I have given to you?

VIOLA	I will acquit you.

OLIVIA	Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well:
	A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Gentleman, God save thee.

VIOLA	And you, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH	That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: of what
	nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know
	not; but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as
	the hunter, attends thee at the orchard-end:
	dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for
	thy assailant is quick, skilful and deadly.

VIOLA	You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel
	to me: my remembrance is very free and clear from
	any image of offence done to any man.

SIR TOBY BELCH	You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore,
	if you hold your life at any price, betake you to
	your guard; for your opposite hath in him what
	youth, strength, skill and wrath can furnish man withal.

VIOLA	I pray you, sir, what is he?

SIR TOBY BELCH	He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier and on
	carpet consideration; but he is a devil in private
	brawl: souls and bodies hath he divorced three; and
	his incensement at this moment is so implacable,
	that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death
	and sepulchre. Hob, nob, is his word; give't or take't.

VIOLA	I will return again into the house and desire some
	conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard
	of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on
	others, to taste their valour: belike this is a man
	of that quirk.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a
	very competent injury: therefore, get you on and
	give him his desire. Back you shall not to the
	house, unless you undertake that with me which with
	as much safety you might answer him: therefore, on,
	or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you
	must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.

VIOLA	This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me
	this courteous office, as to know of the knight what
	my offence to him is: it is something of my
	negligence, nothing of my purpose.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this
	gentleman till my return.

	[Exit]

VIOLA	Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?

FABIAN	I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a
	mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance more.

VIOLA	I beseech you, what manner of man is he?

FABIAN	Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by
	his form, as you are like to find him in the proof
	of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most skilful,
	bloody and fatal opposite that you could possibly
	have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk
	towards him? I will make your peace with him if I
	can.

VIOLA	I shall be much bound to you for't: I am one that
	had rather go with sir priest than sir knight: I
	care not who knows so much of my mettle.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH, with SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a
	firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard and
	all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal
	motion, that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he
	pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they
	step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.

SIR ANDREW	Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can
	scarce hold him yonder.

SIR ANDREW	Plague on't, an I thought he had been valiant and so
	cunning in fence, I'ld have seen him damned ere I'ld
	have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip,
	and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I'll make the motion: stand here, make a good show
	on't: this shall end without the perdition of souls.

	[Aside]

	Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.

	[Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA]

	[To FABIAN]

	I have his horse to take up the quarrel:
	I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.

FABIAN	He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and
	looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.

SIR TOBY BELCH	[To VIOLA]  There's no remedy, sir; he will fight
	with you for's oath sake: marry, he hath better
	bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now
	scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for
	the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.

VIOLA	[Aside]  Pray God defend me! A little thing would
	make me tell them how much I lack of a man.

FABIAN	Give ground, if you see him furious.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman
	will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you;
	he cannot by the duello avoid it: but he has
	promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he
	will not hurt you. Come on; to't.

SIR ANDREW	Pray God, he keep his oath!

VIOLA	I do assure you, 'tis against my will.

	[They draw]

	[Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIO	Put up your sword. If this young gentleman
	Have done offence, I take the fault on me:
	If you offend him, I for him defy you.

SIR TOBY BELCH	You, sir! why, what are you?

ANTONIO	One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
	Than you have heard him brag to you he will.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.

	[They draw]

	[Enter Officers]

FABIAN	O good Sir Toby, hold! here come the officers.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I'll be with you anon.

VIOLA	Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.

SIR ANDREW	Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I promised you,
	I'll be as good as my word: he will bear you easily
	and reins well.

First Officer	This is the man; do thy office.

Second Officer	Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino.

ANTONIO	You do mistake me, sir.

First Officer	No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
	Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.
	Take him away: he knows I know him well.

ANTONIO	I must obey.

	[To VIOLA]

	This comes with seeking you:
	But there's no remedy; I shall answer it.
	What will you do, now my necessity
	Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
	Much more for what I cannot do for you
	Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed;
	But be of comfort.

Second Officer	Come, sir, away.

ANTONIO	I must entreat of you some of that money.

VIOLA	What money, sir?
	For the fair kindness you have show'd me here,
	And, part, being prompted by your present trouble,
	Out of my lean and low ability
	I'll lend you something: my having is not much;
	I'll make division of my present with you:
	Hold, there's half my coffer.

ANTONIO	Will you deny me now?
	Is't possible that my deserts to you
	Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
	Lest that it make me so unsound a man
	As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
	That I have done for you.

VIOLA	I know of none;
	Nor know I you by voice or any feature:
	I hate ingratitude more in a man
	Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
	Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
	Inhabits our frail blood.

ANTONIO	O heavens themselves!

Second Officer	Come, sir, I pray you, go.

ANTONIO	Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
	I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death,
	Relieved him with such sanctity of love,
	And to his image, which methought did promise
	Most venerable worth, did I devotion.

First Officer	What's that to us? The time goes by: away!

ANTONIO	But O how vile an idol proves this god
	Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
	In nature there's no blemish but the mind;
	None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind:
	Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
	Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil.

First Officer	The man grows mad: away with him! Come, come, sir.

ANTONIO	Lead me on.

	[Exit with Officers]

VIOLA	Methinks his words do from such passion fly,
	That he believes himself: so do not I.
	Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
	That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian: we'll
	whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.

VIOLA	He named Sebastian: I my brother know
	Yet living in my glass; even such and so
	In favour was my brother, and he went
	Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
	For him I imitate: O, if it prove,
	Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than
	a hare: his dishonesty appears in leaving his
	friend here in necessity and denying him; and for
	his cowardship, ask Fabian.

FABIAN	A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.

SIR ANDREW	'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.

SIR ANDREW	An I do not,--

FABIAN	Come, let's see the event.

SIR TOBY BELCH	I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE I	Before OLIVIA's house.


	[Enter SEBASTIAN and Clown]

Clown	Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?

SEBASTIAN	Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow:
	Let me be clear of thee.

Clown	Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor
	I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come
	speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario;
	nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.

SEBASTIAN	I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou
	know'st not me.

Clown	Vent my folly! he has heard that word of some
	great man and now applies it to a fool. Vent my
	folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world,
	will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy
	strangeness and tell me what I shall vent to my
	lady: shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

SEBASTIAN	I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me: There's
	money for thee: if you tarry longer, I shall give
	worse payment.

Clown	By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men
	that give fools money get themselves a good
	report--after fourteen years' purchase.

	[Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY BELCH, and FABIAN]

SIR ANDREW	Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you.

SEBASTIAN	Why, there's for thee, and there, and there. Are all
	the people mad?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

Clown	This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be
	in some of your coats for two pence.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come on, sir; hold.

SIR ANDREW	Nay, let him alone: I'll go another way to work
	with him; I'll have an action of battery against
	him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I
	struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.

SEBASTIAN	Let go thy hand.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young
	soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed; come on.

SEBASTIAN	I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If
	thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.

SIR TOBY BELCH	What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two
	of this malapert blood from you.

	[Enter OLIVIA]

OLIVIA	Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Madam!

OLIVIA	Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
	Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
	Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight!
	Be not offended, dear Cesario.
	Rudesby, be gone!

	[Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

	I prithee, gentle friend,
	Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
	In this uncivil and thou unjust extent
	Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
	And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
	This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
	Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go:
	Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,
	He started one poor heart of mine in thee.

SEBASTIAN	What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
	Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
	Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
	If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

OLIVIA	Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!

SEBASTIAN	Madam, I will.

OLIVIA	                  O, say so, and so be!

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE II	OLIVIA's house.


	[Enter MARIA and Clown]

MARIA	Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard;
	make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate: do
	it quickly; I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.

	[Exit]

Clown	Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself
	in't; and I would I were the first that ever
	dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to
	become the function well, nor lean enough to be
	thought a good student; but to be said an honest man
	and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a
	careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.

	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH	Jove bless thee, master Parson.

Clown	Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for, as the old hermit of
	Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
	said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 'That that is is;'
	so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for,
	what is 'that' but 'that,' and 'is' but 'is'?

SIR TOBY BELCH	To him, Sir Topas.

Clown	What, ho, I say! peace in this prison!

SIR TOBY BELCH	The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.

MALVOLIO	[Within]  Who calls there?

Clown	Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
	the lunatic.

MALVOLIO	Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.

Clown	Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man!
	talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Well said, Master Parson.

MALVOLIO	Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: good Sir
	Topas, do not think I am mad: they have laid me
	here in hideous darkness.

Clown	Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most
	modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones
	that will use the devil himself with courtesy:
	sayest thou that house is dark?

MALVOLIO	As hell, Sir Topas.

Clown	Why it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
	and the clearstores toward the south north are as
	lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of
	obstruction?

MALVOLIO	I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, this house is dark.

Clown	Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness
	but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than
	the Egyptians in their fog.

MALVOLIO	I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though
	ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there
	was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you
	are: make the trial of it in any constant question.

Clown	What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

MALVOLIO	That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Clown	What thinkest thou of his opinion?

MALVOLIO	I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Clown	Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness:
	thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will
	allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest
	thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

MALVOLIO	Sir Topas, Sir Topas!

SIR TOBY BELCH	My most exquisite Sir Topas!

Clown	Nay, I am for all waters.

MARIA	Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and
	gown: he sees thee not.

SIR TOBY BELCH	To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how
	thou findest him: I would we were well rid of this
	knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I
	would he were, for I am now so far in offence with
	my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this
	sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.

	[Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

Clown	[Singing]

	'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
	Tell me how thy lady does.'

MALVOLIO	Fool!

Clown	'My lady is unkind, perdy.'

MALVOLIO	Fool!

Clown	'Alas, why is she so?'

MALVOLIO	Fool, I say!

Clown	'She loves another'--Who calls, ha?

MALVOLIO	Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my
	hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink and paper:
	as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to
	thee for't.

Clown	Master Malvolio?

MALVOLIO	Ay, good fool.

Clown	Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

MALVOLIO	Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused: I
	am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

Clown	But as well? then you are mad indeed, if you be no
	better in your wits than a fool.

MALVOLIO	They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness,
	send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to
	face me out of my wits.

Clown	Advise you what you say; the minister is here.
	Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
	endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain
	bibble babble.

MALVOLIO	Sir Topas!

Clown	Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I,
	sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good Sir Topas.
	Merry, amen. I will, sir, I will.

MALVOLIO	Fool, fool, fool, I say!

Clown	Alas, sir, be patient. What say you sir? I am
	shent for speaking to you.

MALVOLIO	Good fool, help me to some light and some paper: I
	tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

Clown	Well-a-day that you were, sir

MALVOLIO	By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper and
	light; and convey what I will set down to my lady:
	it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing
	of letter did.

Clown	I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you
	not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit?

MALVOLIO	Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Clown	Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his
	brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

MALVOLIO	Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I
	prithee, be gone.

Clown	[Singing]

	I am gone, sir,
	And anon, sir,
	I'll be with you again,
	In a trice,
	Like to the old Vice,
	Your need to sustain;
	Who, with dagger of lath,
	In his rage and his wrath,
	Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
	Like a mad lad,
	Pare thy nails, dad;
	Adieu, good man devil.

	[Exit]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE III	OLIVIA's garden.


	[Enter SEBASTIAN]

SEBASTIAN	This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
	This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
	And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
	Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
	I could not find him at the Elephant:
	Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
	That he did range the town to seek me out.
	His counsel now might do me golden service;
	For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
	That this may be some error, but no madness,
	Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
	So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
	That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
	And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
	To any other trust but that I am mad
	Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
	She could not sway her house, command her followers,
	Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
	With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing
	As I perceive she does: there's something in't
	That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes.

	[Enter OLIVIA and Priest]

OLIVIA	Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
	Now go with me and with this holy man
	Into the chantry by: there, before him,
	And underneath that consecrated roof,
	Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
	That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
	May live at peace. He shall conceal it
	Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
	What time we will our celebration keep
	According to my birth. What do you say?

SEBASTIAN	I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
	And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

OLIVIA	Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine,
	That they may fairly note this act of mine!

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT V



SCENE I	Before OLIVIA's house.


	[Enter Clown and FABIAN]

FABIAN	Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.

Clown	Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

FABIAN	Any thing.

Clown	Do not desire to see this letter.

FABIAN	This is, to give a dog, and in recompense desire my
	dog again.

	[Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and Lords]

DUKE ORSINO	Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Clown	Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

DUKE ORSINO	I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow?

Clown	Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
	for my friends.

DUKE ORSINO	Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

Clown	No, sir, the worse.

DUKE ORSINO	How can that be?

Clown	Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me;
	now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by
	my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself,
	and by my friends, I am abused: so that,
	conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives
	make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for
	my friends and the better for my foes.

DUKE ORSINO	Why, this is excellent.

Clown	By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
	one of my friends.

DUKE ORSINO	Thou shalt not be the worse for me: there's gold.

Clown	But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
	you could make it another.

DUKE ORSINO	O, you give me ill counsel.

Clown	Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once,
	and let your flesh and blood obey it.

DUKE ORSINO	Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a
	double-dealer: there's another.

Clown	Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old
	saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex,
	sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of
	Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; one, two, three.

DUKE ORSINO	You can fool no more money out of me at this throw:
	if you will let your lady know I am here to speak
	with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake
	my bounty further.

Clown	Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
	again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think
	that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness:
	but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I
	will awake it anon.

	[Exit]

VIOLA	Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.

	[Enter ANTONIO and Officers]

DUKE ORSINO	That face of his I do remember well;
	Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
	As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war:
	A bawbling vessel was he captain of,
	For shallow draught and bulk unprizable;
	With which such scathful grapple did he make
	With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
	That very envy and the tongue of loss
	Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter?

First Officer	Orsino, this is that Antonio
	That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy;
	And this is he that did the Tiger board,
	When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
	Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
	In private brabble did we apprehend him.

VIOLA	He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side;
	But in conclusion put strange speech upon me:
	I know not what 'twas but distraction.

DUKE ORSINO	Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
	What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
	Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
	Hast made thine enemies?

ANTONIO	Orsino, noble sir,
	Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me:
	Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
	Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
	Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
	That most ingrateful boy there by your side,
	From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth
	Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:
	His life I gave him and did thereto add
	My love, without retention or restraint,
	All his in dedication; for his sake
	Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
	Into the danger of this adverse town;
	Drew to defend him when he was beset:
	Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
	Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
	Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
	And grew a twenty years removed thing
	While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
	Which I had recommended to his use
	Not half an hour before.

VIOLA	How can this be?

DUKE ORSINO	When came he to this town?

ANTONIO	To-day, my lord; and for three months before,
	No interim, not a minute's vacancy,
	Both day and night did we keep company.

	[Enter OLIVIA and Attendants]

DUKE ORSINO	Here comes the countess: now heaven walks on earth.
	But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness:
	Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
	But more of that anon. Take him aside.

OLIVIA	What would my lord, but that he may not have,
	Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
	Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

VIOLA	Madam!

DUKE ORSINO	Gracious Olivia,--

OLIVIA	What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,--

VIOLA	My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.

OLIVIA	If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
	It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
	As howling after music.

DUKE ORSINO	Still so cruel?

OLIVIA	Still so constant, lord.

DUKE ORSINO	What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
	To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
	My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out
	That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?

OLIVIA	Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.

DUKE ORSINO	Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
	Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
	Kill what I love?--a savage jealousy
	That sometimes savours nobly. But hear me this:
	Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
	And that I partly know the instrument
	That screws me from my true place in your favour,
	Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
	But this your minion, whom I know you love,
	And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
	Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
	Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
	Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
	I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
	To spite a raven's heart within a dove.

VIOLA	And I, most jocund, apt and willingly,
	To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

OLIVIA	Where goes Cesario?

VIOLA	After him I love
	More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
	More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
	If I do feign, you witnesses above
	Punish my life for tainting of my love!

OLIVIA	Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!

VIOLA	Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?

OLIVIA	Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
	Call forth the holy father.

DUKE ORSINO	Come, away!

OLIVIA	Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

DUKE ORSINO	Husband!

OLIVIA	       Ay, husband: can he that deny?

DUKE ORSINO	Her husband, sirrah!

VIOLA	No, my lord, not I.

OLIVIA	Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
	That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
	Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up;
	Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
	As great as that thou fear'st.

	[Enter Priest]

		         O, welcome, father!
	Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
	Here to unfold, though lately we intended
	To keep in darkness what occasion now
	Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know
	Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.

Priest	A contract of eternal bond of love,
	Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
	Attested by the holy close of lips,
	Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings;
	And all the ceremony of this compact
	Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
	Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
	I have travell'd but two hours.

DUKE ORSINO	O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be
	When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
	Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow,
	That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
	Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
	Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

VIOLA	My lord, I do protest--

OLIVIA	O, do not swear!
	Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

	[Enter SIR ANDREW]

SIR ANDREW	For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
	to Sir Toby.

OLIVIA	What's the matter?

SIR ANDREW	He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby
	a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your
	help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

OLIVIA	Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

SIR ANDREW	The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for
	a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.

DUKE ORSINO	My gentleman, Cesario?

SIR ANDREW	'Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for
	nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do't
	by Sir Toby.

VIOLA	Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
	You drew your sword upon me without cause;
	But I bespoke you fair, and hurt you not.

SIR ANDREW	If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me: I
	think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.

	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and Clown]

	Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more:
	but if he had not been in drink, he would have
	tickled you othergates than he did.

DUKE ORSINO	How now, gentleman! how is't with you?

SIR TOBY BELCH	That's all one: has hurt me, and there's the end
	on't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?

Clown	O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes
	were set at eight i' the morning.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Then he's a rogue, and a passy measures panyn: I
	hate a drunken rogue.

OLIVIA	Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?

SIR ANDREW	I'll help you, Sir Toby, because well be dressed together.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a
	knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull!

OLIVIA	Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.

	[Exeunt Clown, FABIAN, SIR TOBY BELCH, and SIR ANDREW]

	[Enter SEBASTIAN]

SEBASTIAN	I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman:
	But, had it been the brother of my blood,
	I must have done no less with wit and safety.
	You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
	I do perceive it hath offended you:
	Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
	We made each other but so late ago.

DUKE ORSINO	One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
	A natural perspective, that is and is not!

SEBASTIAN	Antonio, O my dear Antonio!
	How have the hours rack'd and tortured me,
	Since I have lost thee!

ANTONIO	Sebastian are you?

SEBASTIAN	                  Fear'st thou that, Antonio?

ANTONIO	How have you made division of yourself?
	An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
	Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

OLIVIA	Most wonderful!

SEBASTIAN	Do I stand there? I never had a brother;
	Nor can there be that deity in my nature,
	Of here and every where. I had a sister,
	Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.
	Of charity, what kin are you to me?
	What countryman? what name? what parentage?

VIOLA	Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father;
	Such a Sebastian was my brother too,
	So went he suited to his watery tomb:
	If spirits can assume both form and suit
	You come to fright us.

SEBASTIAN	A spirit I am indeed;
	But am in that dimension grossly clad
	Which from the womb I did participate.
	Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
	I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
	And say 'Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola!'

VIOLA	My father had a mole upon his brow.

SEBASTIAN	And so had mine.

VIOLA	And died that day when Viola from her birth
	Had number'd thirteen years.

SEBASTIAN	O, that record is lively in my soul!
	He finished indeed his mortal act
	That day that made my sister thirteen years.

VIOLA	If nothing lets to make us happy both
	But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
	Do not embrace me till each circumstance
	Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
	That I am Viola: which to confirm,
	I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
	Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
	I was preserved to serve this noble count.
	All the occurrence of my fortune since
	Hath been between this lady and this lord.

SEBASTIAN	[To OLIVIA]  So comes it, lady, you have been mistook:
	But nature to her bias drew in that.
	You would have been contracted to a maid;
	Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived,
	You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.

DUKE ORSINO	Be not amazed; right noble is his blood.
	If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
	I shall have share in this most happy wreck.

	[To VIOLA]

	Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
	Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

VIOLA	And all those sayings will I overswear;
	And those swearings keep as true in soul
	As doth that orbed continent the fire
	That severs day from night.

DUKE ORSINO	Give me thy hand;
	And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.

VIOLA	The captain that did bring me first on shore
	Hath my maid's garments: he upon some action
	Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
	A gentleman, and follower of my lady's.

OLIVIA	He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither:
	And yet, alas, now I remember me,
	They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

	[Re-enter Clown with a letter, and FABIAN]

	A most extracting frenzy of mine own
	From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
	How does he, sirrah?

Clown	Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves's end as
	well as a man in his case may do: has here writ a
	letter to you; I should have given't you to-day
	morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels,
	so it skills not much when they are delivered.

OLIVIA	Open't, and read it.

Clown	Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers
	the madman.

	[Reads]

	'By the Lord, madam,'--

OLIVIA	How now! art thou mad?

Clown	No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship
	will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.

OLIVIA	Prithee, read i' thy right wits.

Clown	So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to
	read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

OLIVIA	Read it you, sirrah.

	[To FABIAN]

FABIAN	[Reads]  'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the
	world shall know it: though you have put me into
	darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over
	me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as
	your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced
	me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt
	not but to do myself much right, or you much shame.
	Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little
	unthought of and speak out of my injury.
		         THE MADLY-USED MALVOLIO.'

OLIVIA	Did he write this?

Clown	Ay, madam.

DUKE ORSINO	This savours not much of distraction.

OLIVIA	See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.

	[Exit FABIAN]

	My lord so please you, these things further
	thought on,
	To think me as well a sister as a wife,
	One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
	Here at my house and at my proper cost.

DUKE ORSINO	Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.

	[To VIOLA]

	Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
	So much against the mettle of your sex,
	So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
	And since you call'd me master for so long,
	Here is my hand: you shall from this time be
	Your master's mistress.

OLIVIA	A sister! you are she.

	[Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO]

DUKE ORSINO	Is this the madman?

OLIVIA	Ay, my lord, this same.
	How now, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO	                  Madam, you have done me wrong,
	Notorious wrong.

OLIVIA	                  Have I, Malvolio? no.

MALVOLIO	Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter.
	You must not now deny it is your hand:
	Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase;
	Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention:
	You can say none of this: well, grant it then
	And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
	Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
	Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
	To put on yellow stockings and to frown
	Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
	And, acting this in an obedient hope,
	Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
	Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
	And made the most notorious geck and gull
	That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.

OLIVIA	Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
	Though, I confess, much like the character
	But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
	And now I do bethink me, it was she
	First told me thou wast mad; then camest in smiling,
	And in such forms which here were presupposed
	Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content:
	This practise hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee;
	But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
	Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
	Of thine own cause.

FABIAN	Good madam, hear me speak,
	And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
	Taint the condition of this present hour,
	Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
	Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
	Set this device against Malvolio here,
	Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
	We had conceived against him: Maria writ
	The letter at Sir Toby's great importance;
	In recompense whereof he hath married her.
	How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
	May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
	If that the injuries be justly weigh'd
	That have on both sides pass'd.

OLIVIA	Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Clown	Why, 'some are born great, some achieve greatness,
	and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was
	one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir; but
	that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.'
	But do you remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such
	a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagged:'
	and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

MALVOLIO	I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.

	[Exit]

OLIVIA	He hath been most notoriously abused.

DUKE ORSINO	Pursue him and entreat him to a peace:
	He hath not told us of the captain yet:
	When that is known and golden time convents,
	A solemn combination shall be made
	Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister,
	We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
	For so you shall be, while you are a man;
	But when in other habits you are seen,
	Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.

	[Exeunt all, except Clown]

Clown	[Sings]

	When that I was and a little tiny boy,
	With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
	A foolish thing was but a toy,
	For the rain it raineth every day.

	But when I came to man's estate,
	With hey, ho, &c.
	'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
	For the rain, &c.

	But when I came, alas! to wive,
	With hey, ho, &c.
	By swaggering could I never thrive,
	For the rain, &c.

	But when I came unto my beds,
	With hey, ho, &c.
	With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
	For the rain, &c.

	A great while ago the world begun,
	With hey, ho, &c.
	But that's all one, our play is done,
	And we'll strive to please you every day.

	[Exit]
	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE OF MILAN	Father to Silvia. (DUKE:)


VALENTINE	|
	|  the two Gentlemen.
PROTEUS	|


ANTONIO	Father to Proteus.

THURIO	a foolish rival to Valentine.

EGLAMOUR	Agent for Silvia in her escape.

HOST	where Julia lodges. (Host:)

OUTLAWS	with Valentine.
	(First Outlaw:)
	(Second Outlaw:)
	(Third Outlaw:)

SPEED	a clownish servant to Valentine.

LAUNCE	the like to Proteus.

PANTHINO	Servant to Antonio.

JULIA	beloved of Proteus.

SILVIA	beloved of Valentine.

LUCETTA	waiting-woman to Julia.

	Servants, Musicians.


SCENE	Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua.




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT I



SCENE I	Verona. An open place.


	[Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS]

VALENTINE	Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
	Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
	Were't not affection chains thy tender days
	To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
	I rather would entreat thy company
	To see the wonders of the world abroad,
	Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
	Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
	But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein,
	Even as I would when I to love begin.

PROTEUS	Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
	Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
	Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
	Wish me partaker in thy happiness
	When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
	If ever danger do environ thee,
	Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
	For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

VALENTINE	And on a love-book pray for my success?

PROTEUS	Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

VALENTINE	That's on some shallow story of deep love:
	How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

PROTEUS	That's a deep story of a deeper love:
	For he was more than over shoes in love.

VALENTINE	'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
	And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

PROTEUS	Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.

VALENTINE	No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

PROTEUS	What?

VALENTINE	To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
	Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
	With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
	If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
	If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
	However, but a folly bought with wit,
	Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

PROTEUS	So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

VALENTINE	So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

PROTEUS	'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

VALENTINE	Love is your master, for he masters you:
	And he that is so yoked by a fool,
	Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

PROTEUS	Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
	The eating canker dwells, so eating love
	Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

VALENTINE	And writers say, as the most forward bud
	Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
	Even so by love the young and tender wit
	Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
	Losing his verdure even in the prime
	And all the fair effects of future hopes.
	But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
	That art a votary to fond desire?
	Once more adieu! my father at the road
	Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

PROTEUS	And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

VALENTINE	Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
	To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
	Of thy success in love, and what news else
	Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
	And likewise will visit thee with mine.

PROTEUS	All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

VALENTINE	As much to you at home! and so, farewell.

	[Exit]

PROTEUS	He after honour hunts, I after love:
	He leaves his friends to dignify them more,
	I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.
	Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,
	Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
	War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
	Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

	[Enter SPEED]

SPEED	Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

PROTEUS	But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.

SPEED	Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
	And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

PROTEUS	Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
	An if the shepherd be a while away.

SPEED	You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,
	and I a sheep?

PROTEUS	I do.

SPEED	Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

PROTEUS	A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.

SPEED	This proves me still a sheep.

PROTEUS	True; and thy master a shepherd.

SPEED	Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

PROTEUS	It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

SPEED	The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
	shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks
	not me: therefore I am no sheep.

PROTEUS	The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the
	shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for
	wages followest thy master; thy master for wages
	follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.

SPEED	Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

PROTEUS	But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

SPEED	Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,
	a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
	lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

PROTEUS	Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

SPEED	If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

PROTEUS	Nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you.

SPEED	Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
	carrying your letter.

PROTEUS	You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.

SPEED	From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
	'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
	your lover.

PROTEUS	But what said she?

SPEED	[First nodding]  Ay.

PROTEUS	Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.

SPEED	You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask
	me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'

PROTEUS	And that set together is noddy.

SPEED	Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
	take it for your pains.

PROTEUS	No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

SPEED	Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

PROTEUS	Why sir, how do you bear with me?

SPEED	Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing
	but the word 'noddy' for my pains.

PROTEUS	Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

SPEED	And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

PROTEUS	Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?

SPEED	Open your purse, that the money and the matter may
	be both at once delivered.

PROTEUS	Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

SPEED	Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

PROTEUS	Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

SPEED	Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,
	not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:
	and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
	fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your
	mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as
	hard as steel.

PROTEUS	What said she? nothing?

SPEED	No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To
	testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned
	me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your
	letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.

PROTEUS	Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
	Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
	Being destined to a drier death on shore.

	[Exit SPEED]

	I must go send some better messenger:
	I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
	Receiving them from such a worthless post.

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Garden of JULIA's house.


	[Enter JULlA and LUCETTA]

JULIA	But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
	Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?

LUCETTA	Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

JULIA	Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
	That every day with parle encounter me,
	In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

LUCETTA	Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind
	According to my shallow simple skill.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

LUCETTA	As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
	But, were I you, he never should be mine.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

LUCETTA	Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

LUCETTA	Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

JULIA	How now! what means this passion at his name?

LUCETTA	Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame
	That I, unworthy body as I am,
	Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

JULIA	Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

LUCETTA	Then thus: of many good I think him best.

JULIA	Your reason?

LUCETTA	I have no other, but a woman's reason;
	I think him so because I think him so.

JULIA	And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

LUCETTA	Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

JULIA	Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

LUCETTA	Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

JULIA	His little speaking shows his love but small.

LUCETTA	Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

JULIA	They do not love that do not show their love.

LUCETTA	O, they love least that let men know their love.

JULIA	I would I knew his mind.

LUCETTA	Peruse this paper, madam.

JULIA	'To Julia.' Say, from whom?

LUCETTA	That the contents will show.

JULIA	Say, say, who gave it thee?

LUCETTA	Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
	He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
	Did in your name receive it: pardon the
	fault I pray.

JULIA	Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
	Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
	To whisper and conspire against my youth?
	Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth
	And you an officer fit for the place.
	Or else return no more into my sight.

LUCETTA	To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

JULIA	Will ye be gone?

LUCETTA	                  That you may ruminate.

	[Exit]

JULIA	And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:
	It were a shame to call her back again
	And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
	What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
	And would not force the letter to my view!
	Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that
	Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.'
	Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love
	That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse
	And presently all humbled kiss the rod!
	How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
	When willingly I would have had her here!
	How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
	When inward joy enforced my heart to smile!
	My penance is to call Lucetta back
	And ask remission for my folly past.
	What ho! Lucetta!

	[Re-enter LUCETTA]

LUCETTA	                  What would your ladyship?

JULIA	Is't near dinner-time?

LUCETTA	I would it were,
	That you might kill your stomach on your meat
	And not upon your maid.

JULIA	What is't that you took up so gingerly?

LUCETTA	Nothing.

JULIA	Why didst thou stoop, then?

LUCETTA	To take a paper up that I let fall.

JULIA	And is that paper nothing?

LUCETTA	Nothing concerning me.

JULIA	Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

LUCETTA	Madam, it will not lie where it concerns
	Unless it have a false interpeter.

JULIA	Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.

LUCETTA	That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.
	Give me a note: your ladyship can set.

JULIA	As little by such toys as may be possible.
	Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' love.'

LUCETTA	It is too heavy for so light a tune.

JULIA	Heavy! belike it hath some burden then?

LUCETTA	Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.

JULIA	And why not you?

LUCETTA	                  I cannot reach so high.

JULIA	Let's see your song. How now, minion!

LUCETTA	Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:
	And yet methinks I do not like this tune.

JULIA	You do not?

LUCETTA	          No, madam; it is too sharp.

JULIA	You, minion, are too saucy.

LUCETTA	Nay, now you are too flat
	And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:
	There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.

JULIA	The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass.

LUCETTA	Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.

JULIA	This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
	Here is a coil with protestation!

	[Tears the letter]

	Go get you gone, and let the papers lie:
	You would be fingering them, to anger me.

LUCETTA	She makes it strange; but she would be best pleased
	To be so anger'd with another letter.

	[Exit]

JULIA	 Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!
	O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!
	Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey
	And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!
	I'll kiss each several paper for amends.
	Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia!
	As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
	I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
	Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
	And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.'
	Poor wounded name! my bosom as a bed
	Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd;
	And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
	But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down.
	Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away
	Till I have found each letter in the letter,
	Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear
	Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock
	And throw it thence into the raging sea!
	Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,
	'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
	To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away.
	And yet I will not, sith so prettily
	He couples it to his complaining names.
	Thus will I fold them one on another:
	Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.

	[Re-enter LUCETTA]

LUCETTA	Madam,
	Dinner is ready, and your father stays.

JULIA	Well, let us go.

LUCETTA	What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?

JULIA	If you respect them, best to take them up.

LUCETTA	Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
	Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.

JULIA	I see you have a month's mind to them.

LUCETTA	Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
	I see things too, although you judge I wink.

JULIA	Come, come; will't please you go?

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT I



SCENE III	The same. ANTONIO's house.


	[Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO]

ANTONIO	Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that
	Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

PANTHINO	'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

ANTONIO	Why, what of him?

PANTHINO	                  He wonder'd that your lordship
	Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
	While other men, of slender reputation,
	Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
	Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
	Some to discover islands far away;
	Some to the studious universities.
	For any or for all these exercises,
	He said that Proteus your son was meet,
	And did request me to importune you
	To let him spend his time no more at home,
	Which would be great impeachment to his age,
	In having known no travel in his youth.

ANTONIO	Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
	Whereon this month I have been hammering.
	I have consider'd well his loss of time
	And how he cannot be a perfect man,
	Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:
	Experience is by industry achieved
	And perfected by the swift course of time.
	Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?

PANTHINO	I think your lordship is not ignorant
	How his companion, youthful Valentine,
	Attends the emperor in his royal court.

ANTONIO	I know it well.

PANTHINO	'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:
	There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
	Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen.
	And be in eye of every exercise
	Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

ANTONIO	I like thy counsel; well hast thou advised:
	And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,
	The execution of it shall make known.
	Even with the speediest expedition
	I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.

PANTHINO	To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
	With other gentlemen of good esteem,
	Are journeying to salute the emperor
	And to commend their service to his will.

ANTONIO	Good company; with them shall Proteus go:
	And, in good time! now will we break with him.

	[Enter PROTEUS]

PROTEUS	Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
	Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
	Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
	O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
	To seal our happiness with their consents!
	O heavenly Julia!

ANTONIO	How now! what letter are you reading there?

PROTEUS	May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
	Of commendations sent from Valentine,
	Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.

ANTONIO	Lend me the letter; let me see what news.

PROTEUS	There is no news, my lord, but that he writes
	How happily he lives, how well beloved
	And daily graced by the emperor;
	Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

ANTONIO	And how stand you affected to his wish?

PROTEUS	As one relying on your lordship's will
	And not depending on his friendly wish.

ANTONIO	My will is something sorted with his wish.
	Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
	For what I will, I will, and there an end.
	I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time
	With Valentinus in the emperor's court:
	What maintenance he from his friends receives,
	Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.
	To-morrow be in readiness to go:
	Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

PROTEUS	My lord, I cannot be so soon provided:
	Please you, deliberate a day or two.

ANTONIO	Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee:
	No more of stay! to-morrow thou must go.
	Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ'd
	To hasten on his expedition.

	[Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO]

PROTEUS	Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning,
	And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd.
	I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter,
	Lest he should take exceptions to my love;
	And with the vantage of mine own excuse
	Hath he excepted most against my love.
	O, how this spring of love resembleth
	The uncertain glory of an April day,
	Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
	And by and by a cloud takes all away!

	[Re-enter PANTHINO]

PANTHINO	Sir Proteus, your father calls for you:
	He is in haste; therefore, I pray you to go.

PROTEUS	Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto,
	And yet a thousand times it answers 'no.'

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE I	Milan. The DUKE's palace.


	[Enter VALENTINE and SPEED]

SPEED	Sir, your glove.

VALENTINE	                  Not mine; my gloves are on.

SPEED	Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one.

VALENTINE	Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine:
	Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
	Ah, Silvia, Silvia!

SPEED	Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!

VALENTINE	How now, sirrah?

SPEED	She is not within hearing, sir.

VALENTINE	Why, sir, who bade you call her?

SPEED	Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.

VALENTINE	Well, you'll still be too forward.

SPEED	And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

VALENTINE	Go to, sir: tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?

SPEED	She that your worship loves?

VALENTINE	Why, how know you that I am in love?

SPEED	Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
	learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms,
	like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a
	robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had
	the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had
	lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had
	buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes
	diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to
	speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were
	wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you
	walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you
	fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you
	looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you
	are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look
	on you, I can hardly think you my master.

VALENTINE	Are all these things perceived in me?

SPEED	They are all perceived without ye.

VALENTINE	Without me? they cannot.

SPEED	Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you
	were so simple, none else would: but you are so
	without these follies, that these follies are within
	you and shine through you like the water in an
	urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a
	physician to comment on your malady.

VALENTINE	But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

SPEED	She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper?

VALENTINE	Hast thou observed that? even she, I mean.

SPEED	Why, sir, I know her not.

VALENTINE	Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet
	knowest her not?

SPEED	Is she not hard-favoured, sir?

VALENTINE	Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured.

SPEED	Sir, I know that well enough.

VALENTINE	What dost thou know?

SPEED	That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured.

VALENTINE	I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.

SPEED	That's because the one is painted and the other out
	of all count.

VALENTINE	How painted? and how out of count?

SPEED	Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no
	man counts of her beauty.

VALENTINE	How esteemest thou me? I account of her beauty.

SPEED	You never saw her since she was deformed.

VALENTINE	How long hath she been deformed?

SPEED	Ever since you loved her.

VALENTINE	I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I
	see her beautiful.

SPEED	If you love her, you cannot see her.

VALENTINE	Why?

SPEED	Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes;
	or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to
	have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going
	ungartered!

VALENTINE	What should I see then?

SPEED	Your own present folly and her passing deformity:
	for he, being in love, could not see to garter his
	hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.

VALENTINE	Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last
	morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.

SPEED	True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you,
	you swinged me for my love, which makes me the
	bolder to chide you for yours.

VALENTINE	In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

SPEED	I would you were set, so your affection would cease.

VALENTINE	Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to
	one she loves.

SPEED	And have you?

VALENTINE	I have.

SPEED	Are they not lamely writ?

VALENTINE	No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace!
	here she comes.

SPEED	[Aside]  O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
	Now will he interpret to her.

	[Enter SILVIA]

VALENTINE	Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

SPEED	[Aside]  O, give ye good even! here's a million of manners.

SILVIA	Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.

SPEED	[Aside]  He should give her interest and she gives it him.

VALENTINE	As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
	Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
	Which I was much unwilling to proceed in
	But for my duty to your ladyship.

SILVIA	I thank you gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done.

VALENTINE	Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
	For being ignorant to whom it goes
	I writ at random, very doubtfully.

SILVIA	Perchance you think too much of so much pains?

VALENTINE	No, madam; so it stead you, I will write
	Please you command, a thousand times as much; And yet--

SILVIA	A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
	And yet I will not name it; and yet I care not;
	And yet take this again; and yet I thank you,
	Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

SPEED	[Aside]  And yet you will; and yet another 'yet.'

VALENTINE	What means your ladyship? do you not like it?

SILVIA	Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
	But since unwillingly, take them again.
	Nay, take them.

VALENTINE	Madam, they are for you.

SILVIA	Ay, ay: you writ them, sir, at my request;
	But I will none of them; they are for you;
	I would have had them writ more movingly.

VALENTINE	Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.

SILVIA	And when it's writ, for my sake read it over,
	And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.

VALENTINE	If it please me, madam, what then?

SILVIA	Why, if it please you, take it for your labour:
	And so, good morrow, servant.

	[Exit]

SPEED	O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
	As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
	My master sues to her, and she hath
	taught her suitor,
	He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
	O excellent device! was there ever heard a better,
	That my master, being scribe, to himself should write
	the letter?

VALENTINE	How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?

SPEED	Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.

VALENTINE	To do what?

SPEED	To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia.

VALENTINE	To whom?

SPEED	To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.

VALENTINE	What figure?

SPEED	By a letter, I should say.

VALENTINE	Why, she hath not writ to me?

SPEED	What need she, when she hath made you write to
	yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

VALENTINE	No, believe me.

SPEED	No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you perceive
	her earnest?

VALENTINE	She gave me none, except an angry word.

SPEED	Why, she hath given you a letter.

VALENTINE	That's the letter I writ to her friend.

SPEED	And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.

VALENTINE	I would it were no worse.

SPEED	I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
	For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty,
	Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
	Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,
	Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
	All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.
	Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time.

VALENTINE	I have dined.

SPEED	Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can
	feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my
	victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like
	your mistress; be moved, be moved.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE II	Verona. JULIA'S house.


	[Enter PROTEUS and JULIA]

PROTEUS	Have patience, gentle Julia.

JULIA	I must, where is no remedy.

PROTEUS	When possibly I can, I will return.

JULIA	If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
	Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

	[Giving a ring]

PROTEUS	Why then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this.

JULIA	And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.

PROTEUS	Here is my hand for my true constancy;
	And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
	Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
	The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
	Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
	My father stays my coming; answer not;
	The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;
	That tide will stay me longer than I should.
	Julia, farewell!

	[Exit JULIA]

	What, gone without a word?
	Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
	For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.

	[Enter PANTHINO]

PANTHINO	Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.

PROTEUS	Go; I come, I come.
	Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. A street.


	[Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog]

LAUNCE	Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;
	all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I
	have received my proportion, like the prodigious
	son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's
	court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured
	dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father
	wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat
	wringing her hands, and all our house in a great
	perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed
	one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and
	has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have
	wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam,
	having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my
	parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This
	shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father:
	no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that
	cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it
	hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in
	it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance
	on't! there 'tis: now, sit, this staff is my
	sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and
	as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I
	am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the
	dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,
	so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing:
	now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping:
	now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now
	come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now
	like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there
	'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now
	come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now
	the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a
	word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

	[Enter PANTHINO]

PANTHINO	Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped
	and thou art to post after with oars. What's the
	matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! You'll
	lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

LAUNCE	It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the
	unkindest tied that ever any man tied.

PANTHINO	What's the unkindest tide?

LAUNCE	Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.

PANTHINO	Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in
	losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing
	thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy
	master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy
	service,--Why dost thou stop my mouth?

LAUNCE	For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.

PANTHINO	Where should I lose my tongue?

LAUNCE	In thy tale.

PANTHINO	In thy tail!

LAUNCE	Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and
	the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river
	were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the
	wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

PANTHINO	Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.

LAUNCE	Sir, call me what thou darest.

PANTHINO	Wilt thou go?

LAUNCE	Well, I will go.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE IV	Milan. The DUKE's palace.


	[Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED]

SILVIA	Servant!

VALENTINE	Mistress?

SPEED	Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

VALENTINE	Ay, boy, it's for love.

SPEED	Not of you.

VALENTINE	Of my mistress, then.

SPEED	'Twere good you knocked him.

	[Exit]

SILVIA	Servant, you are sad.

VALENTINE	Indeed, madam, I seem so.

THURIO	Seem you that you are not?

VALENTINE	Haply I do.

THURIO	So do counterfeits.

VALENTINE	So do you.

THURIO	What seem I that I am not?

VALENTINE	Wise.

THURIO	What instance of the contrary?

VALENTINE	Your folly.

THURIO	And how quote you my folly?

VALENTINE	I quote it in your jerkin.

THURIO	My jerkin is a doublet.

VALENTINE	Well, then, I'll double your folly.

THURIO	How?

SILVIA	What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?

VALENTINE	Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.

THURIO	That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live
	in your air.

VALENTINE	You have said, sir.

THURIO	Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

VALENTINE	I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

SILVIA	A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

VALENTINE	'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

SILVIA	Who is that, servant?

VALENTINE	Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir
	Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,
	and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.

THURIO	Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall
	make your wit bankrupt.

VALENTINE	I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,
	and, I think, no other treasure to give your
	followers, for it appears by their bare liveries,
	that they live by your bare words.

SILVIA	No more, gentlemen, no more:--here comes my father.

	[Enter DUKE]

DUKE	Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
	Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:
	What say you to a letter from your friends
	Of much good news?

VALENTINE	                  My lord, I will be thankful.
	To any happy messenger from thence.

DUKE	Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?

VALENTINE	Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
	To be of worth and worthy estimation
	And not without desert so well reputed.

DUKE	Hath he not a son?

VALENTINE	Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves
	The honour and regard of such a father.

DUKE	You know him well?

VALENTINE	I know him as myself; for from our infancy
	We have conversed and spent our hours together:
	And though myself have been an idle truant,
	Omitting the sweet benefit of time
	To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
	Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
	Made use and fair advantage of his days;
	His years but young, but his experience old;
	His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
	And, in a word, for far behind his worth
	Comes all the praises that I now bestow,
	He is complete in feature and in mind
	With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

DUKE	Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
	He is as worthy for an empress' love
	As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
	Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me,
	With commendation from great potentates;
	And here he means to spend his time awhile:
	I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

VALENTINE	Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.

DUKE	Welcome him then according to his worth.
	Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;
	For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:
	I will send him hither to you presently.

	[Exit]

VALENTINE	This is the gentleman I told your ladyship
	Had come along with me, but that his mistress
	Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

SILVIA	Belike that now she hath enfranchised them
	Upon some other pawn for fealty.

VALENTINE	Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.

SILVIA	Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind
	How could he see his way to seek out you?

VALENTINE	Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.

THURIO	They say that Love hath not an eye at all.

VALENTINE	To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:
	Upon a homely object Love can wink.

SILVIA	Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.

	[Exit THURIO]

	[Enter PROTEUS]

VALENTINE	Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,
	Confirm his welcome with some special favour.

SILVIA	His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
	If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.

VALENTINE	Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him
	To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.

SILVIA	Too low a mistress for so high a servant.

PROTEUS	Not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant
	To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

VALENTINE	Leave off discourse of disability:
	Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

PROTEUS	My duty will I boast of; nothing else.

SILVIA	And duty never yet did want his meed:
	Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

PROTEUS	I'll die on him that says so but yourself.

SILVIA	That you are welcome?

PROTEUS	That you are worthless.

	[Re-enter THURIO]

THURIO	Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.

SILVIA	I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,
	Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:
	I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
	When you have done, we look to hear from you.

PROTEUS	We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

	[Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO]

VALENTINE	Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?

PROTEUS	Your friends are well and have them much commended.

VALENTINE	And how do yours?

PROTEUS	                  I left them all in health.

VALENTINE	How does your lady? and how thrives your love?

PROTEUS	My tales of love were wont to weary you;
	I know you joy not in a love discourse.

VALENTINE	Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
	I have done penance for contemning Love,
	Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
	With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
	With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;
	For in revenge of my contempt of love,
	Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes
	And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
	O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
	And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
	There is no woe to his correction,
	Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
	Now no discourse, except it be of love;
	Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,
	Upon the very naked name of love.

PROTEUS	Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
	Was this the idol that you worship so?

VALENTINE	Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

PROTEUS	No; but she is an earthly paragon.

VALENTINE	Call her divine.

PROTEUS	                  I will not flatter her.

VALENTINE	O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

PROTEUS	When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,
	And I must minister the like to you.

VALENTINE	Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
	Yet let her be a principality,
	Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

PROTEUS	Except my mistress.

VALENTINE	Sweet, except not any;
	Except thou wilt except against my love.

PROTEUS	Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

VALENTINE	And I will help thee to prefer her too:
	She shall be dignified with this high honour--
	To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
	Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
	And, of so great a favour growing proud,
	Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower
	And make rough winter everlastingly.

PROTEUS	Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

VALENTINE	Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing
	To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
	She is alone.

PROTEUS	                  Then let her alone.

VALENTINE	Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,
	And I as rich in having such a jewel
	As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
	The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.
	Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,
	Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.
	My foolish rival, that her father likes
	Only for his possessions are so huge,
	Is gone with her along, and I must after,
	For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

PROTEUS	But she loves you?

VALENTINE	Ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our,
	marriage-hour,
	With all the cunning manner of our flight,
	Determined of; how I must climb her window,
	The ladder made of cords, and all the means
	Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
	Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
	In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

PROTEUS	Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:
	I must unto the road, to disembark
	Some necessaries that I needs must use,
	And then I'll presently attend you.

VALENTINE	Will you make haste?

PROTEUS	I will.

	[Exit VALENTINE]

	Even as one heat another heat expels,
	Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
	So the remembrance of my former love
	Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
	Is it mine, or Valentine's praise,
	Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
	That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
	She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--
	That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
	Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,
	Bears no impression of the thing it was.
	Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
	And that I love him not as I was wont.
	O, but I love his lady too too much,
	And that's the reason I love him so little.
	How shall I dote on her with more advice,
	That thus without advice begin to love her!
	'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
	And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
	But when I look on her perfections,
	There is no reason but I shall be blind.
	If I can cheque my erring love, I will;
	If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE V	The same. A street.


	[Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally]

SPEED	Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan!

LAUNCE	Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not
	welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never
	undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a
	place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess
	say 'Welcome!'

SPEED	Come on, you madcap, I'll to the alehouse with you
	presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou
	shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how
	did thy master part with Madam Julia?

LAUNCE	Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very
	fairly in jest.

SPEED	But shall she marry him?

LAUNCE	No.

SPEED	How then? shall he marry her?

LAUNCE	No, neither.

SPEED	What, are they broken?

LAUNCE	No, they are both as whole as a fish.

SPEED	Why, then, how stands the matter with them?

LAUNCE	Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it
	stands well with her.

SPEED	What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.

LAUNCE	What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My
	staff understands me.

SPEED	What thou sayest?

LAUNCE	Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean,
	and my staff understands me.

SPEED	It stands under thee, indeed.

LAUNCE	Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

SPEED	But tell me true, will't be a match?

LAUNCE	Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will! if he say no,
	it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.

SPEED	The conclusion is then that it will.

LAUNCE	Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.

SPEED	'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest
	thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

LAUNCE	I never knew him otherwise.

SPEED	Than how?

LAUNCE	A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

SPEED	Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.

LAUNCE	Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.

SPEED	I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

LAUNCE	Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself
	in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse;
	if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the
	name of a Christian.

SPEED	Why?

LAUNCE	Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to
	go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?

SPEED	At thy service.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE VI	The same. The DUKE'S palace.


	[Enter PROTEUS]

PROTEUS	To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
	To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
	To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
	And even that power which gave me first my oath
	Provokes me to this threefold perjury;
	Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear.
	O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,
	Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
	At first I did adore a twinkling star,
	But now I worship a celestial sun.
	Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken,
	And he wants wit that wants resolved will
	To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.
	Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
	Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
	With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
	I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
	But there I leave to love where I should love.
	Julia I lose and Valentine I lose:
	If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
	If I lose them, thus find I by their loss
	For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia.
	I to myself am dearer than a friend,
	For love is still most precious in itself;
	And Silvia--witness Heaven, that made her fair!--
	Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
	I will forget that Julia is alive,
	Remembering that my love to her is dead;
	And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
	Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
	I cannot now prove constant to myself,
	Without some treachery used to Valentine.
	This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
	To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window,
	Myself in counsel, his competitor.
	Now presently I'll give her father notice
	Of their disguising and pretended flight;
	Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine;
	For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;
	But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
	By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
	Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
	As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT II



SCENE VII	Verona. JULIA'S house.


	[Enter JULIA and LUCETTA]

JULIA	Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;
	And even in kind love I do conjure thee,
	Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
	Are visibly character'd and engraved,
	To lesson me and tell me some good mean
	How, with my honour, I may undertake
	A journey to my loving Proteus.

LUCETTA	Alas, the way is wearisome and long!

JULIA	A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
	To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
	Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,
	And when the flight is made to one so dear,
	Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.

LUCETTA	Better forbear till Proteus make return.

JULIA	O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?
	Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
	By longing for that food so long a time.
	Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
	Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
	As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

LUCETTA	I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,
	But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
	Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

JULIA	The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns.
	The current that with gentle murmur glides,
	Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
	But when his fair course is not hindered,
	He makes sweet music with the enamell'ed stones,
	Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
	He overtaketh in his pilgrimage,
	And so by many winding nooks he strays
	With willing sport to the wild ocean.
	Then let me go and hinder not my course
	I'll be as patient as a gentle stream
	And make a pastime of each weary step,
	Till the last step have brought me to my love;
	And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
	A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

LUCETTA	But in what habit will you go along?

JULIA	Not like a woman; for I would prevent
	The loose encounters of lascivious men:
	Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
	As may beseem some well-reputed page.

LUCETTA	Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair.

JULIA	No, girl, I'll knit it up in silken strings
	With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.
	To be fantastic may become a youth
	Of greater time than I shall show to be.

LUCETTA	What fashion, madam shall I make your breeches?

JULIA	That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord,
	What compass will you wear your farthingale?'
	Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta.

LUCETTA	You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

JULIA	Out, out, Lucetta! that would be ill-favour'd.

LUCETTA	A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
	Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

JULIA	Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have
	What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly.
	But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me
	For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
	I fear me, it will make me scandalized.

LUCETTA	If you think so, then stay at home and go not.

JULIA	Nay, that I will not.

LUCETTA	Then never dream on infamy, but go.
	If Proteus like your journey when you come,
	No matter who's displeased when you are gone:
	I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal.

JULIA	That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
	A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears
	And instances of infinite of love
	Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

LUCETTA	All these are servants to deceitful men.

JULIA	Base men, that use them to so base effect!
	But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth
	His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
	His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
	His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
	His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

LUCETTA	Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him!

JULIA	Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong
	To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
	Only deserve my love by loving him;
	And presently go with me to my chamber,
	To take a note of what I stand in need of,
	To furnish me upon my longing journey.
	All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
	My goods, my lands, my reputation;
	Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
	Come, answer not, but to it presently!
	I am impatient of my tarriance.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT III



SCENE I	Milan. The DUKE's palace.


	[Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS]

DUKE	Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
	We have some secrets to confer about.

	[Exit THURIO]

	Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?

PROTEUS	My gracious lord, that which I would discover
	The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
	But when I call to mind your gracious favours
	Done to me, undeserving as I am,
	My duty pricks me on to utter that
	Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
	Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
	This night intends to steal away your daughter:
	Myself am one made privy to the plot.
	I know you have determined to bestow her
	On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
	And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
	It would be much vexation to your age.
	Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
	To cross my friend in his intended drift
	Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
	A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
	Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

DUKE	Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
	Which to requite, command me while I live.
	This love of theirs myself have often seen,
	Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,
	And oftentimes have purposed to forbid
	Sir Valentine her company and my court:
	But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
	And so unworthily disgrace the man,
	A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,
	I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
	That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.
	And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
	Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
	I nightly lodge her in an upper tower,
	The key whereof myself have ever kept;
	And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

PROTEUS	Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean
	How he her chamber-window will ascend
	And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
	For which the youthful lover now is gone
	And this way comes he with it presently;
	Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
	But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly
	That my discovery be not aimed at;
	For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
	Hath made me publisher of this pretence.

DUKE	Upon mine honour, he shall never know
	That I had any light from thee of this.

PROTEUS	Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming.

	[Exit]

	[Enter VALENTINE]

DUKE	Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?

VALENTINE	Please it your grace, there is a messenger
	That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
	And I am going to deliver them.

DUKE	Be they of much import?

VALENTINE	The tenor of them doth but signify
	My health and happy being at your court.

DUKE	Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;
	I am to break with thee of some affairs
	That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
	'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought
	To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.

VALENTINE	I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match
	Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
	Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities
	Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
	Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him?

DUKE	No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,
	Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,
	Neither regarding that she is my child
	Nor fearing me as if I were her father;
	And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
	Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
	And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
	Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
	I now am full resolved to take a wife
	And turn her out to who will take her in:
	Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
	For me and my possessions she esteems not.

VALENTINE	What would your Grace have me to do in this?

DUKE	There is a lady in Verona here
	Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy
	And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
	Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor--
	For long agone I have forgot to court;
	Besides, the fashion of the time is changed--
	How and which way I may bestow myself
	To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

VALENTINE	Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:
	Dumb jewels often in their silent kind
	More than quick words do move a woman's mind.

DUKE	But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

VALENTINE	A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.
	Send her another; never give her o'er;
	For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
	If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
	But rather to beget more love in you:
	If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
	For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
	Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
	For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away!'
	Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
	Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
	That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
	If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

DUKE	But she I mean is promised by her friends
	Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,
	And kept severely from resort of men,
	That no man hath access by day to her.

VALENTINE	Why, then, I would resort to her by night.

DUKE	Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe,
	That no man hath recourse to her by night.

VALENTINE	What lets but one may enter at her window?

DUKE	Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,
	And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
	Without apparent hazard of his life.

VALENTINE	Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,
	To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,
	Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
	So bold Leander would adventure it.

DUKE	Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
	Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

VALENTINE	When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.

DUKE	This very night; for Love is like a child,
	That longs for every thing that he can come by.

VALENTINE	By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

DUKE	But, hark thee; I will go to her alone:
	How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

VALENTINE	It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
	Under a cloak that is of any length.

DUKE	A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

VALENTINE	Ay, my good lord.

DUKE	                  Then let me see thy cloak:
	I'll get me one of such another length.

VALENTINE	Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

DUKE	How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
	I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
	What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!
	And here an engine fit for my proceeding.
	I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.

	[Reads]

	'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,
	And slaves they are to me that send them flying:
	O, could their master come and go as lightly,
	Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying!
	My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them:
	While I, their king, that hither them importune,
	Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them,
	Because myself do want my servants' fortune:
	I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
	That they should harbour where their lord would be.'
	What's here?
	'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.'
	'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
	Why, Phaeton,--for thou art Merops' son,--
	Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car
	And with thy daring folly burn the world?
	Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
	Go, base intruder! overweening slave!
	Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,
	And think my patience, more than thy desert,
	Is privilege for thy departure hence:
	Thank me for this more than for all the favours
	Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee.
	But if thou linger in my territories
	Longer than swiftest expedition
	Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
	By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love
	I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
	Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;
	But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence.

	[Exit]

VALENTINE	And why not death rather than living torment?
	To die is to be banish'd from myself;
	And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her
	Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
	What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
	What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
	Unless it be to think that she is by
	And feed upon the shadow of perfection
	Except I be by Silvia in the night,
	There is no music in the nightingale;
	Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
	There is no day for me to look upon;
	She is my essence, and I leave to be,
	If I be not by her fair influence
	Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive.
	I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
	Tarry I here, I but attend on death:
	But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

	[Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE]

PROTEUS	Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

LAUNCE	Soho, soho!

PROTEUS	What seest thou?

LAUNCE	Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head
	but 'tis a Valentine.

PROTEUS	Valentine?

VALENTINE	No.

PROTEUS	Who then? his spirit?

VALENTINE	Neither.

PROTEUS	What then?

VALENTINE	Nothing.

LAUNCE	Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?

PROTEUS	Who wouldst thou strike?

LAUNCE	Nothing.

PROTEUS	Villain, forbear.

LAUNCE	Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,--

PROTEUS	Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.

VALENTINE	My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news,
	So much of bad already hath possess'd them.

PROTEUS	Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
	For they are harsh, untuneable and bad.

VALENTINE	Is Silvia dead?

PROTEUS	No, Valentine.

VALENTINE	No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.
	Hath she forsworn me?

PROTEUS	No, Valentine.

VALENTINE	No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.
	What is your news?

LAUNCE	Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.

PROTEUS	That thou art banished--O, that's the news!--
	From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend.

VALENTINE	O, I have fed upon this woe already,
	And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
	Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

PROTEUS	Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom--
	Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force--
	A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:
	Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;
	With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
	Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them
	As if but now they waxed pale for woe:
	But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
	Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
	Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
	But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
	Besides, her intercession chafed him so,
	When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
	That to close prison he commanded her,
	With many bitter threats of biding there.

VALENTINE	No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st
	Have some malignant power upon my life:
	If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
	As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

PROTEUS	Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
	And study help for that which thou lament'st.
	Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
	Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
	Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
	Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that
	And manage it against despairing thoughts.
	Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
	Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
	Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
	The time now serves not to expostulate:
	Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate;
	And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
	Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.
	As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,
	Regard thy danger, and along with me!

VALENTINE	I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
	Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate.

PROTEUS	Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

VALENTINE	O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!

	[Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS]

LAUNCE	I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to
	think my master is a kind of a knave: but that's
	all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now
	that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a
	team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who
	'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, I
	will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet
	'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis
	a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for
	wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel;
	which is much in a bare Christian.

	[Pulling out a paper]

	Here is the cate-log of her condition.
	'Imprimis: She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse
	can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only
	carry; therefore is she better than a jade. 'Item:
	She can milk;' look you, a sweet virtue in a maid
	with clean hands.

	[Enter SPEED]

SPEED	How now, Signior Launce! what news with your
	mastership?

LAUNCE	With my master's ship? why, it is at sea.

SPEED	Well, your old vice still; mistake the word. What
	news, then, in your paper?

LAUNCE	The blackest news that ever thou heardest.

SPEED	Why, man, how black?

LAUNCE	Why, as black as ink.

SPEED	Let me read them.

LAUNCE	Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read.

SPEED	Thou liest; I can.

LAUNCE	I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?

SPEED	Marry, the son of my grandfather.

LAUNCE	O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy
	grandmother: this proves that thou canst not read.

SPEED	Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.

LAUNCE	There; and St. Nicholas be thy speed!

SPEED	[Reads]  'Imprimis: She can milk.'

LAUNCE	Ay, that she can.

SPEED	'Item: She brews good ale.'

LAUNCE	And thereof comes the proverb: 'Blessing of your
	heart, you brew good ale.'

SPEED	'Item: She can sew.'

LAUNCE	That's as much as to say, Can she so?

SPEED	'Item: She can knit.'

LAUNCE	What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when
	she can knit him a stock?

SPEED	'Item: She can wash and scour.'

LAUNCE	A special virtue: for then she need not be washed
	and scoured.

SPEED	'Item: She can spin.'

LAUNCE	Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can
	spin for her living.

SPEED	'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.'

LAUNCE	That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; that,
	indeed, know not their fathers and therefore have no names.

SPEED	'Here follow her vices.'

LAUNCE	Close at the heels of her virtues.

SPEED	'Item: She is not to be kissed fasting in respect
	of her breath.'

LAUNCE	Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.

SPEED	'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.'

LAUNCE	That makes amends for her sour breath.

SPEED	'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.'

LAUNCE	It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.

SPEED	'Item: She is slow in words.'

LAUNCE	O villain, that set this down among her vices! To
	be slow in words is a woman's only virtue: I pray
	thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue.

SPEED	'Item: She is proud.'

LAUNCE	Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot
	be ta'en from her.

SPEED	'Item: She hath no teeth.'

LAUNCE	I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.

SPEED	'Item: She is curst.'

LAUNCE	Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.

SPEED	'Item: She will often praise her liquor.'

LAUNCE	If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I
	will; for good things should be praised.

SPEED	'Item: She is too liberal.'

LAUNCE	Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she
	is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that
	I'll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and
	that cannot I help. Well, proceed.

SPEED	'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults
	than hairs, and more wealth than faults.'

LAUNCE	Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, and not
	mine, twice or thrice in that last article.
	Rehearse that once more.

SPEED	'Item: She hath more hair than wit,'--

LAUNCE	More hair than wit? It may be; I'll prove it. The
	cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it
	is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit
	is more than the wit, for the greater hides the
	less. What's next?

SPEED	'And more faults than hairs,'--

LAUNCE	That's monstrous: O, that that were out!

SPEED	'And more wealth than faults.'

LAUNCE	Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well,
	I'll have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is
	impossible,--

SPEED	What then?

LAUNCE	Why, then will I tell thee--that thy master stays
	for thee at the North-gate.

SPEED	For me?

LAUNCE	For thee! ay, who art thou? he hath stayed for a
	better man than thee.

SPEED	And must I go to him?

LAUNCE	Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long
	that going will scarce serve the turn.

SPEED	Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love letters!

	[Exit]

LAUNCE	Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an
	unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into
	secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction.

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT III



SCENE II	The same. The DUKE's palace.


	[Enter DUKE and THURIO]

DUKE	Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you,
	Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.

THURIO	Since his exile she hath despised me most,
	Forsworn my company and rail'd at me,
	That I am desperate of obtaining her.

DUKE	This weak impress of love is as a figure
	Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat
	Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.
	A little time will melt her frozen thoughts
	And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.

	[Enter PROTEUS]

	How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman
	According to our proclamation gone?

PROTEUS	Gone, my good lord.

DUKE	My daughter takes his going grievously.

PROTEUS	A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.

DUKE	So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.
	Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee--
	For thou hast shown some sign of good desert--
	Makes me the better to confer with thee.

PROTEUS	Longer than I prove loyal to your grace
	Let me not live to look upon your grace.

DUKE	Thou know'st how willingly I would effect
	The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.

PROTEUS	I do, my lord.

DUKE	And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
	How she opposes her against my will

PROTEUS	She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.

DUKE	Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
	What might we do to make the girl forget
	The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio?

PROTEUS	The best way is to slander Valentine
	With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent,
	Three things that women highly hold in hate.

DUKE	Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate.

PROTEUS	Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
	Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken
	By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.

DUKE	Then you must undertake to slander him.

PROTEUS	And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:
	'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,
	Especially against his very friend.

DUKE	Where your good word cannot advantage him,
	Your slander never can endamage him;
	Therefore the office is indifferent,
	Being entreated to it by your friend.

PROTEUS	You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it
	By ought that I can speak in his dispraise,
	She shall not long continue love to him.
	But say this weed her love from Valentine,
	It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.

THURIO	Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
	Lest it should ravel and be good to none,
	You must provide to bottom it on me;
	Which must be done by praising me as much
	As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.

DUKE	And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,
	Because we know, on Valentine's report,
	You are already Love's firm votary
	And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
	Upon this warrant shall you have access
	Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
	For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
	And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you;
	Where you may temper her by your persuasion
	To hate young Valentine and love my friend.

PROTEUS	As much as I can do, I will effect:
	But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
	You must lay lime to tangle her desires
	By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
	Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.

DUKE	Ay,
	Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.

PROTEUS	Say that upon the altar of her beauty
	You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
	Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
	Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
	That may discover such integrity:
	For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
	Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
	Make tigers tame and huge leviathans
	Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
	After your dire-lamenting elegies,
	Visit by night your lady's chamber-window
	With some sweet concert; to their instruments
	Tune a deploring dump: the night's dead silence
	Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.
	This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

DUKE	This discipline shows thou hast been in love.

THURIO	And thy advice this night I'll put in practise.
	Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
	Let us into the city presently
	To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.
	I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
	To give the onset to thy good advice.

DUKE	About it, gentlemen!

PROTEUS	We'll wait upon your grace till after supper,
	And afterward determine our proceedings.

DUKE	Even now about it! I will pardon you.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT IV



SCENE I	The frontiers of Mantua. A forest.


	[Enter certain Outlaws]

First Outlaw	Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.

Second Outlaw	If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.

	[Enter VALENTINE and SPEED]

Third Outlaw	Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye:
	If not: we'll make you sit and rifle you.

SPEED	Sir, we are undone; these are the villains
	That all the travellers do fear so much.

VALENTINE	My friends,--

First Outlaw	That's not so, sir: we are your enemies.

Second Outlaw	Peace! we'll hear him.

Third Outlaw	Ay, by my beard, will we, for he's a proper man.

VALENTINE	Then know that I have little wealth to lose:
	A man I am cross'd with adversity;
	My riches are these poor habiliments,
	Of which if you should here disfurnish me,
	You take the sum and substance that I have.

Second Outlaw	Whither travel you?

VALENTINE	To Verona.

First Outlaw	Whence came you?

VALENTINE	From Milan.

Third Outlaw	Have you long sojourned there?

VALENTINE	Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd,
	If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

First Outlaw	What, were you banish'd thence?

VALENTINE	I was.

Second Outlaw	For what offence?

VALENTINE	For that which now torments me to rehearse:
	I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;
	But yet I slew him manfully in fight,
	Without false vantage or base treachery.

First Outlaw	Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so.
	But were you banish'd for so small a fault?

VALENTINE	I was, and held me glad of such a doom.

Second Outlaw	Have you the tongues?

VALENTINE	My youthful travel therein made me happy,
	Or else I often had been miserable.

Third Outlaw	By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,
	This fellow were a king for our wild faction!

First Outlaw	We'll have him. Sirs, a word.

SPEED	Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery.

VALENTINE	Peace, villain!

Second Outlaw	Tell us this: have you any thing to take to?

VALENTINE	Nothing but my fortune.

Third Outlaw	Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,
	Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
	Thrust from the company of awful men:
	Myself was from Verona banished
	For practising to steal away a lady,
	An heir, and near allied unto the duke.

Second Outlaw	And I from Mantua, for a gentleman,
	Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.

First Outlaw	And I for such like petty crimes as these,
	But to the purpose--for we cite our faults,
	That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;
	And partly, seeing you are beautified
	With goodly shape and by your own report
	A linguist and a man of such perfection
	As we do in our quality much want--

Second Outlaw	Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,
	Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you:
	Are you content to be our general?
	To make a virtue of necessity
	And live, as we do, in this wilderness?

Third Outlaw	What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort?
	Say ay, and be the captain of us all:
	We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee,
	Love thee as our commander and our king.

First Outlaw	But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.

Second Outlaw	Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd.

VALENTINE	I take your offer and will live with you,
	Provided that you do no outrages
	On silly women or poor passengers.

Third Outlaw	No, we detest such vile base practises.
	Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews,
	And show thee all the treasure we have got,
	Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT IV



SCENE II	Milan. Outside the DUKE's palace, under SILVIA's chamber.


	[Enter PROTEUS]

PROTEUS	Already have I been false to Valentine
	And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
	Under the colour of commending him,
	I have access my own love to prefer:
	But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
	To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
	When I protest true loyalty to her,
	She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
	When to her beauty I commend my vows,
	She bids me think how I have been forsworn
	In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved:
	And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,
	The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
	Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
	The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
	But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,
	And give some evening music to her ear.

	[Enter THURIO and Musicians]

THURIO	How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?

PROTEUS	Ay, gentle Thurio: for you know that love
	Will creep in service where it cannot go.

THURIO	Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

PROTEUS	Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

THURIO	Who? Silvia?

PROTEUS	                  Ay, Silvia; for your sake.

THURIO	I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,
	Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.

	[Enter, at a distance, Host, and JULIA in boy's clothes]

Host	Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly: I
	pray you, why is it?

JULIA	Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.

Host	Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where
	you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.

JULIA	But shall I hear him speak?

Host	Ay, that you shall.

JULIA	That will be music.

	[Music plays]

Host	Hark, hark!

JULIA	Is he among these?

Host	Ay: but, peace! let's hear 'em.

	SONG.
	Who is Silvia? what is she,
	That all our swains commend her?
	Holy, fair and wise is she;
	The heaven such grace did lend her,
	That she might admired be.

	Is she kind as she is fair?
	For beauty lives with kindness.
	Love doth to her eyes repair,
	To help him of his blindness,
	And, being help'd, inhabits there.

	Then to Silvia let us sing,
	That Silvia is excelling;
	She excels each mortal thing
	Upon the dull earth dwelling:
	To her let us garlands bring.

Host	How now! are you sadder than you were before? How
	do you, man? the music likes you not.

JULIA	You mistake; the musician likes me not.

Host	Why, my pretty youth?

JULIA	He plays false, father.

Host	How? out of tune on the strings?

JULIA	Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very
	heart-strings.

Host	You have a quick ear.

JULIA	Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.

Host	I perceive you delight not in music.

JULIA	Not a whit, when it jars so.

Host	Hark, what fine change is in the music!

JULIA	Ay, that change is the spite.

Host	You would have them always play but one thing?

JULIA	I would always have one play but one thing.
	But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on
	Often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host	I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he loved
	her out of all nick.

JULIA	Where is Launce?

Host	Gone to seek his dog; which tomorrow, by his
	master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady.

JULIA	Peace! stand aside: the company parts.

PROTEUS	Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead
	That you shall say my cunning drift excels.

THURIO	Where meet we?

PROTEUS	                  At Saint Gregory's well.

THURIO	Farewell.

	[Exeunt THURIO and Musicians]

	[Enter SILVIA above]

PROTEUS	Madam, good even to your ladyship.

SILVIA	I thank you for your music, gentlemen.
	Who is that that spake?

PROTEUS	One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,
	You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.

SILVIA	Sir Proteus, as I take it.

PROTEUS	Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.

SILVIA	What's your will?

PROTEUS	                  That I may compass yours.

SILVIA	You have your wish; my will is even this:
	That presently you hie you home to bed.
	Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man!
	Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,
	To be seduced by thy flattery,
	That hast deceived so many with thy vows?
	Return, return, and make thy love amends.
	For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,
	I am so far from granting thy request
	That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,
	And by and by intend to chide myself
	Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

PROTEUS	I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
	But she is dead.

JULIA	[Aside]        'Twere false, if I should speak it;
	For I am sure she is not buried.

SILVIA	Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend
	Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,
	I am betroth'd: and art thou not ashamed
	To wrong him with thy importunacy?

PROTEUS	I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.

SILVIA	And so suppose am I; for in his grave
	Assure thyself my love is buried.

PROTEUS	Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

SILVIA	Go to thy lady's grave and call hers thence,
	Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.

JULIA	[Aside]  He heard not that.

PROTEUS	Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
	Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
	The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
	To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep:
	For since the substance of your perfect self
	Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;
	And to your shadow will I make true love.

JULIA	[Aside]  If 'twere a substance, you would, sure,
	deceive it,
	And make it but a shadow, as I am.

SILVIA	I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
	But since your falsehood shall become you well
	To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
	Send to me in the morning and I'll send it:
	And so, good rest.

PROTEUS	                  As wretches have o'ernight
	That wait for execution in the morn.

	[Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA severally]

JULIA	Host, will you go?

Host	By my halidom, I was fast asleep.

JULIA	Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?

Host	Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost
	day.

JULIA	Not so; but it hath been the longest night
	That e'er I watch'd and the most heaviest.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter EGLAMOUR]

EGLAMOUR	This is the hour that Madam Silvia
	Entreated me to call and know her mind:
	There's some great matter she'ld employ me in.
	Madam, madam!

	[Enter SILVIA above]

SILVIA	                  Who calls?

EGLAMOUR	Your servant and your friend;
	One that attends your ladyship's command.

SILVIA	Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.

EGLAMOUR	As many, worthy lady, to yourself:
	According to your ladyship's impose,
	I am thus early come to know what service
	It is your pleasure to command me in.

SILVIA	O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman--
	Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not--
	Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd:
	Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
	I bear unto the banish'd Valentine,
	Nor how my father would enforce me marry
	Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.
	Thyself hast loved; and I have heard thee say
	No grief did ever come so near thy heart
	As when thy lady and thy true love died,
	Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.
	Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
	To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
	And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
	I do desire thy worthy company,
	Upon whose faith and honour I repose.
	Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
	But think upon my grief, a lady's grief,
	And on the justice of my flying hence,
	To keep me from a most unholy match,
	Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
	I do desire thee, even from a heart
	As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
	To bear me company and go with me:
	If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
	That I may venture to depart alone.

EGLAMOUR	Madam, I pity much your grievances;
	Which since I know they virtuously are placed,
	I give consent to go along with you,
	Recking as little what betideth me
	As much I wish all good befortune you.
	When will you go?

SILVIA	                  This evening coming.

EGLAMOUR	Where shall I meet you?

SILVIA	At Friar Patrick's cell,
	Where I intend holy confession.

EGLAMOUR	I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.

SILVIA	Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.

	[Exeunt severally]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The same.


	[Enter LAUNCE, with his his Dog]

LAUNCE	When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,
	look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a
	puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or
	four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it.
	I have taught him, even as one would say precisely,
	'thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver
	him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master;
	and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he
	steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg:
	O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself
	in all companies! I would have, as one should say,
	one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be,
	as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had
	more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did,
	I think verily he had been hanged for't; sure as I
	live, he had suffered for't; you shall judge. He
	thrusts me himself into the company of three or four
	gentlemanlike dogs under the duke's table: he had
	not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but
	all the chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog!' says
	one: 'What cur is that?' says another: 'Whip him
	out' says the third: 'Hang him up' says the duke.
	I, having been acquainted with the smell before,
	knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that
	whips the dogs: 'Friend,' quoth I, 'you mean to whip
	the dog?' 'Ay, marry, do I,' quoth he. 'You do him
	the more wrong,' quoth I; ''twas I did the thing you
	wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out
	of the chamber. How many masters would do this for
	his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the
	stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had
	been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese
	he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't.
	Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the
	trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam
	Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I
	do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg and make
	water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? didst
	thou ever see me do such a trick?

	[Enter PROTEUS and JULIA]

PROTEUS	Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well
	And will employ thee in some service presently.

JULIA	In what you please: I'll do what I can.

PROTEUS	I hope thou wilt.

	[To LAUNCE]

	How now, you whoreson peasant!
	Where have you been these two days loitering?

LAUNCE	Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.

PROTEUS	And what says she to my little jewel?

LAUNCE	Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you
	currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

PROTEUS	But she received my dog?

LAUNCE	No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him
	back again.

PROTEUS	What, didst thou offer her this from me?

LAUNCE	Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from me by
	the hangman boys in the market-place: and then I
	offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of
	yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

PROTEUS	Go get thee hence, and find my dog again,
	Or ne'er return again into my sight.
	Away, I say! stay'st thou to vex me here?

	[Exit LAUNCE]

	A slave, that still an end turns me to shame!
	Sebastian, I have entertained thee,
	Partly that I have need of such a youth
	That can with some discretion do my business,
	For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,
	But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,
	Which, if my augury deceive me not,
	Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth:
	Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.
	Go presently and take this ring with thee,
	Deliver it to Madam Silvia:
	She loved me well deliver'd it to me.

JULIA	It seems you loved not her, to leave her token.
	She is dead, belike?

PROTEUS	Not so; I think she lives.

JULIA	Alas!

PROTEUS	Why dost thou cry 'alas'?

JULIA	I cannot choose
	But pity her.

PROTEUS	                  Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?

JULIA	Because methinks that she loved you as well
	As you do love your lady Silvia:
	She dreams of him that has forgot her love;
	You dote on her that cares not for your love.
	'Tis pity love should be so contrary;
	And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!'

PROTEUS	Well, give her that ring and therewithal
	This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady
	I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
	Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
	Where thou shalt find me, sad and solitary.

	[Exit]

JULIA	How many women would do such a message?
	Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd
	A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.
	Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him
	That with his very heart despiseth me?
	Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
	Because I love him I must pity him.
	This ring I gave him when he parted from me,
	To bind him to remember my good will;
	And now am I, unhappy messenger,
	To plead for that which I would not obtain,
	To carry that which I would have refused,
	To praise his faith which I would have dispraised.
	I am my master's true-confirmed love;
	But cannot be true servant to my master,
	Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
	Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly
	As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.

	[Enter SILVIA, attended]

	Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean
	To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.

SILVIA	What would you with her, if that I be she?

JULIA	If you be she, I do entreat your patience
	To hear me speak the message I am sent on.

SILVIA	From whom?

JULIA	From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.

SILVIA	O, he sends you for a picture.

JULIA	Ay, madam.

SILVIA	Ursula, bring my picture here.
	Go give your master this: tell him from me,
	One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
	Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

JULIA	Madam, please you peruse this letter.--
	Pardon me, madam; I have unadvised
	Deliver'd you a paper that I should not:
	This is the letter to your ladyship.

SILVIA	I pray thee, let me look on that again.

JULIA	It may not be; good madam, pardon me.

SILVIA	There, hold!
	I will not look upon your master's lines:
	I know they are stuff'd with protestations
	And full of new-found oaths; which he will break
	As easily as I do tear his paper.

JULIA	Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.

SILVIA	The more shame for him that he sends it me;
	For I have heard him say a thousand times
	His Julia gave it him at his departure.
	Though his false finger have profaned the ring,
	Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.

JULIA	She thanks you.

SILVIA	What say'st thou?

JULIA	I thank you, madam, that you tender her.
	Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much.

SILVIA	Dost thou know her?

JULIA	Almost as well as I do know myself:
	To think upon her woes I do protest
	That I have wept a hundred several times.

SILVIA	Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.

JULIA	I think she doth; and that's her cause of sorrow.

SILVIA	Is she not passing fair?

JULIA	She hath been fairer, madam, than she is:
	When she did think my master loved her well,
	She, in my judgment, was as fair as you:
	But since she did neglect her looking-glass
	And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
	The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks
	And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
	That now she is become as black as I.

SILVIA	How tall was she?

JULIA	About my stature; for at Pentecost,
	When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
	Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
	And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown,
	Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments,
	As if the garment had been made for me:
	Therefore I know she is about my height.
	And at that time I made her weep agood,
	For I did play a lamentable part:
	Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning
	For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
	Which I so lively acted with my tears
	That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
	Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead
	If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!

SILVIA	She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
	Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
	I weep myself to think upon thy words.
	Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
	For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lovest her.
	Farewell.

	[Exit SILVIA, with attendants]

JULIA	And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.
	A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful
	I hope my master's suit will be but cold,
	Since she respects my mistress' love so much.
	Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
	Here is her picture: let me see; I think,
	If I had such a tire, this face of mine
	Were full as lovely as is this of hers:
	And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
	Unless I flatter with myself too much.
	Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:
	If that be all the difference in his love,
	I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
	Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine:
	Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.
	What should it be that he respects in her
	But I can make respective in myself,
	If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
	Come, shadow, come and take this shadow up,
	For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
	Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved and adored!
	And, were there sense in his idolatry,
	My substance should be statue in thy stead.
	I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake,
	That used me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
	I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes
	To make my master out of love with thee!

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT V



SCENE I	Milan. An abbey.


	[Enter EGLAMOUR]

EGLAMOUR	The sun begins to gild the western sky;
	And now it is about the very hour
	That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's cell, should meet me.
	She will not fail, for lovers break not hours,
	Unless it be to come before their time;
	So much they spur their expedition.
	See where she comes.

	[Enter SILVIA]

		Lady, a happy evening!

SILVIA	Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,
	Out at the postern by the abbey-wall:
	I fear I am attended by some spies.

EGLAMOUR	Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;
	If we recover that, we are sure enough.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT V



SCENE II	The same. The DUKE's palace.


	[Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA]

THURIO	Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?

PROTEUS	O, sir, I find her milder than she was;
	And yet she takes exceptions at your person.

THURIO	What, that my leg is too long?

PROTEUS	No; that it is too little.

THURIO	I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder.

JULIA	[Aside]  But love will not be spurr'd to what
	it loathes.

THURIO	What says she to my face?

PROTEUS	She says it is a fair one.

THURIO	Nay then, the wanton lies; my face is black.

PROTEUS	But pearls are fair; and the old saying is,
	Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.

JULIA	[Aside]  'Tis true; such pearls as put out
	ladies' eyes;
	For I had rather wink than look on them.

THURIO	How likes she my discourse?

PROTEUS	Ill, when you talk of war.

THURIO	But well, when I discourse of love and peace?

JULIA	[Aside]  But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.

THURIO	What says she to my valour?

PROTEUS	O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.

JULIA	[Aside]  She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.

THURIO	What says she to my birth?

PROTEUS	That you are well derived.

JULIA	[Aside]  True; from a gentleman to a fool.

THURIO	Considers she my possessions?

PROTEUS	O, ay; and pities them.

THURIO	Wherefore?

JULIA	[Aside]  That such an ass should owe them.

PROTEUS	That they are out by lease.

JULIA	Here comes the duke.

	[Enter DUKE]

DUKE	How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!
	Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?

THURIO	Not I.

PROTEUS	     Nor I.

DUKE	          Saw you my daughter?

PROTEUS	Neither.

DUKE	Why then,
	She's fled unto that peasant Valentine;
	And Eglamour is in her company.
	'Tis true; for Friar Laurence met them both,
	As he in penance wander'd through the forest;
	Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she,
	But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it;
	Besides, she did intend confession
	At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not;
	These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.
	Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
	But mount you presently and meet with me
	Upon the rising of the mountain-foot
	That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled:
	Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.

	[Exit]

THURIO	Why, this it is to be a peevish girl,
	That flies her fortune when it follows her.
	I'll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour
	Than for the love of reckless Silvia.

	[Exit]

PROTEUS	And I will follow, more for Silvia's love
	Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.

	[Exit]

JULIA	And I will follow, more to cross that love
	Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love.

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT V



SCENE III	The frontiers of Mantua. The forest.


	[Enter Outlaws with SILVIA]

First Outlaw	Come, come,
	Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.

SILVIA	A thousand more mischances than this one
	Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently.

Second Outlaw	Come, bring her away.

First Outlaw	Where is the gentleman that was with her?

Third Outlaw	Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,
	But Moyses and Valerius follow him.
	Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;
	There is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled;
	The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape.

First Outlaw	Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave:
	Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,
	And will not use a woman lawlessly.

SILVIA	O Valentine, this I endure for thee!

	[Exeunt]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter VALENTINE]

VALENTINE	How use doth breed a habit in a man!
	This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
	I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
	Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
	And to the nightingale's complaining notes
	Tune my distresses and record my woes.
	O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
	Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,
	Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall
	And leave no memory of what it was!
	Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
	Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!
	What halloing and what stir is this to-day?
	These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
	Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
	They love me well; yet I have much to do
	To keep them from uncivil outrages.
	Withdraw thee, Valentine: who's this comes here?

	[Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA]

PROTEUS	Madam, this service I have done for you,
	Though you respect not aught your servant doth,
	To hazard life and rescue you from him
	That would have forced your honour and your love;
	Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;
	A smaller boon than this I cannot beg
	And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.

VALENTINE	[Aside]  How like a dream is this I see and hear!
	Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.

SILVIA	O miserable, unhappy that I am!

PROTEUS	Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;
	But by my coming I have made you happy.

SILVIA	By thy approach thou makest me most unhappy.

JULIA	[Aside]  And me, when he approacheth to your presence.

SILVIA	Had I been seized by a hungry lion,
	I would have been a breakfast to the beast,
	Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
	O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine,
	Whose life's as tender to me as my soul!
	And full as much, for more there cannot be,
	I do detest false perjured Proteus.
	Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.

PROTEUS	What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
	Would I not undergo for one calm look!
	O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved,
	When women cannot love where they're beloved!

SILVIA	When Proteus cannot love where he's beloved.
	Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
	For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
	Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
	Descended into perjury, to love me.
	Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two;
	And that's far worse than none; better have none
	Than plural faith which is too much by one:
	Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!

PROTEUS	In love
	Who respects friend?

SILVIA	All men but Proteus.

PROTEUS	Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
	Can no way change you to a milder form,
	I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end,
	And love you 'gainst the nature of love,--force ye.

SILVIA	O heaven!

PROTEUS	        I'll force thee yield to my desire.

VALENTINE	Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch,
	Thou friend of an ill fashion!

PROTEUS	Valentine!

VALENTINE	Thou common friend, that's without faith or love,
	For such is a friend now; treacherous man!
	Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye
	Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say
	I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.
	Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand
	Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,
	I am sorry I must never trust thee more,
	But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
	The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst,
	'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!

PROTEUS	My shame and guilt confounds me.
	Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow
	Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
	I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer
	As e'er I did commit.

VALENTINE	Then I am paid;
	And once again I do receive thee honest.
	Who by repentance is not satisfied
	Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased.
	By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased:
	And, that my love may appear plain and free,
	All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.

JULIA	O me unhappy!

	[Swoons]

PROTEUS	Look to the boy.

VALENTINE	Why, boy! why, wag! how now! what's the matter?
	Look up; speak.

JULIA	O good sir, my master charged me to deliver a ring
	to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.

PROTEUS	Where is that ring, boy?

JULIA	Here 'tis; this is it.

PROTEUS	How! let me see:
	Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.

JULIA	O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook:
	This is the ring you sent to Silvia.

PROTEUS	But how camest thou by this ring? At my depart
	I gave this unto Julia.

JULIA	And Julia herself did give it me;
	And Julia herself hath brought it hither.

PROTEUS	How! Julia!

JULIA	Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,
	And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart.
	How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!
	O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!
	Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me
	Such an immodest raiment, if shame live
	In a disguise of love:
	It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
	Women to change their shapes than men their minds.

PROTEUS	Than men their minds! 'tis true.
	O heaven! were man
	But constant, he were perfect. That one error
	Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
	Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
	What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
	More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?

VALENTINE	Come, come, a hand from either:
	Let me be blest to make this happy close;
	'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.

PROTEUS	Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish for ever.

JULIA	And I mine.

	[Enter Outlaws, with DUKE and THURIO]

Outlaws	A prize, a prize, a prize!

VALENTINE	Forbear, forbear, I say! it is my lord the duke.
	Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced,
	Banished Valentine.

DUKE	Sir Valentine!

THURIO	Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.

VALENTINE	Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;
	Come not within the measure of my wrath;
	Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,
	Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands;
	Take but possession of her with a touch:
	I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.

THURIO	Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
	I hold him but a fool that will endanger
	His body for a girl that loves him not:
	I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.

DUKE	The more degenerate and base art thou,
	To make such means for her as thou hast done
	And leave her on such slight conditions.
	Now, by the honour of my ancestry,
	I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
	And think thee worthy of an empress' love:
	Know then, I here forget all former griefs,
	Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,
	Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit,
	To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,
	Thou art a gentleman and well derived;
	Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her.

VALENTINE	I thank your grace; the gift hath made me happy.
	I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake,
	To grant one boom that I shall ask of you.

DUKE	I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be.

VALENTINE	These banish'd men that I have kept withal
	Are men endued with worthy qualities:
	Forgive them what they have committed here
	And let them be recall'd from their exile:
	They are reformed, civil, full of good
	And fit for great employment, worthy lord.

DUKE	Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them and thee:
	Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts.
	Come, let us go: we will include all jars
	With triumphs, mirth and rare solemnity.

VALENTINE	And, as we walk along, I dare be bold
	With our discourse to make your grace to smile.
	What think you of this page, my lord?

DUKE	I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.

VALENTINE	I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.

DUKE	What mean you by that saying?

VALENTINE	Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along,
	That you will wonder what hath fortuned.
	Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance but to hear
	The story of your loves discovered:
	That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;
	One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.

	[Exeunt]
	THE WINTER'S TALE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEONTES	king of Sicilia.

MAMILLIUS	young prince of Sicilia.


CAMILLO	|
	|
ANTIGONUS	|
	|  Four Lords of Sicilia.
CLEOMENES	|
	|
DION	|


POLIXENES	King of Bohemia.

FLORIZEL	Prince of Bohemia.

ARCHIDAMUS	a Lord of Bohemia.

Old Shepherd	reputed father of Perdita. (Shepherd:)

Clown	his son.

AUTOLYCUS	a rogue.

	A Mariner. (Mariner:)

	A Gaoler.  (Gaoler:)

HERMIONE	queen to Leontes.

PERDITA	daughter to Leontes and Hermione.

PAULINA	wife to Antigonus.

EMILIA	a lady attending on Hermione,


MOPSA	|
	|  Shepherdesses.
DORCAS	|


	Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers,
	and Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses.
	(First Lord:)
	(Gentleman:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)
	(First Lady:)
	(Second Lady:)
	(Officer:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)

Time	as Chorus.


SCENE	Sicilia, and Bohemia.




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE I	Antechamber in LEONTES' palace.



	[Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS]

ARCHIDAMUS	If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
	the like occasion whereon my services are now on
	foot, you shall see, as I have said, great
	difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.

CAMILLO	I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia
	means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

ARCHIDAMUS	Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
	justified in our loves; for indeed--

CAMILLO	Beseech you,--

ARCHIDAMUS	Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
	we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know
	not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,
	that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,
	may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse
	us.

CAMILLO	You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.

ARCHIDAMUS	Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me
	and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

CAMILLO	Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
	They were trained together in their childhoods; and
	there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
	which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
	more mature dignities and royal necessities made
	separation of their society, their encounters,
	though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
	with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
	embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
	though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
	embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
	winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS	I think there is not in the world either malice or
	matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
	comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
	gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
	into my note.

CAMILLO	I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it
	is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the
	subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on
	crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to
	see him a man.

ARCHIDAMUS	Would they else be content to die?

CAMILLO	Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
	desire to live.

ARCHIDAMUS	If the king had no son, they would desire to live
	on crutches till he had one.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE II	A room of state in the same.



	[Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS,
	POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants]

POLIXENES	Nine changes of the watery star hath been
	The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
	Without a burthen: time as long again
	Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;
	And yet we should, for perpetuity,
	Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,
	Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
	With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
	That go before it.

LEONTES	                  Stay your thanks a while;
	And pay them when you part.

POLIXENES	Sir, that's to-morrow.
	I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
	Or breed upon our absence; that may blow
	No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
	'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd
	To tire your royalty.

LEONTES	We are tougher, brother,
	Than you can put us to't.

POLIXENES	No longer stay.

LEONTES	One seven-night longer.

POLIXENES	Very sooth, to-morrow.

LEONTES	We'll part the time between's then; and in that
	I'll no gainsaying.

POLIXENES	Press me not, beseech you, so.
	There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
	So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,
	Were there necessity in your request, although
	'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
	Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder
	Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
	To you a charge and trouble: to save both,
	Farewell, our brother.

LEONTES	Tongue-tied, our queen?
	speak you.

HERMIONE	I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
	You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
	Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure
	All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction
	The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him,
	He's beat from his best ward.

LEONTES	Well said, Hermione.

HERMIONE	To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
	But let him say so then, and let him go;
	But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
	We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
	Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure
	The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
	You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
	To let him there a month behind the gest
	Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,
	I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
	What lady-she her lord. You'll stay?

POLIXENES	No, madam.

HERMIONE	Nay, but you will?

POLIXENES	                  I may not, verily.

HERMIONE	Verily!
	You put me off with limber vows; but I,
	Though you would seek to unsphere the
	stars with oaths,
	Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
	You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's
	As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
	Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
	Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
	When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
	My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'
	One of them you shall be.

POLIXENES	Your guest, then, madam:
	To be your prisoner should import offending;
	Which is for me less easy to commit
	Than you to punish.

HERMIONE	Not your gaoler, then,
	But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
	Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys:
	You were pretty lordings then?

POLIXENES	We were, fair queen,
	Two lads that thought there was no more behind
	But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
	And to be boy eternal.

HERMIONE	Was not my lord
	The verier wag o' the two?

POLIXENES	We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun,
	And bleat the one at the other: what we changed
	Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
	The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
	That any did. Had we pursued that life,
	And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
	With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
	Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd
	Hereditary ours.

HERMIONE	                  By this we gather
	You have tripp'd since.

POLIXENES	O my most sacred lady!
	Temptations have since then been born to's; for
	In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;
	Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
	Of my young play-fellow.

HERMIONE	Grace to boot!
	Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
	Your queen and I are devils: yet go on;
	The offences we have made you do we'll answer,
	If you first sinn'd with us and that with us
	You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not
	With any but with us.

LEONTES	Is he won yet?

HERMIONE	He'll stay my lord.

LEONTES	At my request he would not.
	Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest
	To better purpose.

HERMIONE	                                 Never?

LEONTES	Never, but once.

HERMIONE	What! have I twice said well? when was't before?
	I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
	As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless
	Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
	Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
	With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
	With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:
	My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
	What was my first? it has an elder sister,
	Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
	But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?
	Nay, let me have't; I long.

LEONTES	Why, that was when
	Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
	Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
	And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter
	'I am yours for ever.'

HERMIONE	'Tis grace indeed.
	Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
	The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
	The other for some while a friend.

LEONTES	[Aside]	Too hot, too hot!
	To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
	I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;
	But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment
	May a free face put on, derive a liberty
	From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
	And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;
	But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
	As now they are, and making practised smiles,
	As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere
	The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment
	My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
	Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS	                           Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES	I' fecks!
	Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast
	smutch'd thy nose?
	They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
	We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:
	And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf
	Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling
	Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!
	Art thou my calf?

MAMILLIUS	                  Yes, if you will, my lord.

LEONTES	Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
	To be full like me: yet they say we are
	Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
	That will say anything but were they false
	As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
	As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
	No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true
	To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
	Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
	Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?--
	Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:
	Thou dost make possible things not so held,
	Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?--
	With what's unreal thou coactive art,
	And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent
	Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost,
	And that beyond commission, and I find it,
	And that to the infection of my brains
	And hardening of my brows.

POLIXENES	What means Sicilia?

HERMIONE	He something seems unsettled.

POLIXENES	How, my lord!
	What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

HERMIONE	You look as if you held a brow of much distraction
	Are you moved, my lord?

LEONTES	No, in good earnest.
	How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
	Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
	To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
	Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
	Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,
	In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,
	Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,
	As ornaments oft do, too dangerous:
	How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
	This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
	Will you take eggs for money?

MAMILLIUS	No, my lord, I'll fight.

LEONTES	You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
	Are you so fond of your young prince as we
	Do seem to be of ours?

POLIXENES	If at home, sir,
	He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,
	Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,
	My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
	He makes a July's day short as December,
	And with his varying childness cures in me
	Thoughts that would thick my blood.

LEONTES	So stands this squire
	Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord,
	And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
	How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome;
	Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
	Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
	Apparent to my heart.

HERMIONE	If you would seek us,
	We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there?

LEONTES	To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
	Be you beneath the sky.

	[Aside]

		  I am angling now,
	Though you perceive me not how I give line.
	Go to, go to!
	How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
	And arms her with the boldness of a wife
	To her allowing husband!

	[Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and Attendants]

		   Gone already!
	Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and
	ears a fork'd one!
	Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I
	Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
	Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour
	Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.
	There have been,
	Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
	And many a man there is, even at this present,
	Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
	That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence
	And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
	Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't
	Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
	As mine, against their will. Should all despair
	That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
	Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;
	It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
	Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
	From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,
	No barricado for a belly; know't;
	It will let in and out the enemy
	With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
	Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!

MAMILLIUS	I am like you, they say.

LEONTES	Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there?

CAMILLO	Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES	Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.

	[Exit MAMILLIUS]

	Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

CAMILLO	You had much ado to make his anchor hold:
	When you cast out, it still came home.

LEONTES	Didst note it?

CAMILLO	He would not stay at your petitions: made
	His business more material.

LEONTES	Didst perceive it?

	[Aside]

	They're here with me already, whispering, rounding
	'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone,
	When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo,
	That he did stay?

CAMILLO	                  At the good queen's entreaty.

LEONTES	At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent
	But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken
	By any understanding pate but thine?
	For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
	More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,
	But of the finer natures? by some severals
	Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes
	Perchance are to this business purblind? say.

CAMILLO	Business, my lord! I think most understand
	Bohemia stays here longer.

LEONTES	Ha!

CAMILLO	Stays here longer.

LEONTES	Ay, but why?

CAMILLO	To satisfy your highness and the entreaties
	Of our most gracious mistress.

LEONTES	Satisfy!
	The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy!
	Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
	With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
	My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
	Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed
	Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
	Deceived in thy integrity, deceived
	In that which seems so.

CAMILLO	Be it forbid, my lord!

LEONTES	To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or,
	If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward,
	Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
	From course required; or else thou must be counted
	A servant grafted in my serious trust
	And therein negligent; or else a fool
	That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
	And takest it all for jest.

CAMILLO	My gracious lord,
	I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
	In every one of these no man is free,
	But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
	Among the infinite doings of the world,
	Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
	If ever I were wilful-negligent,
	It was my folly; if industriously
	I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
	Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
	To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
	Where of the execution did cry out
	Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
	Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
	Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
	Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,
	Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
	By its own visage: if I then deny it,
	'Tis none of mine.

LEONTES	                  Ha' not you seen, Camillo,--
	But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass
	Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,--
	For to a vision so apparent rumour
	Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation
	Resides not in that man that does not think,--
	My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
	Or else be impudently negative,
	To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
	My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
	As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
	Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't.

CAMILLO	I would not be a stander-by to hear
	My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
	My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,
	You never spoke what did become you less
	Than this; which to reiterate were sin
	As deep as that, though true.

LEONTES	Is whispering nothing?
	Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
	Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
	Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible
	Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot?
	Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
	Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes
	Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
	That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
	Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
	The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
	My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
	If this be nothing.

CAMILLO	Good my lord, be cured
	Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;
	For 'tis most dangerous.

LEONTES	Say it be, 'tis true.

CAMILLO	No, no, my lord.

LEONTES	                  It is; you lie, you lie:
	I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,
	Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
	Or else a hovering temporizer, that
	Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
	Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
	Infected as her life, she would not live
	The running of one glass.

CAMILLO	Who does infect her?

LEONTES	Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging
	About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I
	Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
	To see alike mine honour as their profits,
	Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
	Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,
	His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form
	Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see
	Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
	How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup,
	To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
	Which draught to me were cordial.

CAMILLO	Sir, my lord,
	I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
	But with a lingering dram that should not work
	Maliciously like poison: but I cannot
	Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
	So sovereignly being honourable.
	I have loved thee,--

LEONTES	Make that thy question, and go rot!
	Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
	To appoint myself in this vexation, sully
	The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
	Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
	Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,
	Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,
	Who I do think is mine and love as mine,
	Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
	Could man so blench?

CAMILLO	I must believe you, sir:
	I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
	Provided that, when he's removed, your highness
	Will take again your queen as yours at first,
	Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
	The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
	Known and allied to yours.

LEONTES	Thou dost advise me
	Even so as I mine own course have set down:
	I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

CAMILLO	My lord,
	Go then; and with a countenance as clear
	As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
	And with your queen. I am his cupbearer:
	If from me he have wholesome beverage,
	Account me not your servant.

LEONTES	This is all:
	Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;
	Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

CAMILLO	I'll do't, my lord.

LEONTES	I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.

	[Exit]

CAMILLO	O miserable lady! But, for me,
	What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
	Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
	Is the obedience to a master, one
	Who in rebellion with himself will have
	All that are his so too. To do this deed,
	Promotion follows. If I could find example
	Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
	And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since
	Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,
	Let villany itself forswear't. I must
	Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
	To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
	Here comes Bohemia.

	[Re-enter POLIXENES]

POLIXENES	This is strange: methinks
	My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
	Good day, Camillo.

CAMILLO	                  Hail, most royal sir!

POLIXENES	What is the news i' the court?

CAMILLO	None rare, my lord.

POLIXENES	The king hath on him such a countenance
	As he had lost some province and a region
	Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him
	With customary compliment; when he,
	Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling
	A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and
	So leaves me to consider what is breeding
	That changeth thus his manners.

CAMILLO	I dare not know, my lord.

POLIXENES	How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not?
	Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts;
	For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.
	And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
	Your changed complexions are to me a mirror
	Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be
	A party in this alteration, finding
	Myself thus alter'd with 't.

CAMILLO	There is a sickness
	Which puts some of us in distemper, but
	I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
	Of you that yet are well.

POLIXENES	How! caught of me!
	Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
	I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
	By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,--
	As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto
	Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns
	Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
	In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you,
	If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
	Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
	In ignorant concealment.

CAMILLO	I may not answer.

POLIXENES	A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
	I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
	I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
	Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
	Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
	What incidency thou dost guess of harm
	Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
	Which way to be prevented, if to be;
	If not, how best to bear it.

CAMILLO	Sir, I will tell you;
	Since I am charged in honour and by him
	That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel,
	Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as
	I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
	Cry lost, and so good night!

POLIXENES	On, good Camillo.

CAMILLO	I am appointed him to murder you.

POLIXENES	By whom, Camillo?

CAMILLO	                        By the king.

POLIXENES	For what?

CAMILLO	He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
	As he had seen't or been an instrument
	To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
	Forbiddenly.

POLIXENES	                  O, then my best blood turn
	To an infected jelly and my name
	Be yoked with his that did betray the Best!
	Turn then my freshest reputation to
	A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
	Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
	Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
	That e'er was heard or read!

CAMILLO	Swear his thought over
	By each particular star in heaven and
	By all their influences, you may as well
	Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
	As or by oath remove or counsel shake
	The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
	Is piled upon his faith and will continue
	The standing of his body.

POLIXENES	How should this grow?

CAMILLO	I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to
	Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
	If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
	That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
	Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night!
	Your followers I will whisper to the business,
	And will by twos and threes at several posterns
	Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put
	My fortunes to your service, which are here
	By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;
	For, by the honour of my parents, I
	Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
	I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
	Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
	His execution sworn.

POLIXENES	I do believe thee:
	I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand:
	Be pilot to me and thy places shall
	Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and
	My people did expect my hence departure
	Two days ago. This jealousy
	Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,
	Must it be great, and as his person's mighty,
	Must it be violent, and as he does conceive
	He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
	Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
	In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:
	Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
	The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
	Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
	I will respect thee as a father if
	Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid.

CAMILLO	It is in mine authority to command
	The keys of all the posterns: please your highness
	To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE I	A room in LEONTES' palace.


	[Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and Ladies]

HERMIONE	Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
	'Tis past enduring.

First Lady	Come, my gracious lord,
	Shall I be your playfellow?

MAMILLIUS	No, I'll none of you.

First Lady	Why, my sweet lord?

MAMILLIUS	You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if
	I were a baby still. I love you better.

Second Lady	And why so, my lord?

MAMILLIUS	Not for because
	Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
	Become some women best, so that there be not
	Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
	Or a half-moon made with a pen.

Second Lady	Who taught you this?

MAMILLIUS	I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now
	What colour are your eyebrows?

First Lady	Blue, my lord.

MAMILLIUS	Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose
	That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.

First Lady	Hark ye;
	The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall
	Present our services to a fine new prince
	One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us,
	If we would have you.

Second Lady	She is spread of late
	Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!

HERMIONE	What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
	I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,
	And tell 's a tale.

MAMILLIUS	Merry or sad shall't be?

HERMIONE	As merry as you will.

MAMILLIUS	A sad tale's best for winter: I have one
	Of sprites and goblins.

HERMIONE	Let's have that, good sir.
	Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best
	To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.

MAMILLIUS	There was a man--

HERMIONE	                  Nay, come, sit down; then on.

MAMILLIUS	Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;
	Yond crickets shall not hear it.

HERMIONE	Come on, then,
	And give't me in mine ear.

	[Enter LEONTES, with ANTIGONUS, Lords and others]

LEONTES	Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?

First Lord	Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
	Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them
	Even to their ships.

LEONTES	How blest am I
	In my just censure, in my true opinion!
	Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed
	In being so blest! There may be in the cup
	A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
	And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
	Is not infected: but if one present
	The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
	How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
	With violent hefts. I have drunk,
	and seen the spider.
	Camillo was his help in this, his pander:
	There is a plot against my life, my crown;
	All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain
	Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him:
	He has discover'd my design, and I
	Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
	For them to play at will. How came the posterns
	So easily open?

First Lord	                  By his great authority;
	Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
	On your command.

LEONTES	                          I know't too well.
	Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him:
	Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
	Have too much blood in him.

HERMIONE	What is this? sport?

LEONTES	Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
	Away with him! and let her sport herself
	With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes
	Has made thee swell thus.

HERMIONE	But I'ld say he had not,
	And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
	Howe'er you lean to the nayward.

LEONTES	You, my lords,
	Look on her, mark her well; be but about
	To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and
	The justice of your bearts will thereto add
	'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:'
	Praise her but for this her without-door form,
	Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
	The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
	That calumny doth use--O, I am out--
	That mercy does, for calumny will sear
	Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's,
	When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between
	Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known,
	From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
	She's an adulteress.

HERMIONE	Should a villain say so,
	The most replenish'd villain in the world,
	He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
	Do but mistake.

LEONTES	                  You have mistook, my lady,
	Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing!
	Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
	Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
	Should a like language use to all degrees
	And mannerly distinguishment leave out
	Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said
	She's an adulteress; I have said with whom:
	More, she's a traitor and Camillo is
	A federary with her, and one that knows
	What she should shame to know herself
	But with her most vile principal, that she's
	A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
	That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy
	To this their late escape.

HERMIONE	No, by my life.
	Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
	When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
	You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
	You scarce can right me throughly then to say
	You did mistake.

LEONTES	                  No; if I mistake
	In those foundations which I build upon,
	The centre is not big enough to bear
	A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison!
	He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
	But that he speaks.

HERMIONE	There's some ill planet reigns:
	I must be patient till the heavens look
	With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
	I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
	Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
	Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have
	That honourable grief lodged here which burns
	Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,
	With thoughts so qualified as your charities
	Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
	The king's will be perform'd!

LEONTES	Shall I be heard?

HERMIONE	Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness,
	My women may be with me; for you see
	My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
	There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress
	Has deserved prison, then abound in tears
	As I come out: this action I now go on
	Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:
	I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
	I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.

LEONTES	Go, do our bidding; hence!

	[Exit HERMIONE, guarded; with Ladies]

First Lord	Beseech your highness, call the queen again.

ANTIGONUS	Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
	Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,
	Yourself, your queen, your son.

First Lord	For her, my lord,
	I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir,
	Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
	I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean,
	In this which you accuse her.

ANTIGONUS	If it prove
	She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
	I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
	Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
	For every inch of woman in the world,
	Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be.

LEONTES	         Hold your peaces.

First Lord	Good my lord,--

ANTIGONUS	It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
	You are abused and by some putter-on
	That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain,
	I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd,
	I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven
	The second and the third, nine, and some five;
	If this prove true, they'll pay for't:
	by mine honour,
	I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see,
	To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
	And I had rather glib myself than they
	Should not produce fair issue.

LEONTES	Cease; no more.
	You smell this business with a sense as cold
	As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't
	As you feel doing thus; and see withal
	The instruments that feel.

ANTIGONUS	If it be so,
	We need no grave to bury honesty:
	There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
	Of the whole dungy earth.

LEONTES	What! lack I credit?

First Lord	I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
	Upon this ground; and more it would content me
	To have her honour true than your suspicion,
	Be blamed for't how you might.

LEONTES	Why, what need we
	Commune with you of this, but rather follow
	Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
	Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness
	Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied
	Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not
	Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
	We need no more of your advice: the matter,
	The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
	Properly ours.

ANTIGONUS	                  And I wish, my liege,
	You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
	Without more overture.

LEONTES	How could that be?
	Either thou art most ignorant by age,
	Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
	Added to their familiarity,
	Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
	That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
	But only seeing, all other circumstances
	Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:
	Yet, for a greater confirmation,
	For in an act of this importance 'twere
	Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post
	To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
	Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
	Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle
	They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
	Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?

First Lord	Well done, my lord.

LEONTES	Though I am satisfied and need no more
	Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
	Give rest to the minds of others, such as he
	Whose ignorant credulity will not
	Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good
	From our free person she should be confined,
	Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
	Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
	We are to speak in public; for this business
	Will raise us all.

ANTIGONUS	[Aside]

	To laughter, as I take it,
	If the good truth were known.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE II	A prison.


	[Enter PAULINA, a Gentleman, and Attendants]

PAULINA	The keeper of the prison, call to him;
	let him have knowledge who I am.

	[Exit Gentleman]

		               Good lady,
	No court in Europe is too good for thee;
	What dost thou then in prison?

	[Re-enter Gentleman, with the Gaoler]

		         Now, good sir,
	You know me, do you not?

Gaoler	For a worthy lady
	And one whom much I honour.

PAULINA	Pray you then,
	Conduct me to the queen.

Gaoler	I may not, madam:
	To the contrary I have express commandment.

PAULINA	Here's ado,
	To lock up honesty and honour from
	The access of gentle visitors!
	Is't lawful, pray you,
	To see her women? any of them? Emilia?

Gaoler	So please you, madam,
	To put apart these your attendants, I
	Shall bring Emilia forth.

PAULINA	I pray now, call her.
	Withdraw yourselves.

	[Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants]

Gaoler	And, madam,
	I must be present at your conference.

PAULINA	Well, be't so, prithee.

	[Exit Gaoler]

	Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
	As passes colouring.

	[Re-enter Gaoler, with EMILIA]

	Dear gentlewoman,
	How fares our gracious lady?

EMILIA	As well as one so great and so forlorn
	May hold together: on her frights and griefs,
	Which never tender lady hath born greater,
	She is something before her time deliver'd.

PAULINA	A boy?

EMILIA	     A daughter, and a goodly babe,
	Lusty and like to live: the queen receives
	Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
	I am innocent as you.'

PAULINA	I dare be sworn
	These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king,
	beshrew them!
	He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
	Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:
	If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister
	And never to my red-look'd anger be
	The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
	Commend my best obedience to the queen:
	If she dares trust me with her little babe,
	I'll show't the king and undertake to be
	Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know
	How he may soften at the sight o' the child:
	The silence often of pure innocence
	Persuades when speaking fails.

EMILIA	Most worthy madam,
	Your honour and your goodness is so evident
	That your free undertaking cannot miss
	A thriving issue: there is no lady living
	So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
	To visit the next room, I'll presently
	Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;
	Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
	But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
	Lest she should be denied.

PAULINA	Tell her, Emilia.
	I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't
	As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted
	I shall do good.

EMILIA	                  Now be you blest for it!
	I'll to the queen: please you,
	come something nearer.

Gaoler	Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,
	I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
	Having no warrant.

PAULINA	                  You need not fear it, sir:
	This child was prisoner to the womb and is
	By law and process of great nature thence
	Freed and enfranchised, not a party to
	The anger of the king nor guilty of,
	If any be, the trespass of the queen.

Gaoler	I do believe it.

PAULINA	                  Do not you fear: upon mine honour,
	I will stand betwixt you and danger.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE III	A room in LEONTES' palace.


	[Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and Servants]

LEONTES	Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness
	To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If
	The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause,
	She the adulteress; for the harlot king
	Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
	And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
	I can hook to me: say that she were gone,
	Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
	Might come to me again. Who's there?

First Servant	My lord?

LEONTES	How does the boy?

First Servant	                  He took good rest to-night;
	'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.

LEONTES	To see his nobleness!
	Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
	He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply,
	Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
	Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
	And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go,
	See how he fares.

	[Exit Servant]

	Fie, fie! no thought of him:
	The thought of my revenges that way
	Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty,
	And in his parties, his alliance; let him be
	Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,
	Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
	Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:
	They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor
	Shall she within my power.

	[Enter PAULINA, with a child]

First Lord	You must not enter.

PAULINA	Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:
	Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
	Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul,
	More free than he is jealous.

ANTIGONUS	That's enough.

Second Servant	Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded
	None should come at him.

PAULINA	Not so hot, good sir:
	I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
	That creep like shadows by him and do sigh
	At each his needless heavings, such as you
	Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
	Do come with words as medicinal as true,
	Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
	That presses him from sleep.

LEONTES	What noise there, ho?

PAULINA	No noise, my lord; but needful conference
	About some gossips for your highness.

LEONTES	How!
	Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
	I charged thee that she should not come about me:
	I knew she would.

ANTIGONUS	                  I told her so, my lord,
	On your displeasure's peril and on mine,
	She should not visit you.

LEONTES	What, canst not rule her?

PAULINA	From all dishonesty he can: in this,
	Unless he take the course that you have done,
	Commit me for committing honour, trust it,
	He shall not rule me.

ANTIGONUS	La you now, you hear:
	When she will take the rein I let her run;
	But she'll not stumble.

PAULINA	Good my liege, I come;
	And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
	Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
	Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare
	Less appear so in comforting your evils,
	Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come
	From your good queen.

LEONTES	Good queen!

PAULINA	Good queen, my lord,
	Good queen; I say good queen;
	And would by combat make her good, so were I
	A man, the worst about you.

LEONTES	Force her hence.

PAULINA	Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
	First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off;
	But first I'll do my errand. The good queen,
	For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
	Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

	[Laying down the child]

LEONTES	Out!
	A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door:
	A most intelligencing bawd!

PAULINA	Not so:
	I am as ignorant in that as you
	In so entitling me, and no less honest
	Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
	As this world goes, to pass for honest.

LEONTES	Traitors!
	Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
	Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted
	By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
	Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.

PAULINA	For ever
	Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
	Takest up the princess by that forced baseness
	Which he has put upon't!

LEONTES	He dreads his wife.

PAULINA	So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
	You'ld call your children yours.

LEONTES	A nest of traitors!

ANTIGONUS	I am none, by this good light.

PAULINA	Nor I, nor any
	But one that's here, and that's himself, for he
	The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
	His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
	Whose sting is sharper than the sword's;
	and will not--
	For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
	He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove
	The root of his opinion, which is rotten
	As ever oak or stone was sound.

LEONTES	A callat
	Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband
	And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
	It is the issue of Polixenes:
	Hence with it, and together with the dam
	Commit them to the fire!

PAULINA	It is yours;
	And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
	So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
	Although the print be little, the whole matter
	And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,
	The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,
	The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,
	His smiles,
	The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:
	And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
	So like to him that got it, if thou hast
	The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
	No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
	Her children not her husband's!

LEONTES	A gross hag
	And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
	That wilt not stay her tongue.

ANTIGONUS	Hang all the husbands
	That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
	Hardly one subject.

LEONTES	Once more, take her hence.

PAULINA	A most unworthy and unnatural lord
	Can do no more.

LEONTES	                  I'll ha' thee burnt.

PAULINA	I care not:
	It is an heretic that makes the fire,
	Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant;
	But this most cruel usage of your queen,
	Not able to produce more accusation
	Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours
	Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,
	Yea, scandalous to the world.

LEONTES	On your allegiance,
	Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
	Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
	If she did know me one. Away with her!

PAULINA	I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
	Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours:
	Jove send her
	A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
	You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
	Will never do him good, not one of you.
	So, so: farewell; we are gone.

	[Exit]

LEONTES	Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
	My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast
	A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence
	And see it instantly consumed with fire;
	Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:
	Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
	And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
	With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse
	And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
	The bastard brains with these my proper hands
	Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
	For thou set'st on thy wife.

ANTIGONUS	I did not, sir:
	These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
	Can clear me in't.

Lords	                  We can: my royal liege,
	He is not guilty of her coming hither.

LEONTES	You're liars all.

First Lord	Beseech your highness, give us better credit:
	We have always truly served you, and beseech you
	So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,
	As recompense of our dear services
	Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
	Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
	Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.

LEONTES	I am a feather for each wind that blows:
	Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
	And call me father? better burn it now
	Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
	It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;
	You that have been so tenderly officious
	With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
	To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard,
	So sure as this beard's grey,
	--what will you adventure
	To save this brat's life?

ANTIGONUS	Any thing, my lord,
	That my ability may undergo
	And nobleness impose: at least thus much:
	I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
	To save the innocent: any thing possible.

LEONTES	It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
	Thou wilt perform my bidding.

ANTIGONUS	I will, my lord.

LEONTES	Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail
	Of any point in't shall not only be
	Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,
	Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
	As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
	This female bastard hence and that thou bear it
	To some remote and desert place quite out
	Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,
	Without more mercy, to its own protection
	And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
	It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
	On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
	That thou commend it strangely to some place
	Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.

ANTIGONUS	I swear to do this, though a present death
	Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:
	Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
	To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say
	Casting their savageness aside have done
	Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
	In more than this deed does require! And blessing
	Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
	Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!

	[Exit with the child]

LEONTES	No, I'll not rear
	Another's issue.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	                  Please your highness, posts
	From those you sent to the oracle are come
	An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
	Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,
	Hasting to the court.

First Lord	So please you, sir, their speed
	Hath been beyond account.

LEONTES	Twenty-three days
	They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
	The great Apollo suddenly will have
	The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
	Summon a session, that we may arraign
	Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath
	Been publicly accused, so shall she have
	A just and open trial. While she lives
	My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,
	And think upon my bidding.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE I	A sea-port in Sicilia.



	[Enter CLEOMENES and DION]

CLEOMENES	The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
	Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
	The common praise it bears.

DION	I shall report,
	For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
	Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence
	Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
	How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly
	It was i' the offering!

CLEOMENES	But of all, the burst
	And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,
	Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense.
	That I was nothing.

DION	If the event o' the journey
	Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!--
	As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
	The time is worth the use on't.

CLEOMENES	Great Apollo
	Turn all to the best! These proclamations,
	So forcing faults upon Hermione,
	I little like.

DION	                  The violent carriage of it
	Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,
	Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,
	Shall the contents discover, something rare
	Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!
	And gracious be the issue!

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE II	A court of Justice.


	[Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers]

LEONTES	This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
	Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried
	The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
	Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd
	Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
	Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
	Even to the guilt or the purgation.
	Produce the prisoner.

Officer	It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
	Appear in person here in court. Silence!

	[Enter HERMIONE guarded;
	PAULINA and Ladies attending]

LEONTES	Read the indictment.

Officer	[Reads]            Hermione, queen to the worthy
	Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and
	arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery
	with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring
	with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign
	lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence
	whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
	thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance
	of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for
	their better safety, to fly away by night.

HERMIONE	Since what I am to say must be but that
	Which contradicts my accusation and
	The testimony on my part no other
	But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
	To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity
	Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
	Be so received. But thus: if powers divine
	Behold our human actions, as they do,
	I doubt not then but innocence shall make
	False accusation blush and tyranny
	Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,
	Who least will seem to do so, my past life
	Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
	As I am now unhappy; which is more
	Than history can pattern, though devised
	And play'd to take spectators. For behold me
	A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
	A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter,
	The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
	To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore
	Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
	As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,
	'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
	And only that I stand for. I appeal
	To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
	Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
	How merited to be so; since he came,
	With what encounter so uncurrent I
	Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond
	The bound of honour, or in act or will
	That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
	Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
	Cry fie upon my grave!

LEONTES	I ne'er heard yet
	That any of these bolder vices wanted
	Less impudence to gainsay what they did
	Than to perform it first.

HERMIONE	That's true enough;
	Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

LEONTES	You will not own it.

HERMIONE	More than mistress of
	Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
	At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
	With whom I am accused, I do confess
	I loved him as in honour he required,
	With such a kind of love as might become
	A lady like me, with a love even such,
	So and no other, as yourself commanded:
	Which not to have done I think had been in me
	Both disobedience and ingratitude
	To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,
	Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely
	That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
	I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
	For me to try how: all I know of it
	Is that Camillo was an honest man;
	And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
	Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

LEONTES	You knew of his departure, as you know
	What you have underta'en to do in's absence.

HERMIONE	Sir,
	You speak a language that I understand not:
	My life stands in the level of your dreams,
	Which I'll lay down.

LEONTES	Your actions are my dreams;
	You had a bastard by Polixenes,
	And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,--
	Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:
	Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
	Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
	No father owning it,--which is, indeed,
	More criminal in thee than it,--so thou
	Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
	Look for no less than death.

HERMIONE	Sir, spare your threats:
	The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
	To me can life be no commodity:
	The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
	I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
	But know not how it went. My second joy
	And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
	I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort
	Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
	The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
	Haled out to murder: myself on every post
	Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
	The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
	To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
	Here to this place, i' the open air, before
	I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
	Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
	That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.
	But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,
	I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,
	Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
	Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
	But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
	'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,
	I do refer me to the oracle:
	Apollo be my judge!

First Lord	This your request
	Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,
	And in Apollos name, his oracle.

	[Exeunt certain Officers]

HERMIONE	The Emperor of Russia was my father:
	O that he were alive, and here beholding
	His daughter's trial! that he did but see
	The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
	Of pity, not revenge!

	[Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION]

Officer	You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
	That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
	Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
	The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
	Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
	You have not dared to break the holy seal
	Nor read the secrets in't.


CLEOMENES	|
	|	All this we swear.
DION	|


LEONTES	Break up the seals and read.

Officer	[Reads]	Hermione is chaste;
	Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes
	a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;
	and the king shall live without an heir, if that
	which is lost be not found.

Lords	Now blessed be the great Apollo!

HERMIONE	Praised!

LEONTES	Hast thou read truth?

Officer	Ay, my lord; even so
	As it is here set down.

LEONTES	There is no truth at all i' the oracle:
	The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

	[Enter Servant]

Servant	My lord the king, the king!

LEONTES	What is the business?

Servant	O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
	The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
	Of the queen's speed, is gone.

LEONTES	How! gone!

Servant	Is dead.

LEONTES	Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
	Do strike at my injustice.

	[HERMIONE swoons]

		     How now there!

PAULINA	This news is mortal to the queen: look down
	And see what death is doing.

LEONTES	Take her hence:
	Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:
	I have too much believed mine own suspicion:
	Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
	Some remedies for life.

	[Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE]

		  Apollo, pardon
	My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!
	I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
	New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
	Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
	For, being transported by my jealousies
	To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
	Camillo for the minister to poison
	My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
	But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
	My swift command, though I with death and with
	Reward did threaten and encourage him,
	Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane
	And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
	Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,
	Which you knew great, and to the hazard
	Of all encertainties himself commended,
	No richer than his honour: how he glisters
	Thorough my rust! and how his pity
	Does my deeds make the blacker!

	[Re-enter PAULINA]

PAULINA	Woe the while!
	O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
	Break too.

First Lord	          What fit is this, good lady?

PAULINA	What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
	What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?
	In leads or oils? what old or newer torture
	Must I receive, whose every word deserves
	To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
	Together working with thy jealousies,
	Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
	For girls of nine, O, think what they have done
	And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all
	Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
	That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;
	That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant
	And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
	Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
	To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,
	More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
	The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter
	To be or none or little; though a devil
	Would have shed water out of fire ere done't:
	Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
	Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,
	Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart
	That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
	Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,
	Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,
	When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,
	The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,
	and vengeance for't
	Not dropp'd down yet.

First Lord	The higher powers forbid!

PAULINA	I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
	Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
	Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
	Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
	As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
	Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
	Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
	To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
	Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
	Upon a barren mountain and still winter
	In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
	To look that way thou wert.

LEONTES	Go on, go on
	Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
	All tongues to talk their bitterest.

First Lord	Say no more:
	Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
	I' the boldness of your speech.

PAULINA	I am sorry for't:
	All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
	I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much
	The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd
	To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
	Should be past grief: do not receive affliction
	At my petition; I beseech you, rather
	Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
	Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege
	Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:
	The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--
	I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
	I'll not remember you of my own lord,
	Who is lost too: take your patience to you,
	And I'll say nothing.

LEONTES	Thou didst speak but well
	When most the truth; which I receive much better
	Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
	To the dead bodies of my queen and son:
	One grave shall be for both: upon them shall
	The causes of their death appear, unto
	Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
	The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there
	Shall be my recreation: so long as nature
	Will bear up with this exercise, so long
	I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me
	Unto these sorrows.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE III	Bohemia. A desert country near the sea.


	[Enter ANTIGONUS with a Child, and a Mariner]

ANTIGONUS	Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
	The deserts of Bohemia?

Mariner	Ay, my lord: and fear
	We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly
	And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
	The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
	And frown upon 's.

ANTIGONUS	Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
	Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before
	I call upon thee.

Mariner	Make your best haste, and go not
	Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
	Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
	Of prey that keep upon't.

ANTIGONUS	Go thou away:
	I'll follow instantly.

Mariner	I am glad at heart
	To be so rid o' the business.

	[Exit]

ANTIGONUS	Come, poor babe:
	I have heard, but not believed,
	the spirits o' the dead
	May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
	Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream
	So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
	Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
	I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
	So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,
	Like very sanctity, she did approach
	My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
	And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
	Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
	Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus,
	Since fate, against thy better disposition,
	Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
	Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
	Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
	There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe
	Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
	I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business
	Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
	Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks
	She melted into air. Affrighted much,
	I did in time collect myself and thought
	This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
	Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
	I will be squared by this. I do believe
	Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
	Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
	Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
	Either for life or death, upon the earth
	Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
	There lie, and there thy character: there these;
	Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
	And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,
	That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed
	To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
	But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I
	To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
	The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have
	A lullaby too rough: I never saw
	The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!
	Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:
	I am gone for ever.

	[Exit, pursued by a bear]

	[Enter a Shepherd]

Shepherd	I would there were no age between sixteen and
	three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the
	rest; for there is nothing in the between but
	getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
	stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but
	these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty
	hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my
	best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find
	than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by
	the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy
	will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very
	pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A
	pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape:
	though I am not bookish, yet I can read
	waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been
	some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
	behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this
	than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for
	pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed
	but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

	[Enter Clown]

Clown	Hilloa, loa!

Shepherd	What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk
	on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What
	ailest thou, man?

Clown	I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!
	but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the
	sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust
	a bodkin's point.

Shepherd	Why, boy, how is it?

Clown	I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,
	how it takes up the shore! but that's not the
	point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
	sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the
	ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon
	swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a
	cork into a hogshead. And then for the
	land-service, to see how the bear tore out his
	shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said
	his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an
	end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned
	it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the
	sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared
	and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than
	the sea or weather.

Shepherd	Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

Clown	Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these
	sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor
	the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it
	now.

Shepherd	Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!

Clown	I would you had been by the ship side, to have
	helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.

Shepherd	Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here,
	boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things
	dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for
	thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's
	child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy;
	open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be
	rich by the fairies. This is some changeling:
	open't. What's within, boy?

Clown	You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth
	are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

Shepherd	This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up
	with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way.
	We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires
	nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good
	boy, the next way home.

Clown	Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see
	if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much
	he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they
	are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury
	it.

Shepherd	That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that
	which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the
	sight of him.

Clown	Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.

Shepherd	'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE I:


	[Enter Time, the Chorus]

Time	I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
	Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
	Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
	To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
	To me or my swift passage, that I slide
	O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried
	Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
	To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour
	To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
	The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
	Or what is now received: I witness to
	The times that brought them in; so shall I do
	To the freshest things now reigning and make stale
	The glistering of this present, as my tale
	Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
	I turn my glass and give my scene such growing
	As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,
	The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
	That he shuts up himself, imagine me,
	Gentle spectators, that I now may be
	In fair Bohemia, and remember well,
	I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel
	I now name to you; and with speed so pace
	To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
	Equal with wondering: what of her ensues
	I list not prophecy; but let Time's news
	Be known when 'tis brought forth.
	A shepherd's daughter,
	And what to her adheres, which follows after,
	Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
	If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
	If never, yet that Time himself doth say
	He wishes earnestly you never may.

	[Exit]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE II	Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES.


	[Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO]

POLIXENES	I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
	'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to
	grant this.

CAMILLO	It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though
	I have for the most part been aired abroad, I
	desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent
	king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling
	sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to
	think so, which is another spur to my departure.

POLIXENES	As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of
	thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of
	thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to
	have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having
	made me businesses which none without thee can
	sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute
	them thyself or take away with thee the very
	services thou hast done; which if I have not enough
	considered, as too much I cannot, to be more
	thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit
	therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal
	country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very
	naming punishes me with the remembrance of that
	penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king,
	my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen
	and children are even now to be afresh lamented.
	Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my
	son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not
	being gracious, than they are in losing them when
	they have approved their virtues.

CAMILLO	Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What
	his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I
	have missingly noted, he is of late much retired
	from court and is less frequent to his princely
	exercises than formerly he hath appeared.

POLIXENES	I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some
	care; so far that I have eyes under my service which
	look upon his removedness; from whom I have this
	intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a
	most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from
	very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
	neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

CAMILLO	I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a
	daughter of most rare note: the report of her is
	extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

POLIXENES	That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I
	fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou
	shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not
	appearing what we are, have some question with the
	shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
	uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
	Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and
	lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

CAMILLO	I willingly obey your command.

POLIXENES	My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE III	A road near the Shepherd's cottage.


	[Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing]

AUTOLYCUS	When daffodils begin to peer,
	With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
	Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
	For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

	The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
	With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
	Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
	For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

	The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
	With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
	Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
	While we lie tumbling in the hay.

	I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
	wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:

	But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
	The pale moon shines by night:
	And when I wander here and there,
	I then do most go right.

	If tinkers may have leave to live,
	And bear the sow-skin budget,
	Then my account I well may, give,
	And in the stocks avouch it.

	My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
	lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who
	being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise
	a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and
	drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is
	the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful
	on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to
	me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought
	of it. A prize! a prize!

	[Enter Clown]

Clown	Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod
	yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
	shorn. what comes the wool to?

AUTOLYCUS	[Aside]

	If the springe hold, the cock's mine.

Clown	I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am
	I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound
	of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will
	this sister of mine do with rice? But my father
	hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it
	on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for
	the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good
	ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but
	one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to
	horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden
	pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note;
	nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I
	may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of
	raisins o' the sun.

AUTOLYCUS	O that ever I was born!

	[Grovelling on the ground]

Clown	I' the name of me--

AUTOLYCUS	O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and
	then, death, death!

Clown	Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay
	on thee, rather than have these off.

AUTOLYCUS	O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more
	than the stripes I have received, which are mighty
	ones and millions.

Clown	Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a
	great matter.

AUTOLYCUS	I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
	ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon
	me.

Clown	What, by a horseman, or a footman?

AUTOLYCUS	A footman, sweet sir, a footman.

Clown	Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he
	has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat,
	it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,
	I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.

AUTOLYCUS	O, good sir, tenderly, O!

Clown	Alas, poor soul!

AUTOLYCUS	O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my
	shoulder-blade is out.

Clown	How now! canst stand?

AUTOLYCUS	[Picking his pocket]

	Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha' done me
	a charitable office.

Clown	Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.

AUTOLYCUS	No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have
	a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,
	unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or
	any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;
	that kills my heart.

Clown	What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?

AUTOLYCUS	A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with
	troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the
	prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his
	virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.

Clown	His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped
	out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay
	there; and yet it will no more but abide.

AUTOLYCUS	Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he
	hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
	process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a
	motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
	wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
	and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
	settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.

Clown	Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts
	wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.

AUTOLYCUS	Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
	put me into this apparel.

Clown	Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had
	but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run.

AUTOLYCUS	I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am
	false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant
	him.

Clown	How do you now?

AUTOLYCUS	Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and
	walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace
	softly towards my kinsman's.

Clown	Shall I bring thee on the way?

AUTOLYCUS	No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.

Clown	Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our
	sheep-shearing.

AUTOLYCUS	Prosper you, sweet sir!

	[Exit Clown]

	Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.
	I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I
	make not this cheat bring out another and the
	shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name
	put in the book of virtue!

	[Sings]

	Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
	And merrily hent the stile-a:
	A merry heart goes all the day,
	Your sad tires in a mile-a.

	[Exit]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The Shepherd's cottage.


	[Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA]

FLORIZEL	These your unusual weeds to each part of you
	Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
	Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
	Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
	And you the queen on't.

PERDITA	Sir, my gracious lord,
	To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
	O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
	The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
	With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,
	Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
	In every mess have folly and the feeders
	Digest it with a custom, I should blush
	To see you so attired, sworn, I think,
	To show myself a glass.

FLORIZEL	I bless the time
	When my good falcon made her flight across
	Thy father's ground.

PERDITA	Now Jove afford you cause!
	To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
	Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
	To think your father, by some accident,
	Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
	How would he look, to see his work so noble
	Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
	Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
	The sternness of his presence?

FLORIZEL	Apprehend
	Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
	Humbling their deities to love, have taken
	The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
	Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
	A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,
	Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
	As I seem now. Their transformations
	Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
	Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
	Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
	Burn hotter than my faith.

PERDITA	O, but, sir,
	Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
	Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:
	One of these two must be necessities,
	Which then will speak, that you must
	change this purpose,
	Or I my life.

FLORIZEL	                  Thou dearest Perdita,
	With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not
	The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,
	Or not my father's. For I cannot be
	Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
	I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
	Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
	Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
	That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
	Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
	Of celebration of that nuptial which
	We two have sworn shall come.

PERDITA	O lady Fortune,
	Stand you auspicious!

FLORIZEL	See, your guests approach:
	Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
	And let's be red with mirth.

	[Enter Shepherd, Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and
	others, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised]

Shepherd	Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
	This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
	Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;
	Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,
	At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;
	On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
	With labour and the thing she took to quench it,
	She would to each one sip. You are retired,
	As if you were a feasted one and not
	The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
	These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is
	A way to make us better friends, more known.
	Come, quench your blushes and present yourself
	That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,
	And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
	As your good flock shall prosper.

PERDITA	[To POLIXENES]                  Sir, welcome:
	It is my father's will I should take on me
	The hostess-ship o' the day.

	[To CAMILLO]

		       You're welcome, sir.
	Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
	For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
	Seeming and savour all the winter long:
	Grace and remembrance be to you both,
	And welcome to our shearing!

POLIXENES	Shepherdess,
	A fair one are you--well you fit our ages
	With flowers of winter.

PERDITA	Sir, the year growing ancient,
	Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
	Of trembling winter, the fairest
	flowers o' the season
	Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
	Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
	Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
	To get slips of them.

POLIXENES	Wherefore, gentle maiden,
	Do you neglect them?

PERDITA	For I have heard it said
	There is an art which in their piedness shares
	With great creating nature.

POLIXENES	Say there be;
	Yet nature is made better by no mean
	But nature makes that mean: so, over that art
	Which you say adds to nature, is an art
	That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
	A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
	And make conceive a bark of baser kind
	By bud of nobler race: this is an art
	Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
	The art itself is nature.

PERDITA	So it is.

POLIXENES	Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
	And do not call them bastards.

PERDITA	I'll not put
	The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
	No more than were I painted I would wish
	This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore
	Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;
	Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
	The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
	And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
	Of middle summer, and I think they are given
	To men of middle age. You're very welcome.

CAMILLO	I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
	And only live by gazing.

PERDITA	Out, alas!
	You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
	Would blow you through and through.
	Now, my fair'st friend,
	I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
	Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
	That wear upon your virgin branches yet
	Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,
	For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
	From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
	That come before the swallow dares, and take
	The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
	But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
	Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses
	That die unmarried, ere they can behold
	Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady
	Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
	The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
	The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
	To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
	To strew him o'er and o'er!

FLORIZEL	What, like a corse?

PERDITA	No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
	Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,
	But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
	Methinks I play as I have seen them do
	In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine
	Does change my disposition.

FLORIZEL	What you do
	Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet.
	I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing,
	I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
	Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
	To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
	A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
	Nothing but that; move still, still so,
	And own no other function: each your doing,
	So singular in each particular,
	Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,
	That all your acts are queens.

PERDITA	O Doricles,
	Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
	And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't,
	Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
	With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
	You woo'd me the false way.

FLORIZEL	I think you have
	As little skill to fear as I have purpose
	To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray:
	Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
	That never mean to part.

PERDITA	I'll swear for 'em.

POLIXENES	This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
	Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems
	But smacks of something greater than herself,
	Too noble for this place.

CAMILLO	He tells her something
	That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
	The queen of curds and cream.

Clown	Come on, strike up!

DORCAS	Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
	To mend her kissing with!

MOPSA	Now, in good time!

Clown	Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
	Come, strike up!

	[Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and
	Shepherdesses]

POLIXENES	Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
	Which dances with your daughter?

Shepherd	They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
	To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
	Upon his own report and I believe it;
	He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
	I think so too; for never gazed the moon
	Upon the water as he'll stand and read
	As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain.
	I think there is not half a kiss to choose
	Who loves another best.

POLIXENES	She dances featly.

Shepherd	So she does any thing; though I report it,
	That should be silent: if young Doricles
	Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
	Which he not dreams of.

	[Enter Servant]

Servant	O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
	door, you would never dance again after a tabour and
	pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings
	several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he
	utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's
	ears grew to his tunes.

Clown	He could never come better; he shall come in. I
	love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful
	matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing
	indeed and sung lamentably.

Servant	He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no
	milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he
	has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
	bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate
	burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump
	her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would,
	as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into
	the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me
	no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with
	'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'

POLIXENES	This is a brave fellow.

Clown	Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited
	fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

Servant	He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow;
	points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
	learnedly handle, though they come to him by the
	gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he
	sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you
	would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants
	to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.

Clown	Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.

PERDITA	Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.

	[Exit Servant]

Clown	You have of these pedlars, that have more in them
	than you'ld think, sister.

PERDITA	Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

	[Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing]

AUTOLYCUS	     Lawn as white as driven snow;
	Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
	Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
	Masks for faces and for noses;
	Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
	Perfume for a lady's chamber;
	Golden quoifs and stomachers,
	For my lads to give their dears:
	Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
	What maids lack from head to heel:
	Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
	Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.

Clown	If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take
	no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it
	will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

MOPSA	I was promised them against the feast; but they come
	not too late now.

DORCAS	He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

MOPSA	He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has
	paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.

Clown	Is there no manners left among maids? will they
	wear their plackets where they should bear their
	faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are
	going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these
	secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all
	our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour
	your tongues, and not a word more.

MOPSA	I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace
	and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clown	Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way
	and lost all my money?

AUTOLYCUS	And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
	therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clown	Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

AUTOLYCUS	I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clown	What hast here? ballads?

MOPSA	Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o'
	life, for then we are sure they are true.

AUTOLYCUS	Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
	wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a
	burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and
	toads carbonadoed.

MOPSA	Is it true, think you?

AUTOLYCUS	Very true, and but a month old.

DORCAS	Bless me from marrying a usurer!

AUTOLYCUS	Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress
	Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were
	present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

MOPSA	Pray you now, buy it.

Clown	Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe
	ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

AUTOLYCUS	Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon
	the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April,
	forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this
	ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was
	thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold
	fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that
	loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.

DORCAS	Is it true too, think you?

AUTOLYCUS	Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than
	my pack will hold.

Clown	Lay it by too: another.

AUTOLYCUS	This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

MOPSA	Let's have some merry ones.

AUTOLYCUS	Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to
	the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's
	scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in
	request, I can tell you.

MOPSA	We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou
	shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

DORCAS	We had the tune on't a month ago.

AUTOLYCUS	I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my
	occupation; have at it with you.
	[SONG]

AUTOLYCUS	Get you hence, for I must go
	Where it fits not you to know.

DORCAS	     Whither?

MOPSA	                  O, whither?

DORCAS	Whither?

MOPSA	     It becomes thy oath full well,
	Thou to me thy secrets tell.

DORCAS	          Me too, let me go thither.

MOPSA	     Or thou goest to the orange or mill.

DORCAS	     If to either, thou dost ill.

AUTOLYCUS	Neither.

DORCAS	       What, neither?

AUTOLYCUS	Neither.

DORCAS	     Thou hast sworn my love to be.

MOPSA	     Thou hast sworn it more to me:
	Then whither goest? say, whither?

Clown	We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my
	father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll
	not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after
	me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's
	have the first choice. Follow me, girls.

	[Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA]

AUTOLYCUS	And you shall pay well for 'em.

	[Follows singing]

	Will you buy any tape,
	Or lace for your cape,
	My dainty duck, my dear-a?
	Any silk, any thread,
	Any toys for your head,
	Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?
	Come to the pedlar;
	Money's a medler.
	That doth utter all men's ware-a.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter Servant]

Servant	Master, there is three carters, three shepherds,
	three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made
	themselves all men of hair, they call themselves
	Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches
	say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are
	not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it
	be not too rough for some that know little but
	bowling, it will please plentifully.

Shepherd	Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much
	homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.

POLIXENES	You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see
	these four threes of herdsmen.

Servant	One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath
	danced before the king; and not the worst of the
	three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier.

Shepherd	Leave your prating: since these good men are
	pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.

Servant	Why, they stay at door, sir.

	[Exit]

	[Here a dance of twelve Satyrs]

POLIXENES	O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

	[To CAMILLO]

	Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
	He's simple and tells much.

	[To FLORIZEL]

		      How now, fair shepherd!
	Your heart is full of something that does take
	Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
	And handed love as you do, I was wont
	To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
	The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
	To her acceptance; you have let him go
	And nothing marted with him. If your lass
	Interpretation should abuse and call this
	Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
	For a reply, at least if you make a care
	Of happy holding her.

FLORIZEL	Old sir, I know
	She prizes not such trifles as these are:
	The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
	Up in my heart; which I have given already,
	But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
	Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
	Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand,
	As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
	Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd
	snow that's bolted
	By the northern blasts twice o'er.

POLIXENES	What follows this?
	How prettily the young swain seems to wash
	The hand was fair before! I have put you out:
	But to your protestation; let me hear
	What you profess.

FLORIZEL	                  Do, and be witness to 't.

POLIXENES	And this my neighbour too?

FLORIZEL	And he, and more
	Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:
	That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
	Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
	That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
	More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
	Without her love; for her employ them all;
	Commend them and condemn them to her service
	Or to their own perdition.

POLIXENES	Fairly offer'd.

CAMILLO	This shows a sound affection.

Shepherd	But, my daughter,
	Say you the like to him?

PERDITA	I cannot speak
	So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
	By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
	The purity of his.

Shepherd	                  Take hands, a bargain!
	And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't:
	I give my daughter to him, and will make
	Her portion equal his.

FLORIZEL	O, that must be
	I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
	I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
	Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
	Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shepherd	Come, your hand;
	And, daughter, yours.

POLIXENES	Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;
	Have you a father?

FLORIZEL	                  I have: but what of him?

POLIXENES	Knows he of this?

FLORIZEL	                  He neither does nor shall.

POLIXENES	Methinks a father
	Is at the nuptial of his son a guest
	That best becomes the table. Pray you once more,
	Is not your father grown incapable
	Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
	With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?
	Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
	Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
	But what he did being childish?

FLORIZEL	No, good sir;
	He has his health and ampler strength indeed
	Than most have of his age.

POLIXENES	By my white beard,
	You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
	Something unfilial: reason my son
	Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason
	The father, all whose joy is nothing else
	But fair posterity, should hold some counsel
	In such a business.

FLORIZEL	I yield all this;
	But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
	Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
	My father of this business.

POLIXENES	Let him know't.

FLORIZEL	He shall not.

POLIXENES	                  Prithee, let him.

FLORIZEL	No, he must not.

Shepherd	Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
	At knowing of thy choice.

FLORIZEL	Come, come, he must not.
	Mark our contract.

POLIXENES	                  Mark your divorce, young sir,

	[Discovering himself]

	Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
	To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,
	That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,
	I am sorry that by hanging thee I can
	But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
	Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
	The royal fool thou copest with,--

Shepherd	O, my heart!

POLIXENES	I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
	More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
	If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
	That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never
	I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession;
	Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
	Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words:
	Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
	Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
	From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.--
	Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
	That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
	Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
	These rural latches to his entrance open,
	Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
	I will devise a death as cruel for thee
	As thou art tender to't.

	[Exit]

PERDITA	Even here undone!
	I was not much afeard; for once or twice
	I was about to speak and tell him plainly,
	The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
	Hides not his visage from our cottage but
	Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?
	I told you what would come of this: beseech you,
	Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--
	Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
	But milk my ewes and weep.

CAMILLO	Why, how now, father!
	Speak ere thou diest.

Shepherd	I cannot speak, nor think
	Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!
	You have undone a man of fourscore three,
	That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
	To die upon the bed my father died,
	To lie close by his honest bones: but now
	Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
	Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
	That knew'st this was the prince,
	and wouldst adventure
	To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!
	If I might die within this hour, I have lived
	To die when I desire.

	[Exit]

FLORIZEL	Why look you so upon me?
	I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
	But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;
	More straining on for plucking back, not following
	My leash unwillingly.

CAMILLO	Gracious my lord,
	You know your father's temper: at this time
	He will allow no speech, which I do guess
	You do not purpose to him; and as hardly
	Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
	Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
	Come not before him.

FLORIZEL	I not purpose it.
	I think, Camillo?

CAMILLO	                  Even he, my lord.

PERDITA	How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
	How often said, my dignity would last
	But till 'twere known!

FLORIZEL	It cannot fail but by
	The violation of my faith; and then
	Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
	And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:
	From my succession wipe me, father; I
	Am heir to my affection.

CAMILLO	Be advised.

FLORIZEL	I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
	Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
	If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
	Do bid it welcome.

CAMILLO	                  This is desperate, sir.

FLORIZEL	So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
	I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
	Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
	Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
	The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides
	In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
	To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
	As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
	When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not
	To see him any more,--cast your good counsels
	Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
	Tug for the time to come. This you may know
	And so deliver, I am put to sea
	With her whom here I cannot hold on shore;
	And most opportune to our need I have
	A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
	For this design. What course I mean to hold
	Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
	Concern me the reporting.

CAMILLO	O my lord!
	I would your spirit were easier for advice,
	Or stronger for your need.

FLORIZEL	Hark, Perdita

	[Drawing her aside]

	I'll hear you by and by.

CAMILLO	He's irremoveable,
	Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
	His going I could frame to serve my turn,
	Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
	Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
	And that unhappy king, my master, whom
	I so much thirst to see.

FLORIZEL	Now, good Camillo;
	I am so fraught with curious business that
	I leave out ceremony.

CAMILLO	Sir, I think
	You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
	That I have borne your father?

FLORIZEL	Very nobly
	Have you deserved: it is my father's music
	To speak your deeds, not little of his care
	To have them recompensed as thought on.

CAMILLO	Well, my lord,
	If you may please to think I love the king
	And through him what is nearest to him, which is
	Your gracious self, embrace but my direction:
	If your more ponderous and settled project
	May suffer alteration, on mine honour,
	I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
	As shall become your highness; where you may
	Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,
	There's no disjunction to be made, but by--
	As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her,
	And, with my best endeavours in your absence,
	Your discontenting father strive to qualify
	And bring him up to liking.

FLORIZEL	How, Camillo,
	May this, almost a miracle, be done?
	That I may call thee something more than man
	And after that trust to thee.

CAMILLO	Have you thought on
	A place whereto you'll go?

FLORIZEL	Not any yet:
	But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
	To what we wildly do, so we profess
	Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
	Of every wind that blows.

CAMILLO	Then list to me:
	This follows, if you will not change your purpose
	But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,
	And there present yourself and your fair princess,
	For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes:
	She shall be habited as it becomes
	The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
	Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
	His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness,
	As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
	Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
	'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
	He chides to hell and bids the other grow
	Faster than thought or time.

FLORIZEL	Worthy Camillo,
	What colour for my visitation shall I
	Hold up before him?

CAMILLO	Sent by the king your father
	To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
	The manner of your bearing towards him, with
	What you as from your father shall deliver,
	Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
	The which shall point you forth at every sitting
	What you must say; that he shall not perceive
	But that you have your father's bosom there
	And speak his very heart.

FLORIZEL	I am bound to you:
	There is some sap in this.

CAMILLO	A cause more promising
	Than a wild dedication of yourselves
	To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain
	To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
	But as you shake off one to take another;
	Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
	Do their best office, if they can but stay you
	Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know
	Prosperity's the very bond of love,
	Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
	Affliction alters.

PERDITA	                  One of these is true:
	I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
	But not take in the mind.

CAMILLO	Yea, say you so?
	There shall not at your father's house these
	seven years
	Be born another such.

FLORIZEL	My good Camillo,
	She is as forward of her breeding as
	She is i' the rear our birth.

CAMILLO	I cannot say 'tis pity
	She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
	To most that teach.

PERDITA	Your pardon, sir; for this
	I'll blush you thanks.

FLORIZEL	My prettiest Perdita!
	But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,
	Preserver of my father, now of me,
	The medicine of our house, how shall we do?
	We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son,
	Nor shall appear in Sicilia.

CAMILLO	My lord,
	Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes
	Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
	To have you royally appointed as if
	The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
	That you may know you shall not want, one word.

	[They talk aside]

	[Re-enter AUTOLYCUS]

AUTOLYCUS	Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his
	sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold
	all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
	ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad,
	knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring,
	to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who
	should buy first, as if my trinkets had been
	hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer:
	by which means I saw whose purse was best in
	picture; and what I saw, to my good use I
	remembered. My clown, who wants but something to
	be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the
	wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes
	till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
	rest of the herd to me that all their other senses
	stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it
	was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a
	purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in
	chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song,
	and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this
	time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their
	festival purses; and had not the old man come in
	with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's
	son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not
	left a purse alive in the whole army.

	[CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward]

CAMILLO	Nay, but my letters, by this means being there
	So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.

FLORIZEL	And those that you'll procure from King Leontes--

CAMILLO	Shall satisfy your father.

PERDITA	Happy be you!
	All that you speak shows fair.

CAMILLO	Who have we here?

	[Seeing AUTOLYCUS]

	We'll make an instrument of this, omit
	Nothing may give us aid.

AUTOLYCUS	If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.

CAMILLO	How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear
	not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.

AUTOLYCUS	I am a poor fellow, sir.

CAMILLO	Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from
	thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must
	make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,
	--thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and
	change garments with this gentleman: though the
	pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee,
	there's some boot.

AUTOLYCUS	I am a poor fellow, sir.

	[Aside]

		   I know ye well enough.

CAMILLO	Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half
	flayed already.

AUTOLYCUS	Are you in earnest, sir?

	[Aside]

		   I smell the trick on't.

FLORIZEL	Dispatch, I prithee.

AUTOLYCUS	Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with
	conscience take it.

CAMILLO	Unbuckle, unbuckle.

	[FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments]

	Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy
	Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself
	Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
	And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,
	Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
	The truth of your own seeming; that you may--
	For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard
	Get undescried.

PERDITA	                  I see the play so lies
	That I must bear a part.

CAMILLO	No remedy.
	Have you done there?

FLORIZEL	Should I now meet my father,
	He would not call me son.

CAMILLO	Nay, you shall have no hat.

	[Giving it to PERDITA]

	Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.

AUTOLYCUS	Adieu, sir.

FLORIZEL	O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
	Pray you, a word.

CAMILLO	[Aside]  What I do next, shall be to tell the king
	Of this escape and whither they are bound;
	Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
	To force him after: in whose company
	I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight
	I have a woman's longing.

FLORIZEL	Fortune speed us!
	Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

CAMILLO	The swifter speed the better.

	[Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO]

AUTOLYCUS	I understand the business, I hear it: to have an
	open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
	necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
	also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see
	this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
	What an exchange had this been without boot! What
	a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do
	this year connive at us, and we may do any thing
	extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of
	iniquity, stealing away from his father with his
	clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of
	honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not
	do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it;
	and therein am I constant to my profession.

	[Re-enter Clown and Shepherd]

	Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain:
	every lane's end, every shop, church, session,
	hanging, yields a careful man work.

Clown	See, see; what a man you are now!
	There is no other way but to tell the king
	she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.

Shepherd	Nay, but hear me.

Clown	Nay, but hear me.

Shepherd	Go to, then.

Clown	She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh
	and blood has not offended the king; and so your
	flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show
	those things you found about her, those secret
	things, all but what she has with her: this being
	done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you.

Shepherd	I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his
	son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man,
	neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make
	me the king's brother-in-law.

Clown	Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you
	could have been to him and then your blood had been
	the dearer by I know how much an ounce.

AUTOLYCUS	[Aside]  Very wisely, puppies!

Shepherd	Well, let us to the king: there is that in this
	fardel will make him scratch his beard.

AUTOLYCUS	[Aside]  I know not what impediment this complaint
	may be to the flight of my master.

Clown	Pray heartily he be at palace.

AUTOLYCUS	[Aside]  Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
	sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.

	[Takes off his false beard]

	How now, rustics! whither are you bound?

Shepherd	To the palace, an it like your worship.

AUTOLYCUS	Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition
	of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your
	names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any
	thing that is fitting to be known, discover.

Clown	We are but plain fellows, sir.

AUTOLYCUS	A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no
	lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
	often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for
	it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
	they do not give us the lie.

Clown	Your worship had like to have given us one, if you
	had not taken yourself with the manner.

Shepherd	Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS	Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest
	thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings?
	hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
	receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I
	not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou,
	for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy
	business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier
	cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck
	back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to
	open thy affair.

Shepherd	My business, sir, is to the king.

AUTOLYCUS	What advocate hast thou to him?

Shepherd	I know not, an't like you.

Clown	Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you
	have none.

Shepherd	None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.

AUTOLYCUS	How blessed are we that are not simple men!
	Yet nature might have made me as these are,
	Therefore I will not disdain.

Clown	This cannot be but a great courtier.

Shepherd	His garments are rich, but he wears
	them not handsomely.

Clown	He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical:
	a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking
	on's teeth.

AUTOLYCUS	The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
	Wherefore that box?

Shepherd	Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
	which none must know but the king; and which he
	shall know within this hour, if I may come to the
	speech of him.

AUTOLYCUS	Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shepherd	Why, sir?

AUTOLYCUS	The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a
	new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for,
	if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must
	know the king is full of grief.

Shepard	So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
	married a shepherd's daughter.

AUTOLYCUS	If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly:
	the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
	feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.

Clown	Think you so, sir?

AUTOLYCUS	Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy
	and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to
	him, though removed fifty times, shall all come
	under the hangman: which though it be great pity,
	yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a
	ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
	grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death
	is too soft for him, say I	draw our throne into a
	sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clown	Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. an't
	like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS	He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then
	'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a
	wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters
	and a dram dead; then recovered again with
	aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as
	he is, and in the hottest day prognostication
	proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the
	sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he
	is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what
	talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
	are to be smiled at, their offences being so
	capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain
	men, what you have to the king: being something
	gently considered, I'll bring you where he is
	aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
	whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man
	besides the king to effect your suits, here is man
	shall do it.

Clown	He seems to be of great authority: close with him,
	give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn
	bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show
	the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand,
	and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.'

Shepherd	An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for
	us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much
	more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.

AUTOLYCUS	After I have done what I promised?

Shepherd	Ay, sir.

AUTOLYCUS	Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?

Clown	In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful
	one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.

AUTOLYCUS	O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him,
	he'll be made an example.

Clown	Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show
	our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your
	daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I
	will give you as much as this old man does when the
	business is performed, and remain, as he says, your
	pawn till it be brought you.

AUTOLYCUS	I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side;
	go on the right hand: I will but look upon the
	hedge and follow you.

Clown	We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.

Shepherd	Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.

	[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown]

AUTOLYCUS	If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would
	not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am
	courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means
	to do the prince my master good; which who knows how
	that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring
	these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he
	think it fit to shore them again and that the
	complaint they have to the king concerns him
	nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
	officious; for I am proof against that title and
	what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present
	them: there may be matter in it.

	[Exit]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE I	A room in LEONTES' palace.


	[Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and Servants]

CLEOMENES	Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
	A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
	Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
	More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
	Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
	With them forgive yourself.

LEONTES	Whilst I remember
	Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
	My blemishes in them, and so still think of
	The wrong I did myself; which was so much,
	That heirless it hath made my kingdom and
	Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man
	Bred his hopes out of.

PAULINA	True, too true, my lord:
	If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
	Or from the all that are took something good,
	To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
	Would be unparallel'd.

LEONTES	I think so. Kill'd!
	She I kill'd! I did so: but thou strikest me
	Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter
	Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good now,
	Say so but seldom.

CLEOMENES	                  Not at all, good lady:
	You might have spoken a thousand things that would
	Have done the time more benefit and graced
	Your kindness better.

PAULINA	You are one of those
	Would have him wed again.

DION	If you would not so,
	You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
	Of his most sovereign name; consider little
	What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
	May drop upon his kingdom and devour
	Incertain lookers on. What were more holy
	Than to rejoice the former queen is well?
	What holier than, for royalty's repair,
	For present comfort and for future good,
	To bless the bed of majesty again
	With a sweet fellow to't?

PAULINA	There is none worthy,
	Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
	Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes;
	For has not the divine Apollo said,
	Is't not the tenor of his oracle,
	That King Leontes shall not have an heir
	Till his lost child be found? which that it shall,
	Is all as monstrous to our human reason
	As my Antigonus to break his grave
	And come again to me; who, on my life,
	Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel
	My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
	Oppose against their wills.

	[To LEONTES]

		      Care not for issue;
	The crown will find an heir: great Alexander
	Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
	Was like to be the best.

LEONTES	Good Paulina,
	Who hast the memory of Hermione,
	I know, in honour, O, that ever I
	Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now,
	I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
	Have taken treasure from her lips--

PAULINA	And left them
	More rich for what they yielded.

LEONTES	Thou speak'st truth.
	No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
	And better used, would make her sainted spirit
	Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
	Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd,
	And begin, 'Why to me?'

PAULINA	Had she such power,
	She had just cause.

LEONTES	She had; and would incense me
	To murder her I married.

PAULINA	I should so.
	Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you mark
	Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't
	You chose her; then I'ld shriek, that even your ears
	Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
	Should be 'Remember mine.'

LEONTES	Stars, stars,
	And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
	I'll have no wife, Paulina.

PAULINA	Will you swear
	Never to marry but by my free leave?

LEONTES	Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit!

PAULINA	Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.

CLEOMENES	You tempt him over-much.

PAULINA	Unless another,
	As like Hermione as is her picture,
	Affront his eye.

CLEOMENES	                  Good madam,--

PAULINA	I have done.
	Yet, if my lord will marry,--if you will, sir,
	No remedy, but you will,--give me the office
	To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young
	As was your former; but she shall be such
	As, walk'd your first queen's ghost,
	it should take joy
	To see her in your arms.

LEONTES	My true Paulina,
	We shall not marry till thou bid'st us.

PAULINA	That
	Shall be when your first queen's again in breath;
	Never till then.

	[Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman	One that gives out himself Prince Florizel,
	Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she
	The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access
	To your high presence.

LEONTES	What with him? he comes not
	Like to his father's greatness: his approach,
	So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us
	'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced
	By need and accident. What train?

Gentleman	But few,
	And those but mean.

LEONTES	His princess, say you, with him?

Gentleman	Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
	That e'er the sun shone bright on.

PAULINA	O Hermione,
	As every present time doth boast itself
	Above a better gone, so must thy grave
	Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself
	Have said and writ so, but your writing now
	Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been,
	Nor was not to be equall'd;'--thus your verse
	Flow'd with her beauty once: 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
	To say you have seen a better.

Gentleman	Pardon, madam:
	The one I have almost forgot,--your pardon,--
	The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
	Will have your tongue too. This is a creature,
	Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
	Of all professors else, make proselytes
	Of who she but bid follow.

PAULINA	How! not women?

Gentleman	Women will love her, that she is a woman
	More worth than any man; men, that she is
	The rarest of all women.

LEONTES	Go, Cleomenes;
	Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
	Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange

	[Exeunt CLEOMENES and others]

	He thus should steal upon us.

PAULINA	Had our prince,
	Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd
	Well with this lord: there was not full a month
	Between their births.

LEONTES	Prithee, no more; cease; thou know'st
	He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure,
	When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
	Will bring me to consider that which may
	Unfurnish me of reason. They are come.

	[Re-enter CLEOMENES and others, with FLORIZEL and PERDITA]

	Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
	For she did print your royal father off,
	Conceiving you: were I but twenty-one,
	Your father's image is so hit in you,
	His very air, that I should call you brother,
	As I did him, and speak of something wildly
	By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome!
	And your fair princess,--goddess!--O, alas!
	I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
	Might thus have stood begetting wonder as
	You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost--
	All mine own folly--the society,
	Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
	Though bearing misery, I desire my life
	Once more to look on him.

FLORIZEL	By his command
	Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him
	Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
	Can send his brother: and, but infirmity
	Which waits upon worn times hath something seized
	His wish'd ability, he had himself
	The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
	Measured to look upon you; whom he loves--
	He bade me say so--more than all the sceptres
	And those that bear them living.

LEONTES	O my brother,
	Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done thee stir
	Afresh within me, and these thy offices,
	So rarely kind, are as interpreters
	Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither,
	As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too
	Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage,
	At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
	To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
	The adventure of her person?

FLORIZEL	Good my lord,
	She came from Libya.

LEONTES	Where the warlike Smalus,
	That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved?

FLORIZEL	Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter
	His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence,
	A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
	To execute the charge my father gave me
	For visiting your highness: my best train
	I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
	Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
	Not only my success in Libya, sir,
	But my arrival and my wife's in safety
	Here where we are.

LEONTES	                  The blessed gods
	Purge all infection from our air whilst you
	Do climate here! You have a holy father,
	A graceful gentleman; against whose person,
	So sacred as it is, I have done sin:
	For which the heavens, taking angry note,
	Have left me issueless; and your father's blest,
	As he from heaven merits it, with you
	Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
	Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
	Such goodly things as you!

	[Enter a Lord]

Lord	Most noble sir,
	That which I shall report will bear no credit,
	Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
	Bohemia greets you from himself by me;
	Desires you to attach his son, who has--
	His dignity and duty both cast off--
	Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
	A shepherd's daughter.

LEONTES	Where's Bohemia? speak.

Lord	Here in your city; I now came from him:
	I speak amazedly; and it becomes
	My marvel and my message. To your court
	Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems,
	Of this fair couple, meets he on the way
	The father of this seeming lady and
	Her brother, having both their country quitted
	With this young prince.

FLORIZEL	Camillo has betray'd me;
	Whose honour and whose honesty till now
	Endured all weathers.

Lord	Lay't so to his charge:
	He's with the king your father.

LEONTES	Who? Camillo?

Lord	Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
	Has these poor men in question. Never saw I
	Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;
	Forswear themselves as often as they speak:
	Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
	With divers deaths in death.

PERDITA	O my poor father!
	The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
	Our contract celebrated.

LEONTES	You are married?

FLORIZEL	We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
	The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:
	The odds for high and low's alike.

LEONTES	My lord,
	Is this the daughter of a king?

FLORIZEL	She is,
	When once she is my wife.

LEONTES	That 'once' I see by your good father's speed
	Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
	Most sorry, you have broken from his liking
	Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry
	Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
	That you might well enjoy her.

FLORIZEL	Dear, look up:
	Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
	Should chase us with my father, power no jot
	Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,
	Remember since you owed no more to time
	Than I do now: with thought of such affections,
	Step forth mine advocate; at your request
	My father will grant precious things as trifles.

LEONTES	Would he do so, I'ld beg your precious mistress,
	Which he counts but a trifle.

PAULINA	Sir, my liege,
	Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month
	'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
	Than what you look on now.

LEONTES	I thought of her,
	Even in these looks I made.

	[To FLORIZEL]

		       But your petition
	Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father:
	Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
	I am friend to them and you: upon which errand
	I now go toward him; therefore follow me
	And mark what way I make: come, good my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE II	Before LEONTES' palace.


	[Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman]

AUTOLYCUS	Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?

First Gentleman	I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old
	shepherd deliver the manner how he found it:
	whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all
	commanded out of the chamber; only this methought I
	heard the shepherd say, he found the child.

AUTOLYCUS	I would most gladly know the issue of it.

First Gentleman	I make a broken delivery of the business; but the
	changes I perceived in the king and Camillo were
	very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with
	staring on one another, to tear the cases of their
	eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language
	in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard
	of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable
	passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest
	beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not
	say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the
	extremity of the one, it must needs be.

	[Enter another Gentleman]

	Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more.
	The news, Rogero?

Second Gentleman	Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled; the
	king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is
	broken out within this hour that ballad-makers
	cannot be able to express it.

	[Enter a third Gentleman]

	Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can
	deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? this news
	which is called true is so like an old tale, that
	the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has the king
	found his heir?

Third Gentleman	Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by
	circumstance: that which you hear you'll swear you
	see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle
	of Queen Hermione's, her jewel about the neck of it,
	the letters of Antigonus found with it which they
	know to be his character, the majesty of the
	creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection
	of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding,
	and many other evidences proclaim her with all
	certainty to be the king's daughter. Did you see
	the meeting of the two kings?

Second Gentleman	No.

Third Gentleman	Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen,
	cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one
	joy crown another, so and in such manner that it
	seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their
	joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes,
	holding up of hands, with countenances of such
	distraction that they were to be known by garment,
	not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of
	himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that
	joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother,
	thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then
	embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his
	daughter with clipping her; now he thanks the old
	shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten
	conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such
	another encounter, which lames report to follow it
	and undoes description to do it.

Second Gentleman	What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried
	hence the child?

Third Gentleman	Like an old tale still, which will have matter to
	rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear
	open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this
	avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his
	innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a
	handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.

First Gentleman	What became of his bark and his followers?

Third Gentleman	Wrecked the same instant of their master's death and
	in the view of the shepherd: so that all the
	instruments which aided to expose the child were
	even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble
	combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in
	Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of
	her husband, another elevated that the oracle was
	fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth,
	and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin
	her to her heart that she might no more be in danger
	of losing.

First Gentleman	The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
	kings and princes; for by such was it acted.

Third Gentleman	One of the prettiest touches of all and that which
	angled for mine eyes, caught the water though not
	the fish, was when, at the relation of the queen's
	death, with the manner how she came to't bravely
	confessed and lamented by the king, how
	attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one
	sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,'
	I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my
	heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed
	colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world
	could have seen 't, the woe had been universal.

First Gentleman	Are they returned to the court?

Third Gentleman	No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue,
	which is in the keeping of Paulina,--a piece many
	years in doing and now newly performed by that rare
	Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself
	eternity and could put breath into his work, would
	beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her
	ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that
	they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of
	answer: thither with all greediness of affection
	are they gone, and there they intend to sup.

Second Gentleman	I thought she had some great matter there in hand;
	for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever
	since the death of Hermione, visited that removed
	house. Shall we thither and with our company piece
	the rejoicing?

First Gentleman	Who would be thence that has the benefit of access?
	every wink of an eye some new grace will be born:
	our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge.
	Let's along.

	[Exeunt Gentlemen]

AUTOLYCUS	Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me,
	would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old
	man and his son aboard the prince: told him I heard
	them talk of a fardel and I know not what: but he
	at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter,
	so he then took her to be, who began to be much
	sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of
	weather continuing, this mystery remained
	undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I
	been the finder out of this secret, it would not
	have relished among my other discredits.

	[Enter Shepherd and Clown]

	Here come those I have done good to against my will,
	and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.

Shepherd	Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and
	daughters will be all gentlemen born.

Clown	You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me
	this other day, because I was no gentleman born.
	See you these clothes? say you see them not and
	think me still no gentleman born: you were best say
	these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the
	lie, do, and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.

AUTOLYCUS	I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.

Clown	Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.

Shepherd	And so have I, boy.

Clown	So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my
	father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and
	called me brother; and then the two kings called my
	father brother; and then the prince my brother and
	the princess my sister called my father father; and
	so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like
	tears that ever we shed.

Shepherd	We may live, son, to shed many more.

Clown	Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
	preposterous estate as we are.

AUTOLYCUS	I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the
	faults I have committed to your worship and to give
	me your good report to the prince my master.

Shepherd	Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are
	gentlemen.

Clown	Thou wilt amend thy life?

AUTOLYCUS	Ay, an it like your good worship.

Clown	Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou
	art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.

Shepherd	You may say it, but not swear it.

Clown	Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and
	franklins say it, I'll swear it.

Shepherd	How if it be false, son?

Clown	If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear
	it in the behalf of his friend: and I'll swear to
	the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and
	that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no
	tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be
	drunk: but I'll swear it, and I would thou wouldst
	be a tall fellow of thy hands.

AUTOLYCUS	I will prove so, sir, to my power.

Clown	Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not
	wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not
	being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings
	and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the
	queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy
	good masters.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE III	A chapel in PAULINA'S house.


	[Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA,
	CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants]

LEONTES	O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
	That I have had of thee!

PAULINA	What, sovereign sir,
	I did not well I meant well. All my services
	You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed,
	With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
	Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
	It is a surplus of your grace, which never
	My life may last to answer.

LEONTES	O Paulina,
	We honour you with trouble: but we came
	To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
	Have we pass'd through, not without much content
	In many singularities; but we saw not
	That which my daughter came to look upon,
	The statue of her mother.

PAULINA	As she lived peerless,
	So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
	Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
	Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
	Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare
	To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
	Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well.

	[PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE
	standing like a statue]

	I like your silence, it the more shows off
	Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege,
	Comes it not something near?

LEONTES	Her natural posture!
	Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
	Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
	In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
	As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
	Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
	So aged as this seems.

POLIXENES	O, not by much.

PAULINA	So much the more our carver's excellence;
	Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her
	As she lived now.

LEONTES	                  As now she might have done,
	So much to my good comfort, as it is
	Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
	Even with such life of majesty, warm life,
	As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her!
	I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me
	For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
	There's magic in thy majesty, which has
	My evils conjured to remembrance and
	From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
	Standing like stone with thee.

PERDITA	And give me leave,
	And do not say 'tis superstition, that
	I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady,
	Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
	Give me that hand of yours to kiss.

PAULINA	O, patience!
	The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry.

CAMILLO	My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
	Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
	So many summers dry; scarce any joy
	Did ever so long live; no sorrow
	But kill'd itself much sooner.

POLIXENES	Dear my brother,
	Let him that was the cause of this have power
	To take off so much grief from you as he
	Will piece up in himself.

PAULINA	Indeed, my lord,
	If I had thought the sight of my poor image
	Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine--
	I'ld not have show'd it.

LEONTES	Do not draw the curtain.

PAULINA	No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
	May think anon it moves.

LEONTES	Let be, let be.
	Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already--
	What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
	Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins
	Did verily bear blood?

POLIXENES	Masterly done:
	The very life seems warm upon her lip.

LEONTES	The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
	As we are mock'd with art.

PAULINA	I'll draw the curtain:
	My lord's almost so far transported that
	He'll think anon it lives.

LEONTES	O sweet Paulina,
	Make me to think so twenty years together!
	No settled senses of the world can match
	The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.

PAULINA	I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
	I could afflict you farther.

LEONTES	Do, Paulina;
	For this affliction has a taste as sweet
	As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
	There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel
	Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
	For I will kiss her.

PAULINA	Good my lord, forbear:
	The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
	You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own
	With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?

LEONTES	No, not these twenty years.

PERDITA	So long could I
	Stand by, a looker on.

PAULINA	Either forbear,
	Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
	For more amazement. If you can behold it,
	I'll make the statue move indeed, descend
	And take you by the hand; but then you'll think--
	Which I protest against--I am assisted
	By wicked powers.

LEONTES	                  What you can make her do,
	I am content to look on: what to speak,
	I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
	To make her speak as move.

PAULINA	It is required
	You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
	On: those that think it is unlawful business
	I am about, let them depart.

LEONTES	Proceed:
	No foot shall stir.

PAULINA	Music, awake her; strike!

	[Music]

	'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
	Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come,
	I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away,
	Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
	Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs:

	[HERMIONE comes down]

	Start not; her actions shall be holy as
	You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her
	Until you see her die again; for then
	You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
	When she was young you woo'd her; now in age
	Is she become the suitor?

LEONTES	O, she's warm!
	If this be magic, let it be an art
	Lawful as eating.

POLIXENES	                  She embraces him.

CAMILLO	She hangs about his neck:
	If she pertain to life let her speak too.

POLIXENES	Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived,
	Or how stolen from the dead.

PAULINA	That she is living,
	Were it but told you, should be hooted at
	Like an old tale: but it appears she lives,
	Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.
	Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel
	And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady;
	Our Perdita is found.

HERMIONE	You gods, look down
	And from your sacred vials pour your graces
	Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own.
	Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? how found
	Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I,
	Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
	Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved
	Myself to see the issue.

PAULINA	There's time enough for that;
	Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
	Your joys with like relation. Go together,
	You precious winners all; your exultation
	Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
	Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there
	My mate, that's never to be found again,
	Lament till I am lost.

LEONTES	O, peace, Paulina!
	Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
	As I by thine a wife: this is a match,
	And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
	But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her,
	As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
	A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far--
	For him, I partly know his mind--to find thee
	An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,
	And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
	Is richly noted and here justified
	By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place.
	What! look upon my brother: both your pardons,
	That e'er I put between your holy looks
	My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law,
	And son unto the king, who, heavens directing,
	Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,
	Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
	Each one demand an answer to his part
	Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first
	We were dissever'd: hastily lead away.

	[Exeunt]
	1 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


HENRY,
Prince of Wales	(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
		| sons of the King
JOHN of Lancaster	(LANCASTER:)	|


WESTMORELAND:

SIR WALTER BLUNT:

THOMAS PERCY	Earl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)

HENRY PERCY	Earl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY	surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

RICHARD SCROOP	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

ARCHIBALD	Earl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)

OWEN GLENDOWER:

SIR RICHARD VERNON	(VERNON:)

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

SIR MICHAEL	a friend to the Archbishop of York.

POINS:

GADSHILL:

PETO:

BARDOLPH:

FRANCIS	a waiter.

LADY PERCY	wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

LADY MORTIMER	daughter to Glendower,
	and wife to Mortimer.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)

	Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
	Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
	and an Ostler.
	(Sheriff:)
	(Vintner:)
	(Chamberlain:)
	(First Carrier:)
	(Second Carrier:)
	(First Traveller:)
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Ostler:)



SCENE	England.




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL
	of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]

KING HENRY IV	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;
	Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
	Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
	Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
	Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
	All of one nature, of one substance bred,
	Did lately meet in the intestine shock
	And furious close of civil butchery
	Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
	March all one way and be no more opposed
	Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
	The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
	No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
	As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
	Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
	We are impressed and engaged to fight,
	Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
	Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
	To chase these pagans in those holy fields
	Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
	Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
	For our advantage on the bitter cross.
	But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV	It seems then that the tidings of this broil
	Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

WESTMORELAND	This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
	For more uneven and unwelcome news
	Came from the north and thus it did import:
	On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
	Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
	That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
	At Holmedon met,
	Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
	As by discharge of their artillery,
	And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
	For he that brought them, in the very heat
	And pride of their contention did take horse,
	Uncertain of the issue any way.

KING HENRY IV	Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
	Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
	Stain'd with the variation of each soil
	Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
	And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
	The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
	Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
	Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
	On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
	Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
	To beaten Douglas; and the 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 HENRY IV	Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
	In envy that my Lord Northumberland
	Should be the father to so blest a son,
	A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
	Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
	Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
	Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
	See riot and dishonour stain the brow
	Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
	That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
	In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
	And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
	Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
	But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
	Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
	Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
	To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
	I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

WESTMORELAND	This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
	Malevolent to you in all aspects;
	Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
	The crest of youth against your dignity.

KING HENRY IV	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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE II	London. An apartment of the Prince's.


	[Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

PRINCE HENRY	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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY	What, none?

FALSTAFF	No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
	prologue to an egg and butter.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 sayest true, lad. And is not my
	hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

FALSTAFF	No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

PRINCE HENRY	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 fobbed as it is
	with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
	not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

PRINCE HENRY	No; thou shalt.

FALSTAFF	Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

FALSTAFF	Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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, and I do not, I am a villain:
	I'll be damned for never a king's son in
	Christendom.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

POINS	But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
	o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going
	to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
	riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards
	for you all; you have horses for yourselves:
	Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke
	supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it
	as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff
	your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry
	at home and be 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 HENRY	Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

FALSTAFF	There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
	fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood
	royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

PRINCE HENRY	Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

FALSTAFF	Why, that's well said.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

	[Exit Falstaff]

POINS	Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us
	to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot
	manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill
	shall rob those men that we have already waylaid:
	yourself and I will not be there; and when they
	have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut
	this head off from my shoulders.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 vizards we will change after we
	leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram
	for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

PRINCE HENRY	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
	lies the jest.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things
	necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap;
	there I'll sup. Farewell.

POINS	Farewell, my lord.

	[Exit Poins]

PRINCE HENRY	I know you all, and will awhile uphold
	The unyoked 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 behavior I throw off
	And pay the debt I never promised,
	By how much better than my word I am,
	By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
	And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
	My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
	Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
	Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
	I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
	Redeeming time when men think least I will.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE III	London. The palace.


	[Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR,
	SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others]

KING HENRY IV	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.

EARL OF 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 HENRY IV	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]

	You were about to speak.

	[To North]

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 misprison
	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,
	To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
	Out of my grief and my impatience,
	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 sovereign'st thing on earth
	Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
	And that it was great pity, so it was,
	This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
	Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
	Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
	So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
	He would himself have been a soldier.
	This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
	I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
	And I beseech you, let not his report
	Come current for an accusation
	Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
	Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV	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 but 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,
	Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.
	Never did base and rotten policy
	Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
	Nor could the noble Mortimer
	Receive so many, and all willingly:
	Then let not him be slander'd with revolt.

KING HENRY IV	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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son.
	Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

	[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train]

HOTSPUR	An if the devil come and roar for them,
	I will not send them: I will after straight
	And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
	Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:
	Here comes your uncle.

	[Re-enter WORCESTER]

HOTSPUR	Speak of Mortimer!
	'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
	Want mercy, if I do not join with him:
	Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
	And shed my dear blood drop by drop 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	Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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 wished 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,
	An 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--

EARL OF 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 he 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!

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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;
	Forbad 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Nay, if you have not, to it again;
	We will stay your leisure.

HOTSPUR	I have done, i' faith.

EARL OF 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. You, my lord,

	[To Northumberland]

	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?

EARL OF 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?

EARL OF WORCESTER	And so they shall.

HOTSPUR	In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


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
	hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and
	yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds
	fleas like a loach.

First Carrier	What, ostler! come away and be hanged!

Second Carrier	I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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
	gentleman: they will along with company, for they
	have great charge.

	[Exeunt carriers]

GADSHILL	What, ho! chamberlain!

Chamberlain	[Within]  At hand, quoth pick-purse.

GADSHILL	That's even as fair as--at hand, quoth the
	chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking
	of purses than giving direction doth from labouring;
	thou layest the plot how.

	[Enter Chamberlain]

Chamberlain	Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that
	I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the
	wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with
	him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his
	company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one
	that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what.
	They are up already, and call for eggs and butter;
	they will away presently.

GADSHILL	Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas'
	clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

Chamberlain	No, I'll none of it: I pray thee keep that for the
	hangman; for I know thou worshippest St. 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 Trojans that thou
	dreamest not of, the which for sport sake are
	content to do the profession some grace; that would,
	if matters should be 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, cocksure; 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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE II	The highway, near Gadshill.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

POINS	Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's
	horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

PRINCE HENRY	Stand close.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE HENRY	Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost
	thou keep!

FALSTAFF	Where's Poins, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.

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 squier
	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 hath 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 HENRY	Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?

FALSTAFF	Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent
	garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I
	have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy
	tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest
	is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

	[Enter GADSHILL, BARDOLPH and PETO]

GADSHILL	Stand.

FALSTAFF	So I do, against my will.

POINS	O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,
	what news?

BARDOLPH	Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

FALSTAFF	Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;
	but yet no coward, Hal.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, we leave that to the proof.

POINS	Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge:
	when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him.
	Farewell, and stand fast.

FALSTAFF	Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

PRINCE HENRY	Ned, where are our disguises?

POINS	Here, hard by: stand close.

	[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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!

Travellers	Jesus 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.

Travellers	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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith.

	[Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt]

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	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.

	[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.

PRINCE HENRY	Your money!

POINS	Villains!

	[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
	them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow
	or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them]

PRINCE HENRY	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 rogue roar'd!

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE III	Warkworth castle


	[Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night.

	[Enter LADY PERCY]

	How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

LADY PERCY	O, my good lord, why are you thus alone?
	For what offence have I this fortnight been
	A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?
	Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
	Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep?
	Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
	And start so often when thou 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 cursed 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 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 by 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,
	An 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. God's me, my horse!
	What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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;
	To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
	Will this content you, Kate?

LADY PERCY	It must of force.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE IV	The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me
	thy hand to laugh a little.

POINS	Where hast been, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four
	score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis.
	They take it already upon their salvation, that
	though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet
	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 under-skinker, one that
	never spake other English in his life than 'Eight
	shillings and sixpence' and 'You are welcome,' with
	this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint
	of bastard in the Half-Moon,' or so. But, Ned, to
	drive away the time till Falstaff come, I 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.

POINS	Francis!

PRINCE HENRY	Thou art perfect.

POINS	Francis!

	[Exit POINS]

	[Enter FRANCIS]

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

PRINCE HENRY	Come hither, Francis.

FRANCIS	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

FRANCIS	Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou
	gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not?

FRANCIS	O Lord, I would it had been two!

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis;
	or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when
	thou wilt. But, Francis!

FRANCIS	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY	Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.

	[Exit Vintner]
	Poins!

	[Re-enter POINS]

POINS	Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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.

	[Re-enter FRANCIS]

	What's o'clock, Francis?

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir.

	[Exit]

PRINCE HENRY	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 to-day?' '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;
	FRANCIS following 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?

	[He drinks]

PRINCE HENRY	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 villanous man:
	yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime
	in it. A villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack;
	die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be
	not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a
	shotten herring. There live not three good men
	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 any
	thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 to-day.

PRINCE HENRY	O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou
	drunkest last.

FALSTAFF	All's one for that.

	[He drinks]

	A plague of all cowards, still say I.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Where is it, Jack? where is it?

FALSTAFF	Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon
	poor four of us.

PRINCE HENRY	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
	hand-saw--ecce signum! I never dealt better since
	I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all
	cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or
	less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	What, four? thou saidst but two even now.

FALSTAFF	Four, Hal; I told thee four.

POINS	Ay, ay, he said four.

FALSTAFF	These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at
	me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven
	points in my target, thus.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear me, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	These lies are like their father that begets them;
	gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou
	clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou
	whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,--

FALSTAFF	What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth
	the truth?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine
	coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker,
	this huge hill of flesh,--

FALSTAFF	'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile
	standing-tuck,--

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow.
	Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles
	of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be
	merry? shall we have a play extempore?

PRINCE HENRY	Content; and the argument shall be thy running away.

FALSTAFF	Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

	[Enter Hostess]

Hostess	O Jesu, my lord the prince!

PRINCE HENRY	How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Prithee, do, Jack.

FALSTAFF	'Faith, and I'll send him packing.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	'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 HENRY	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 rannest away: what
	instinct hadst thou for it?

BARDOLPH	My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold
	these exhalations?

PRINCE HENRY	I do.

BARDOLPH	What think you they portend?

PRINCE HENRY	Hot livers and cold purses.

BARDOLPH	Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

PRINCE HENRY	No, if rightly taken, halter.

	[Re-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 o' horseback up a hill
	perpendicular,--

PRINCE HENRY	He that rides at high speed and with his pistol
	kills a sparrow flying.

FALSTAFF	You have hit it.

PRINCE HENRY	So did he never the sparrow.

FALSTAFF	Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so
	for running!

FALSTAFF	O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.

PRINCE HENRY	Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

FALSTAFF	I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too,
	and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more:
	Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's
	beard is turned white with the news: you may buy
	land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and
	this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads
	as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY	Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

FALSTAFF	Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou
	comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY	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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY	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 three score; 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Well, here I am set.

FALSTAFF	And here I stand: judge, my masters.

PRINCE HENRY	Now, Harry, whence come you?

FALSTAFF	My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 villanous,
	but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

FALSTAFF	I would your grace would take me with you: whom
	means your grace?

PRINCE HENRY	That villanous abominable misleader of youth,
	Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

FALSTAFF	My lord, the man I know.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	I do, I will.

	[A knocking heard]

	[Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH]

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH, running]

BARDOLPH	O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most
	monstrous watch is at the door.

FALSTAFF	Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to
	say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

	[Re-enter the Hostess]

Hostess	O Jesu, my lord, my lord!

PRINCE HENRY	Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick:
	what's the matter?

Hostess	The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they
	are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of
	gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad,
	without seeming so.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Call in the sheriff.

	[Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house.

PRINCE HENRY	What men?

Sheriff	One of them is well known, my gracious lord,
	A gross fat man.

Carrier	                  As fat as butter.

PRINCE HENRY	The man, I do assure you, is not here;
	For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
	And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
	That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
	Send him to answer thee, or any man,
	For any thing he shall be charged withal:
	And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sheriff	I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
	Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sheriff	Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

	[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier]

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

	[He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers]

	What hast thou found?

PETO	Nothing but papers, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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.

	[Exeunt]

PETO	Good morrow, good my lord.




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE I	Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
	And not in fear of your nativity.
	Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
	In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
	Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
	By the imprisoning of unruly wind
	Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
	Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down
	Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth
	Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
	In passion shook.

GLENDOWER	                  Cousin, of many men
	I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
	To tell you once again that at my birth
	The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
	The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
	Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
	These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
	And all the courses of my life do show
	I am not in the roll of common men.
	Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
	That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
	Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
	And bring him out that is but woman's son
	Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
	And hold me pace in deep experiments.

HOTSPUR	I think there's 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,
	To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
	And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
	To meet your father and the Scottish power,
	As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
	My father Glendower is not ready yet,
	Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.
	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 damm'd 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.

EARL OF 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 alter'd.

HOTSPUR	Will not you?

GLENDOWER	No, nor you shall not.

HOTSPUR	Who shall say me nay?

GLENDOWER	Why, that will I.

HOTSPUR	Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.

GLENDOWER	I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
	For I was train'd up in the English court;
	Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
	Many an English ditty lovely well
	And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,
	A virtue that was never seen in you.

HOTSPUR	Marry,
	And I am glad of it with all my heart:
	I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
	Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;
	I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
	Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
	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 GLENDOWER]

MORTIMER	Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

HOTSPUR	I cannot choose: sometime he angers me
	With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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.

EARL OF WORCESTER	In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
	And since your coming hither have done enough
	To put him quite beside his patience.
	You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
	Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,--
	And that's the dearest grace it renders you,--
	Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
	Defect of manners, want of government,
	Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:
	The least of which haunting a nobleman
	Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain
	Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
	Beguiling them of commendation.

HOTSPUR	Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed!
	Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

	[Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies]

MORTIMER	This is the deadly spite that angers me;
	My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

GLENDOWER	My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;
	She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

MORTIMER	Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
	Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

	[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she
	answers him in the same]

GLENDOWER	She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry,
	one that no persuasion can do good upon.

	[The lady speaks in Welsh]

MORTIMER	I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
	Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens
	I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
	In such a parley should I answer thee.

	[The lady speaks 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 learned 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.

	[The lady speaks 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 is so humorous.
	By'r lady, he is 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]

HOTSPUR	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'st 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 red-breast
	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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others]

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY	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,
	which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
	By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,
	I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
	Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
	Find pardon on my true submission.

KING HENRY IV	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 doth forethink thy fall.
	Had I so lavish of my presence been,
	So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
	So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
	Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
	Had still kept loyal to possession
	And left me in reputeless banishment,
	A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
	By being seldom seen, I could not stir
	But like a comet I was wonder'd at;
	That men would tell their children 'This is he;'
	Others would say 'Where, which is Bolingbroke?'
	And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
	And dress'd myself in such humility
	That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
	Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
	Even in the presence of the crowned king.
	Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
	My presence, like a robe pontifical,
	Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
	Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
	And won by rareness such solemnity.
	The skipping king, he ambled up and down
	With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
	Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,
	Mingled his royalty with capering fools,
	Had his great name profaned with their scorns
	And gave his countenance, against his name,
	To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
	Of every beardless vain comparative,
	Grew a companion to the common streets,
	Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
	That, being 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY	I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
	Be more myself.

KING HENRY IV	                  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 swathling 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 near'st and dearest enemy?
	Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
	Base inclination and the start of spleen
	To fight against me under Percy's pay,
	To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
	To show how much thou art degenerate.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY IV	A hundred thousand rebels die in this:
	Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

	[Enter BLUNT]

	How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

SIR WALTER 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 the state.

KING HENRY IV	The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
	With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
	For this advertisement is five days old:
	On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
	On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting
	Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march
	Through Gloucestershire; 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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE III	Eastcheap. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once
	in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I
	borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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 heart-burned.

	[Enter Hostess]

	How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired
	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 inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy
	by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair
	was never lost in my house before.

FALSTAFF	Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many
	a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket was 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:
	Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker
	of me? shall I not take mine case 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 ring was copper!

FALSTAFF	How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 'sblood, an
	he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he
	would say so.

	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and PETO, marching, and FALSTAFF
	meets them playing on his truncheon like a life]

	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 HENRY	What sayest 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 HENRY	What sayest 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Hostess	So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your
	grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely
	of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said
	he would cudgel you.

PRINCE HENRY	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 womanhood, 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Thou sayest 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 HENRY	Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

FALSTAFF	A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth
	a million: thou owest me thy love.

Hostess	Nay, my lord, he called 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 HENRY	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 a lion's whelp.

PRINCE HENRY	And why not as the lion?

FALSTAFF	The king 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 HENRY	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 guts and 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 penny-worth 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 if; 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 villany? Thou seest I
	have more flesh than another man, and therefore more
	frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.

FALSTAFF	Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and
	do it with unwashed hands too.

BARDOLPH	Do, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Bardolph!

BARDOLPH	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	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 to-morrow 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 PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!
	O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


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.

EARL OF 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 rustling time? Who leads his power?
	Under whose government come they along?

Messenger	His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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?

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF WORCESTER	But yet I would your father had been here.
	The quality and hair of our attempt
	Brooks no division: it will be thought
	By some, that know not why he is away,
	That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike
	Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence:
	And think how such an apprehension
	May turn the tide of fearful faction
	And breed a kind of question in our cause;
	For well you know we of the offering side
	Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,
	And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence
	The eye of reason may pry in upon us:
	This absence of your father's draws a curtain,
	That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
	Before not dreamt of.

HOTSPUR	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 a kingdom, with his help
	We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
	Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	As heart can think: there is not such a word
	Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

	[Enter SIR RICHARD VERNON]

HOTSPUR	My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.

VERNON	Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.
	The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
	Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.

HOTSPUR	No harm: what more?

VERNON	And further, I have learn'd,
	The king himself in person is set forth,
	Or hitherwards intended speedily,
	With strong and mighty preparation.

HOTSPUR	He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
	The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
	And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside,
	And bid it pass?

VERNON	                  All furnish'd, all in arms;
	All plumed like estridges that with the wind
	Baited 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Talk not of dying: I am out of fear
	Of death or death's hand for this one-half year.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



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; and 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 house-holders, yeoman'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 lieve 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 serving-men, younger sons to
	younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers
	trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a
	long peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged than
	an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up
	the rooms of them that have bought out their
	services, that you would think that I had a hundred
	and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from
	swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad
	fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded
	all the gibbets and 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 but a shirt and a half in all my
	company; and the half shirt is two napkins tacked
	together and thrown over the shoulders like an
	herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say
	the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or
	the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that's all
	one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge.

	[Enter the PRINCE and WESTMORELAND]

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	No I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on
	the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste: Percy is
	already in the field.

FALSTAFF	What, is the king encamped?

WESTMORELAND	He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.

FALSTAFF	Well,
	To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
	Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE III	The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.


	[Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON]

HOTSPUR	We'll fight with him to-night.

EARL OF WORCESTER	It may not be.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	You give him then the 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.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Good cousin, be advised; stir not tonight.

VERNON	Do not, my lord.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	                  You do not counsel well:
	You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

VERNON	Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,
	And I dare well maintain it with my life,
	If well-respected honour bid me on,
	I hold as little counsel with weak fear
	As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:
	Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle
	Which of us fears.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	                  Yea, or to-night.

VERNON	Content.

HOTSPUR	To-night, say I.

VERNON	Come, come it nay 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 of 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.

EARL OF 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]

SIR WALTER 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.

SIR WALTER 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 innocency and terms of zeal,
	My father, in kind heart and pity moved,
	Swore him assistance and perform'd 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,
	Gave 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.

SIR WALTER 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 we find
	Too indirect for long continuance.

SIR WALTER 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.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	I would you would accept of grace and love.

HOTSPUR	And may be so we shall.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	Pray God you do.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE IV	York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK and SIR MICHAEL]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 to import, you would make haste.

SIR MICHAEL	My good lord,
	I guess their tenor.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Like enough you do.
	To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
	Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
	Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
	As I am truly given to understand,
	The king with mighty and quick-raised power
	Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,
	What with the sickness of Northumberland,
	Whose power was in the first proportion,
	And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
	Who with them was a rated sinew too
	And comes not in, o'er-ruled 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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 moe corrivals and dear men
	Of estimation and command in arms.

SIR MICHAEL	Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE I	KING HENRY IV's camp near Shrewsbury.


	[Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, Lord John of
	LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT,
	and FALSTAFF]

KING HENRY IV	How bloodily the sun begins to peer
	Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale
	At his distemperature.

PRINCE HENRY	The southern wind
	Doth play the trumpet to his purposes,
	And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
	Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

KING HENRY IV	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 curlish 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?

EARL OF 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 HENRY IV	You have not sought it! how comes it, then?

FALSTAFF	Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

PRINCE HENRY	Peace, chewet, peace!

EARL OF WORCESTER	It pleased your majesty to turn your looks
	Of favour from myself and all our house;
	And yet I must remember you, my lord,
	We were the first and dearest of your friends.
	For you my staff of office did I break
	In Richard's time; and posted day and night
	to meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
	When yet you were in place and in account
	Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
	It was myself, my brother and his son,
	That brought you home and boldly did outdare
	The dangers of the time. You swore to us,
	And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
	That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state;
	Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
	The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
	To this we swore our aid. But in short space
	It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
	And such a flood of greatness fell on you,
	What with our help, what with the absent king,
	What with the injuries of a wanton time,
	The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
	And the contrarious winds that held the king
	So long in his unlucky Irish wars
	That all in England did repute him dead:
	And from this swarm of fair advantages
	You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
	To gripe the general sway into your hand;
	Forget your oath to us at Doncaster;
	And being fed by us you used us so
	As that ungentle hull, 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 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 HENRY IV	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 HENRY	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 HENRY IV	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, every man
	Shall be my friend again and I'll be his:
	So tell your cousin, and 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.

	[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON]

PRINCE HENRY	It will not be accepted, on my life:
	The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
	Are confident against the world in arms.

KING HENRY IV	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 all but PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride
	me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.

PRINCE HENRY	Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.
	Say thy prayers, and farewell.

FALSTAFF	I  would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, thou owest God a death.

	[Exit PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	'Tis not due yet; I would be loath 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 honour 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 he 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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE II	The rebel camp.


	[Enter WORCESTER and VERNON]

EARL OF WORCESTER	O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
	The liberal and kind offer of the king.

VERNON	'Twere best he did.

EARL OF 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 hair-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]

HOTSPUR	My uncle is return'd:
	Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.
	Uncle, what news?

EARL OF WORCESTER	The king will bid you battle presently.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland.

HOTSPUR	Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

	[Exit]

EARL OF WORCESTER	There is no seeming mercy in the king.

HOTSPUR	Did you beg any? God forbid!

EARL OF 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.

	[Re-enter the EARL OF DOUGLAS]

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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 to your deservings like a chronicle,
	Making you ever better than his praise
	By still dispraising praise valued in 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
	On his follies: never did I hear
	Of any prince so wild a libertine.
	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.
	An if we live, we live to tread on kings;
	If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
	Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair,
	When the intent of bearing them is just.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.

HOTSPUR	I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,
	For I profess not talking; only this--
	Let each man do his best: and here draw I
	A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
	With the best blood that I can meet withal
	In the adventure of this perilous day.
	Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on.
	Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
	And by that music let us all embrace;
	For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
	A second time do such a courtesy.

	[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE III	Plain between the camps.


	[KING HENRY enters with his power. Alarum to the
	battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and SIR WALTER BLUNT]

SIR WALTER BLUNT	What is thy name, that in the battle thus
	Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek
	Upon my head?

EARL OF 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.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	They tell thee true.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
	Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry,
	This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,
	Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

SIR WALTER 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. DOUGLAS kills SIR WALTER BLUNT.
	Enter HOTSPUR]

HOTSPUR	O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
	never had triumph'd upon a Scot.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the king.

HOTSPUR	Where?

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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.

EARL OF 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]

	[Alarum. 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 moulten
	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I prithee,
	lend me thy sword.

FALSTAFF	Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st
	not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

PRINCE HENRY	Give it to me: what, is it in the case?

FALSTAFF	Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will sack a city.

	[PRINCE HENRY draws it out, and finds it to be a
	bottle of sack]

PRINCE HENRY	What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

	[He throws the bottle at him. 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 FALSTAFF]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter PRINCE HENRY, LORD JOHN
	OF LANCASTER, and EARL OF WESTMORELAND]

KING HENRY IV	I prithee,
	Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.
	Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

LANCASTER	Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.

PRINCE HENRY	I beseech your majesty, make up,
	Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	By God, 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 HENRY IV	I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point
	With lustier maintenance than I did look for
	Of such an ungrown warrior.

PRINCE HENRY	O, this boy
	Lends mettle to us all!

	[Exit]

	[Enter DOUGLAS]

EARL OF 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 HENRY IV	The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart
	So many of his shadows thou hast met
	And not the very king. I have two boys
	Seek Percy and thyself about the field:
	But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
	I will assay thee: so, defend thyself.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	I fear thou art another counterfeit;
	And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king:
	But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be,
	And thus I win thee.

	[They fight. KING HENRY being in danger, PRINCE
	HENRY enters]

PRINCE HENRY	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 succor sent,
	And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton straight.

KING HENRY IV	Stay, and breathe awhile:
	Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,
	And show'd thou makest some tender of my life,
	In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY IV	Make up to Clifton: I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.

	[Exit]

	[Enter HOTSPUR]

HOTSPUR	If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.

HOTSPUR	My name is Harry Percy.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	I'll make it greater ere I part from thee;
	And all the budding honours on thy crest
	I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.

HOTSPUR	I can no longer brook thy vanities.

	[They fight]

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Well said, Hal! to it Hal! Nay, you shall find no
	boy's play here, I can tell you.

	[Re-enter DOUGLAS; he fights with FALSTAFF,
	who falls down as if he were dead, and exit
	DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls]

HOTSPUR	O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!
	I better brook the loss of brittle life
	Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;
	They wound my thoughts worse than sword my flesh:
	But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool;
	And time, that takes survey of all the world,
	Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,
	But that the earthy and cold hand of death
	Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust
	And food for--

	[Dies]

PRINCE HENRY	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!

	[He spieth FALSTAFF on the ground]

	What, old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
	Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!
	I could have better spared a better man:
	O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
	If I were much in love with vanity!
	Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
	Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.
	Embowell'd will I see thee by and by:
	Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.

	[Exit PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	[Rising up]  Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day,
	I'll give you leave to powder me and eat me too
	to-morrow. 'Sblood,'twas time to counterfeit, or
	that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too.
	Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit: to die,
	is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the
	counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man:
	but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby
	liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and
	perfect image of life indeed. The better part of
	valour is discretion; in the which better part I
	have saved my life.'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,

	[Stabbing him]

	with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me.

	[Takes up HOTSPUR on his back]

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER]

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Why, Percy I killed 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 HENRY	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]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[The trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE
	HENRY, LORD JOHN LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND,
	with WORCESTER and VERNON prisoners]

KING HENRY IV	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 tenor of thy kinsman's trust?
	Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
	A noble earl and many a creature else
	Had been alive this hour,
	If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne
	Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

EARL OF 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 HENRY IV	Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon too:
	Other offenders we will pause upon.

	[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON, guarded]

	How goes the field?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY IV	With all my heart.


PRINCE HENRY	Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you
	This honourable bounty shall belong:
	Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
	Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free:
	His valour shown upon our crests to-day
	Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds
	Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

LANCASTER	I thank your grace for this high courtesy,
	Which I shall give away immediately.

KING HENRY IV	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 cheque of such another day:
	And since this business so fair is done,
	Let us not leave till all our own be won.

	[Exeunt]
	1 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING
HENRY THE SIXTH	(KING HENRY VI:)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)

DUKE OF BEDFORD	uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)

THOMAS BEAUFORT	Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

HENRY BEAUFORT	great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and
	afterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)

JOHN BEAUFORT	Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD
	PLANTAGENET:)  afterwards Duke of York.
	(YORK:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

LORD TALBOT	afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)

JOHN TALBOT	Lord Talbot's son.

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

SIR JOHN FASTOLFE	(FASTOLFE:)

SIR WILLIAM LUCY	(LUCY:)

SIR
WILLIAM GLANSDALE	(GLANDSDALE:)

SIR
THOMAS GARGRAVE	(GARGRAVE:)

Mayor of London	(Mayor:)

WOODVILE	Lieutenant of the Tower.

VERNON	of the White-Rose or York faction.

BASSET	of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.

	A Lawyer. (Lawyer:)

	Mortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)

CHARLES	Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.

REIGNIER	Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ALENCON	(ALENCON:)

BASTARD OF ORLEANS:

	Governor of Paris.

	Master-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)
	and his Son. (Boy:)

	General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)

	A French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)

	A Porter.

	An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)

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.
	(First Warder:)
	(Second Warder:)
	(Captain:)
	(Officer:)
	(Soldier:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Watch:)
	(Scout:)
	(First Sentinel:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Serving-Man:)
	(Second Serving-Man:)
	(Third Serving-Man:)

	Fiends appearing to La Pucelle.


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	Westminster Abbey.


	[Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the
	Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of
	France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of
	WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, 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 sparking 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 contrived his end?

BISHOP
OF 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 over-awe.

BISHOP
OF 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 lovest 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, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
	Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

BEDFORD	What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
	Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
	Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

GLOUCESTER	Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
	If Henry were recall'd to life again,
	These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

EXETER	How were they lost? what treachery was used?

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 horrors new-begot:
	Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
	Of England's coat one half is cut away.

EXETER	Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
	These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

BEDFORD	Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
	Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
	Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
	Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
	To weep their intermissive miseries.

	[Enter 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 of Rheims;
	The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
	Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
	The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

EXETER	The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
	O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

GLOUCESTER	We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
	Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

BEDFORD	Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
	An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
	Wherewith already France is overrun.

	[Enter 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.

BISHOP
OF 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 every where, enraged he flew:
	The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
	All the whole army stood agazed on him:
	His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
	A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
	And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
	Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
	If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
	He, being in the vaward, placed behind
	With purpose to relieve and follow them,
	Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
	Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
	Enclosed were they with their enemies:
	A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
	Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
	Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
	Durst not presume to look once in the face.

BEDFORD	Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
	For living idly here in pomp and ease,
	Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
	Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

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 besieged;
	The English army is grown weak and faint:
	The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
	And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
	Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

EXETER	Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
	Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
	Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

BEDFORD	I do remember it; and here take my leave,
	To go about my preparation.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
	To view the 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]

BISHOP
OF 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	France. Before Orleans.


	[Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and
	REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers]

CHARLES	Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
	So in the earth, to this day is not known:
	Late did he shine upon the English side;
	Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.
	What towns of any moment but we have?
	At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
	Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
	Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

ALENCON	They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:
	Either they must be dieted like mules
	And have their provender tied to their mouths
	Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

REIGNIER	Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?
	Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
	Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
	And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
	Nor men nor money hath he to make war.

CHARLES	Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.
	Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
	Him I forgive my death that killeth me
	When he sees me go back one foot or fly.

	[Exeunt]

	[Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English
	with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER]

CHARLES	Who ever saw the like? what men have I!
	Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,
	But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

REIGNIER	Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
	He fighteth as one weary of his life.
	The other lords, like lions wanting food,
	Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

ALENCON	Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,
	England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
	During the time Edward the Third did reign.
	More truly now may this be verified;
	For none but Samsons and Goliases
	It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
	Lean, raw-boned 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 gimmors or device
	Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;
	Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
	By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

ALENCON	Be it so.

	[Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

CHARLES	Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:
	Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
	Be not dismay'd, for succor 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 OF ORLEANS]

	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?

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA 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 bless'd with which you see.
	Ask me what question thou canst possible,
	And I will answer unpremeditated:
	My courage try by combat, if thou darest,
	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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I am prepared: here is my keen-edged 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.

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I must not yield to any rites of love,
	For my profession's sacred from above:
	When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
	Then will I think upon a recompense.

CHARLES	Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

REIGNIER	My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

ALENCON	Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
	Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

REIGNIER	Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

ALENCON	He may mean more than we poor men do know:
	These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

REIGNIER	My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
	Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
	This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
	Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
	Since I have entered into these wars.
	Glory is like a circle in the water,
	Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
	Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
	With Henry's death the English circle ends;
	Dispersed are the glories it included.
	Now am I like that proud insulting ship
	Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

CHARLES	Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
	Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
	Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
	Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.
	Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
	How may I reverently worship thee enough?

ALENCON	Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

REIGNIER	Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
	Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

CHARLES	Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:
	No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	London. Before the Tower.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats]

GLOUCESTER	I am come to survey the Tower this day:
	Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
	Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
	Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

First Warder	[Within]  Who's there that knocks so imperiously?

First Serving-Man	It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

Second Warder	[Within]  Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

First Serving-Man	Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

First Warder	[Within]  The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
	We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

GLOUCESTER	Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?
	There's none protector of the realm but I.
	Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
	Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

	[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and
	WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within]

WOODVILE	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.

WOODVILE	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 Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
	Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,
	Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
	Thou art no friend to God or to the king:
	Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Serving-Men	Open the gates unto the lord protector,
	Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

	[Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP
	OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?

GLOUCESTER	Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	I do, thou most usurping proditor,
	And not protector, of the king or realm.

GLOUCESTER	Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
	Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;
	Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:
	I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
	If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

BISHOP
OF 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.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Do what thou darest; 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 stamp thy cardinal's hat:
	In spite of pope or dignities of church,
	Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

BISHOP
OF 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 BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER'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.

BISHOP
OF 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	Naught 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.

BISHOP
OF 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.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;
	For I intend to have it ere long.

	[Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER with their Serving-men]

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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



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,
	GLANSDALE, 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 released?
	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 Fastolfe wounds my heart,
	Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
	If I now had him brought into my power.

SALISBURY	Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.

TALBOT	With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.
	In open market-place 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 was 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 walked 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. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall]

SALISBURY	O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

GARGRAVE	O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

TALBOT	What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
	Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:
	How farest 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 woful 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 livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
	One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
	The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
	Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
	If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
	Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
	Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
	Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
	Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
	Thou shalt not die whiles--
	He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.
	As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
	Remember to avenge me on the French.'
	Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
	Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
	Wretched shall France be only in my name.

	[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]

	What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
	Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, my lord, the French have gathered 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 puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
	Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
	And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
	Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
	And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

	[Alarum. Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE V	The same.


	[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.

	[Re-enter JOAN 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 servest.

JOAN LA 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]

JOAN LA 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; flourish]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,
	REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers]

JOAN LA 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 out the bells aloud throughout the town?
	Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
	And feast and banquet in the open streets,
	To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

ALENCON	All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
	When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

CHARLES	'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
	For which I will divide my crown with her,
	And all the priests and friars in my realm
	Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
	A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
	Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:
	In memory of her when she is dead,
	Her ashes, in an urn more precious
	Than the rich-jewel'd 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


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, their drums beating a dead march]

TALBOT	Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
	By whose approach the regions of Artois,
	Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,
	This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
	Having all day caroused and banqueted:
	Embrace we then this opportunity
	As fitting best to quittance their deceit
	Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.

BEDFORD	Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,
	Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
	To join with witches and the help of hell!

BURGUNDY	Traitors have never other company.
	But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

TALBOT	A maid, they say.

BEDFORD	                  A maid! and be so martial!

BURGUNDY	Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
	If underneath the standard of the French
	She carry armour as she hath begun.

TALBOT	Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
	God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
	Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

BEDFORD	Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

TALBOT	Not all together: better far, I guess,
	That we do make our entrance several ways;
	That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
	The other yet may rise against their force.

BEDFORD	Agreed: I'll to yond corner.

BURGUNDY	And I to this.

TALBOT	And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
	Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
	Of English Henry, shall this night appear
	How much in duty I am bound to both.

Sentinels	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,
	ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready]

ALENCON	How now, my lords! what, all unready so?

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.

REIGNIER	'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
	Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

ALENCON	Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,
	Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
	More venturous or desperate than this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

REIGNIER	If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

ALENCON	Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

	[Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE]

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?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!
	At all times will you have my power alike?
	Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
	Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
	Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
	This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

CHARLES	Duke of Alencon, this was your default,
	That, being captain of the watch to-night,
	Did look no better to that weighty charge.

ALENCON	Had all your quarters been as safely kept
	As that whereof I had the government,
	We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	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?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Question, my lords, no further of the case,
	How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place
	But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
	And now there rests no other shift but this;
	To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



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.
	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 every one 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.
	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,
	Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
	They did amongst the troops of armed men
	Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

BURGUNDY	Myself, as far as I could well discern
	For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
	Am sure I 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle.


	[Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
	And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

Porter	Madam, I will.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	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 rumor 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
OF AUVERGNE	And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Messenger	Madam, it is.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	                  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
OF AUVERGNE	What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.

Messenger	Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
	To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

TALBOT	Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
	I go to certify her Talbot's here.

	[Re-enter Porter with keys]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

TALBOT	Prisoner! to whom?

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	To me, blood-thirsty lord;
	And for that cause I trained 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
OF AUVERGNE	Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

TALBOT	I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
	To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
	Whereon to practise your severity.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Why, art not thou the man?

TALBOT	I am indeed.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	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
OF AUVERGNE	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
OF AUVERGNE	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 misconstrue
	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
OF AUVERGNE	With all my heart, and think me honoured
	To feast so great a warrior in my house.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II


SCENE IV	London. The Temple-garden.


	[Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;
	RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer]

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
	Or else was wrangling Somerset in the 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.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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,
	The argument you held was wrong in you:

	[To SOMERSET]

	In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

SOMERSET	Here in my scabbard, meditating that
	Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

SOMERSET	Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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?

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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 choked with thy ambition!
	And so farewell until I meet thee next.

	[Exit]

SOMERSET	Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

	[Exit]

RICHARD
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 to-day,
	Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,
	Shall send between the red rose and the white
	A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Thanks, gentle sir.
	Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say
	This quarrel will drink blood another day.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II


SCENE V	The Tower of London.


	[Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers]

MORTIMER	Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
	Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
	Even like a man new haled from the rack,
	So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.
	And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
	Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
	Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
	These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
	Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
	Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening 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 Gaoler	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 Gaoler	My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

MORTIMER	Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

RICHARD
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?

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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,
	Endeavor'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, the 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 attempt
	They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
	I lost my liberty and they their lives.
	Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
	Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
	Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then 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 tide rested, were suppress'd.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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.

RICHARD
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]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
	In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage
	And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
	Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
	And what I do imagine let that rest.
	Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself
	Will see his burial better than his life.

	[Exeunt Gaolers, 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 my ill the advantage of my good.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	London. The Parliament-house.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,
	WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
	GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Comest 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,
	Forward by nature, enemy to peace;
	Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
	A man of thy profession and degree;
	And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?
	In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
	As well at London bridge as at the Tower.
	Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
	The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
	From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

BISHOP
OF 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!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
	But one imperious in another's throne?

GLOUCESTER	Am I not protector, saucy priest?

BISHOP
OF 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.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Unreverent Gloster!

GLOUCESTER	Thou art reverent
	Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Rome shall remedy this.

WARWICK	Roam thither, then.

SOMERSET	My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

WARWICK	Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

SOMERSET	Methinks my lord should be religious
	And know the office that belongs to such.

WARWICK	Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
	it fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

SOMERSET	Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

WARWICK	State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
	Is not his grace protector to the king?

RICHARD
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 VI	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 Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates]

KING HENRY VI	We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
	To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
	Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

First Serving-man	Nay, if we be forbidden stones,
	We'll fall to it with our teeth.

Second Serving-man	Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

	[Skirmish again]

GLOUCESTER	You of my household, leave this peevish broil
	And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

Third Serving-man	My lord, we know your grace to be a man
	Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
	Inferior to none but to his majesty:
	And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
	So kind a father of the commonweal,
	To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
	We and our wives and children all will fight
	And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.

First Serving-man	Ay, and the very parings of our nails
	Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

	[Begin again]

GLOUCESTER	Stay, stay, I say!
	And if you love me, as you say you do,
	Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

KING HENRY VI	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.

BISHOP
OF 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 VI	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?

BISHOP
OF 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!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	[Aside]  So help me God, as I intend it not!

KING HENRY VI	O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
	How joyful am I made by this contract!
	Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
	But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

First Serving-man	Content: I'll to the surgeon's.

Second Serving-man	And so will I.

Third Serving-man	And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

	[Exeunt Serving-men, 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: or sweet prince,
	And 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 VI	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.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

KING HENRY VI	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.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Thy humble servant vows obedience
	And humble service till the point of death.

KING HENRY VI	Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
	And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
	I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:
	Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
	And rise created princely Duke of York.

RICHARD
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 VI	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 fester'd 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	France. Before Rouen.


	[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers
	with sacks upon their backs]

JOAN LA 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?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Paysans, pauvres gens de France;
	Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

Watch	Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON,
	REIGNIER, and forces]

CHARLES	Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
	And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;
	Now she is there, how will she specify
	Where 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 JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a
	torch burning]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
	That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
	But burning fatal to the Talbotites!

	[Exit]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	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 JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
	ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls]

JOAN LA 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!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
	And run a tilt at death within a chair?

TALBOT	Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
	Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
	Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
	And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
	Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
	Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Are ye so hot, sir? 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?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
	To try if that our own be ours or no.

TALBOT	I speak not to that railing Hecate,
	But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;
	Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

ALENCON	Signior, no.

TALBOT	Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
	Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
	And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;
	For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
	God be wi' you, 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 FASTOLFE and
	a Captain]

Captain	Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?

FASTOLFE	Whither away! to save myself by flight:
	We are like to have the overthrow again.

Captain	What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?

FASTOLFE	Ay,
	All the Talbots in the world, to save my life!

	[Exit]

Captain	Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

	[Exit]

	[Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,
	and CHARLES fly]

BEDFORD	Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
	For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
	What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
	They that of late were daring with their scoffs
	Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

	[BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair]

	[An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest]

TALBOT	Lost, and 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	The plains near Rouen.


	[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN
	LA PUCELLE, and forces]

JOAN LA 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 OF ORLEANS	Search out thy wit for secret policies,
	And we will make thee famous through the world.

ALENCON	We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
	And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:
	Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

JOAN LA 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.

ALENCON	For ever should they be expulsed from France
	And not have title of an earldom here.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Your honours shall perceive how I will work
	To bring this matter to the wished end.

	[Drum sounds afar off]

	Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
	Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

	[Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over
	at a distance, TALBOT and his forces]

	There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
	And all the troops of English after him.

	[French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces]

	Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:
	Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
	Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

	[Trumpets sound a parley]

CHARLES	A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

BURGUNDY	Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
	Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

BURGUNDY	Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

JOAN LA 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 woful 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
	Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
	Who joint'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 joint'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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	[Aside]  Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

CHARLES	Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

ALENCON	Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
	And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

CHARLES	Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
	And seek how we may prejudice the foe.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE IV	Paris. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
	EXETER, VERNON	BASSET, and others. To them
	with his Soldiers, TALBOT]

TALBOT	My gracious prince, and honourable peers,
	Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
	I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
	To do my duty to my sovereign:
	In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
	To your obedience fifty fortresses,
	Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,
	Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
	Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,
	And with submissive loyalty of heart
	Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
	First to my God and next unto your grace.

	[Kneels]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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:
	Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?

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 know'st 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	Paris. A hall of state.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
	TALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others]

GLOUCESTER	Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

BISHOP
OF 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 practises against his state:
	This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

	[Enter FASTOLFE]

FASTOLFE	My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
	To haste unto your coronation,
	A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
	Writ to your grace from the 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 VI	Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!
	Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:
	Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.

	[Exit FASTOLFE]

	And now, my lord protector, view the letter
	Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.

GLOUCESTER	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 wreck,
	Together with the pitiful complaints
	Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
	Forsaken your pernicious faction
	And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
	O monstrous treachery! can this be so,
	That in alliance, amity and oaths,
	There should be found such false dissembling guile?

KING HENRY VI	What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

GLOUCESTER	He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.

KING HENRY VI	Is that the worst this letter doth contain?

GLOUCESTER	It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 wilful disobedience, and rebel!
	Beside, what infamy will there arise,
	When foreign princes shall be certified
	That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
	King Henry's peers and chief nobility
	Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!
	O, think upon the conquest of my father,
	My tender years, and let us not forego
	That for a trifle that was bought with blood
	Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
	I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

	[Putting on a red rose]

	That any one should therefore be suspicious
	I more incline to Somerset than York:
	Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
	As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
	Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
	But your discretions better can persuade
	Than I am able to instruct or teach:
	And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
	So let us still continue peace and love.
	Cousin of York, we institute your grace
	To be our regent in these parts of France:
	And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
	Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
	And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
	Go cheerfully together and digest.
	Your angry choler on your enemies.
	Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
	After some respite will return to Calais;
	From thence to England; where I hope ere long
	To be presented, by your victories,
	With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.

	[Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER
	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 that it doth presage some ill event.
	'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
	But more when envy breeds unkind division;
	There comes the rain, there begins confusion.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II	Before Bourdeaux.


	[Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum]

TALBOT	Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, 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, &c]

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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



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 Bourdeaux 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 Bourdeaux.

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 lowted 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 Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, 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 succor 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



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'ermatch'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 succors that should lend him aid,
	While he, renowned noble gentleman,
	Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
	Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
	Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
	And Talbot perisheth by your default.

SOMERSET	York set him on; York should have sent him aid.

LUCY	And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
	Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
	Collected for this expedition.

SOMERSET	York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;
	I owe him little duty, and less love;
	And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

LUCY	The fraud of England, not the force of France,
	Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
	Never to England shall he bear his life;
	But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

SOMERSET	Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:
	Within six hours they will be at his aid.

LUCY	Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;
	For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
	And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

SOMERSET	If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!

LUCY	His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	The English camp near Bourdeaux.


	[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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	A field of battle.


	[Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT 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 gavest me first was lost and done,
	Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,
	To my determined time thou gavest 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 Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,
	And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
	The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
	From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
	Of thy first fight, I soon encountered,
	And interchanging blows I quickly shed
	Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace
	Bespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base
	And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
	Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
	Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'
	Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
	Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,
	Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?
	Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
	Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
	Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:
	The help of one stands me in little stead.
	O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
	To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
	If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
	To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
	By me they nothing gain an if I stay;
	'Tis but the shortening 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 fail 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum: excursions. Enter 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-eyed 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 JOHN 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 to-day.
	Come, come and lay him in his father's arms:
	My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
	Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
	Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.

	[Dies]

	[Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF
	ORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES	Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
	We should have found a bloody day of this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
	Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

JOAN LA 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 OF ORLEANS	Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder
	Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

CHARLES	O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled
	During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

	[Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the
	French preceding]

LUCY	Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
	To know who hath obtained 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?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Here is 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 Frenchmen's only scourge,
	Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
	O, were mine eyeballs 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.

JOAN LA 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 'em; to keep them here,
	They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

CHARLES	Go, take their bodies hence.

LUCY	I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd
	A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

CHARLES	So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt.
	And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:
	All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!
	And fitter is my study and my books
	Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
	Yet call the ambassador; 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 CARDINAL OF 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 VI	My lords ambassadors, your several suits
	Have been consider'd and debated on.
	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 VI	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 CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate]

CARDINAL
OF 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.

CARDINAL
OF 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	France. Plains in Anjou.


	[Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF
	ORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES	These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:
	'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt
	And turn again unto the warlike French.

ALENCON	Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
	And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

JOAN LA 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 conjoined 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.

JOAN LA 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]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Before Angiers.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
	Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
	And ye choice spirits that admonish me
	And give me signs of future accidents.

	[Thunder]

	You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
	Under the lordly monarch of the north,
	Appear and aid me in this enterprise.

	[Enter Fiends]

	This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
	Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
	Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
	Out of the powerful regions under earth,
	Help me this once, that France may get the field.

	[They walk, and speak not]

	O, hold me not with silence over-long!
	Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
	I'll lop a member off and give it you
	In earnest of 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. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand
	to hand with YORK	JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The
	French fly]

YORK	Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:
	Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
	And try if they can gain your liberty.
	A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
	See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
	As if with Circe she would change my shape!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Changed 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.

JOAN LA 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!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.

YORK	Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.

	[Exeunt]

	[Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand]

SUFFOLK	Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

	[Gazes on her]

	O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
	For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
	I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
	And lay them gently on thy tender side.
	Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

MARGARET	Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
	The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

SUFFOLK	An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
	Be not offended, nature's miracle,
	Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
	So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
	Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
	Yet, if this servile usage once offend.
	Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.

	[She is going]

	O, stay! 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 to 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 a 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 sceptre in thy hand
	And set a precious crown upon thy head,
	If thou wilt condescend to be my--

MARGARET	What?

SUFFOLK	His love.

MARGARET	I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.

SUFFOLK	No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
	To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
	And have no portion in the choice myself.
	How say you, madam, are ye so content?

MARGARET	An if my father please, I am content.

SUFFOLK	Then call our captains and our colours forth.
	And, madam, at your father's castle walls
	We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.

	[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 gained 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 comest to kneel at Henry's feet,
	Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV	Camp of the YORK in Anjou.


	[Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others]

YORK	Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to burn.

	[Enter JOAN 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!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
	I am descended of a gentler blood:
	Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

Shepherd	Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
	I did beget her, all the parish knows:
	Her mother liveth yet, can testify
	She was the first fruit of my 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.

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
	Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
	But issued from the progeny of kings;
	Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
	By inspiration of celestial grace,
	To work exceeding miracles on earth.
	I never had to do with wicked spirits:
	But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
	Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
	Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
	Because you want the grace that others have,
	You judge it straight a thing impossible
	To compass wonders but by help of devils.
	No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
	A virgin from her tender infancy,
	Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
	Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously 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.

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	You are deceived; my child is none of his:
	It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.

YORK	Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
	It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

JOAN LA 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.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:
	May never glorious sun reflex his beams
	Upon the country where you make abode;
	But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
	Environ you, till mischief and despair
	Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!

	[Exit, guarded]

YORK	Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,
	Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

	[Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER, attended]

CARDINAL
OF 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, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
	REIGNIER, and others]

CHARLES	Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed
	That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
	We come to be informed by yourselves
	What the conditions of that league must be.

YORK	Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
	The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
	By sight of these our baleful enemies.

CARDINAL
OF 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, submit thyself,
	Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,
	And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

ALENCON	Must he be then as shadow of himself?
	Adorn his temples with a coronet,
	And yet, in substance and authority,
	Retain but privilege of a private man?
	This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

CHARLES	'Tis known already that I am possess'd
	With more than half the Gallian territories,
	And therein 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.

ALENCON	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 reserved, 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.
	So, now dismiss your army when ye please:
	Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still,
	For here we entertain a solemn peace.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V	London. The palace.


	[Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI,
	GLOUCESTER and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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, 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 seek a queen to make him rich:
	So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
	As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
	Marriage is a matter of more worth
	Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;
	Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
	Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
	And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
	It most of all these reasons bindeth us,
	In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
	For what is wedlock forced but a hell,
	An age of discord and continual strife?
	Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,
	And is a pattern of celestial peace.
	Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
	But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
	Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
	Approves her fit for none but for a king:
	Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
	More than in women commonly is seen,
	Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
	For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
	Is likely to beget more conquerors,
	If with a lady of so high resolve
	As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.
	Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me
	That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

KING HENRY VI	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 Trojan did.
	Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
	But I will rule both her, the king and realm.

	[Exit]
	2 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


RUMOUR	the Presenter.

KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


PRINCE HENRY			|
OF WALES		(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
	afterwards KING HENRY V.	|
			|
THOMAS, DUKE OF			|  sons of King Henry.
CLARENCE		(CLARENCE:)	|
			|
PRINCE HUMPHREY			|
OF GLOUCESTER		(GLOUCESTER:)	|


EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF SURREY:

GOWER:

HARCOURT:

BLUNT:

	Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench:
	(Lord Chief-Justice:)

	A Servant of the Chief-Justice.

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

SCROOP,
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	(ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

LORD MOWBRAY	(MOWBRAY:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD BARDOLPH:

SIR JOHN COLEVILE	(COLEVILE:)


TRAVERS	|
	|  retainers of Northumberland.
MORTON	|


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

	His Page. (Page:)

BARDOLPH:

PISTOL:

POINS:

PETO:


SHALLOW	|
	|  country justices.
SILENCE	|


DAVY	servant to Shallow.


MOULDY	|
	|
SHADOW	|
	|
WART	|  recruits.
	|
FEEBLE	|
	|
BULLCALF	|


FANG	|
	|  sheriff's officers.
SNARE	|


LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND:

LADY PERCY:

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

DOLL TEARSHEET:

	Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers,
	Beadles, Grooms, &c.
	(First Messenger:)
	(Porter:)
	(First Drawer:)
	(Second Drawer:)
	(First Beadle:)
	(First Groom:)
	(Second Groom:)

	A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.


SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY IV

	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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
	They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
	true wrongs.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


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 wilt 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 dead 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,
	Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,
	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 the noble Worcester
	Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
	The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
	Had three times slain the 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 quoif!
	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 the 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!

TRAVERS	This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

LORD BARDOLPH	Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

MORTON	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 the 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 befallen,
	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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods.

MORTON	'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,
	I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



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 more 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 judgment.
	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 fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in
	the palm of my hand than he shall get one on 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 Dombledon 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 a' should have sent me two and
	twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he
	sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security;
	for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness
	of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he
	see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him.
	Where's Bardolph?

Page	He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	What's he that goes there?

Servant	Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

Lord 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.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing 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 our
	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 gettest any leave of me,
	hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be
	hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt!

Servant	Sir, my lord would speak with you.

Lord 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 must
	humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care
	of your health.

Lord 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.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with
	you.

FALSTAFF	This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,
	an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the
	blood, a whoreson tingling.

Lord Chief-Justice	What tell you me of it? be it as it is.

FALSTAFF	It hath its 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.

Lord 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.

Lord 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
	should I be your patient to follow your
	prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a
	scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.

FALSTAFF	He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less.

Lord 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.

Lord 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.

Lord 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 the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting
	that action.

FALSTAFF	My lord?

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 to smell a fox.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	There is not a white hair on your face but should
	have his effect of gravity.

FALSTAFF	His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.

Lord 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
	costermonger times that true valour is turned
	bear-herd: 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.

Lord 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
	judgment and understanding; and he that will caper
	with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the
	money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that
	the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince,
	and you took it like a sensible lord. I have
	chequed him for it, and the young lion repents;
	marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk
	and old sack.

Lord 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.

Lord 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 any thing 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.

Lord 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?

Lord Chief-Justice	Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to
	bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my
	cousin Westmoreland.

	[Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant]

FALSTAFF	If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man
	can no more separate age and covetousness than a'
	can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout
	galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and
	so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy!

Page	Sir?

FALSTAFF	What money is in my purse?

Page	Seven groats and two pence.

FALSTAFF	I can get no remedy against this consumption of the
	purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out,
	but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter
	to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this
	to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old
	Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry
	since I perceived the first white hair on 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 any thing:
	I will turn diseases to commodity.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE III	York. The Archbishop's palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS,
	MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 judgment 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 OF YORK	'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,
	Flattering 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 the 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 must we 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 last 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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 provokest 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 the 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE I	London. A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her,
	and SNARE following.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Master Fang, have you entered the action?

FANG	It is entered.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a'
	stand to 't?

FANG	Sirrah, where's Snare?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.

SNARE	Here, here.

FANG	Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.

SNARE	It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.

FANG	An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an
	infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang,
	hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not
	'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving
	your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to
	dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to
	Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, 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 errant 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, Page, and BARDOLPH]

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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the
	channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly
	rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle
	villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the
	king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a
	honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller.

FALSTAFF	Keep them off, Bardolph.

FANG	A rescue! a rescue!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 hemp-seed!

FALSTAFF	Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You
	fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe.

	[Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men]

Lord Chief-Justice	What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.

Lord 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 upon him?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am
	a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.

Lord Chief-Justice	For what sum?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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.

Lord 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?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 a green wound? And
	didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs,
	desire me to be no more so familiarity with such
	poor people; saying that ere long they should call
	me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me
	fetch 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 the 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.

Lord 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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Yea, in truth, my lord.

Lord Chief-Justice	Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and
	unpay the villany you have done 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 courtesy 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer
	in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this
	poor woman.

FALSTAFF	Come hither, hostess.

	[Enter GOWER]

Lord 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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Faith, you said so before.

FALSTAFF	As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain
	to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my
	dining-chambers.

FALSTAFF	Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy
	walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of
	the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work,
	is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings 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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?

FALSTAFF	No more words; let's have her.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy]

Lord Chief-Justice	I have heard better news.

FALSTAFF	What's the news, my lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	Where lay the king last night?

GOWER	At Basingstoke, my lord.

FALSTAFF	I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	Come all his forces back?

GOWER	No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
	Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster,
	Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.

FALSTAFF	Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	You shall have letters of me presently:
	Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.

FALSTAFF	My lord!

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.

Lord 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?

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE II	London. Another street.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for,
	by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature,
	small beer. But, indeed, these humble
	considerations make me out of love with my
	greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember
	thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to
	take note how many pair of silk stockings thou
	hast, viz. these, and those that were thy
	peach-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 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 HENRY	Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?

POINS	Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be
	sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell
	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?

POINS	I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

PRINCE HENRY	It would be every man's thought; and thou art a
	blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never
	a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way
	better than thine: every man would think me an
	hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most
	worshipful thought to think so?

POINS	Why, because you have been so lewd and so much
	engraffed to Falstaff.

PRINCE HENRY	And to thee.

POINS	By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it
	with my 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 HENRY	And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from
	me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not
	transformed him ape.

BARDOLPH	God save your grace!

PRINCE HENRY	And yours, most noble Bardolph!

BARDOLPH	Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you
	be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a
	maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a
	matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead?

Page	A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red
	lattice, and I could discern no part of his face
	from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and
	methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's
	new petticoat and so peeped through.

PRINCE HENRY	Has not the boy profited?

BARDOLPH	Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

Page	Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!

PRINCE HENRY	Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?

Page	Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered
	of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.

PRINCE HENRY	A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis,
	boy.

POINS	O, that this good blossom could be kept from
	cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.

BARDOLPH	An you do not make him hanged among you, the
	gallows shall have wrong.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my
	dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be 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 HENRY	Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it
	from Japhet. But to the letter.

POINS	[Reads]  'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of
	the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of
	Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate.

PRINCE HENRY	Peace!

POINS	[Reads]  'I will imitate the honourable Romans in
	brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath,
	short-winded. '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 mayest; 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.'
	My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

BARDOLPH	At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY	What company?

Page	Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.

PRINCE HENRY	Sup any women with him?

Page	None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and
	Mistress Doll Tearsheet.

PRINCE HENRY	What pagan may that be?

Page	A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	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
	Alban's and London.

PRINCE HENRY	How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night
	in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

POINS	Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait
	upon him at his table as drawers.

PRINCE HENRY	From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was
	Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low
	transformation! that shall be mine; for in every
	thing the purpose must weigh with the folly.
	Follow me, Ned.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



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 endeared 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 practised not his gait;
	And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
	Became the accents of the valiant;
	For those that could speak low and tardily
	Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
	To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
	In diet, in affections of delight,
	In military rules, humours of blood,
	He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
	That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him!
	O miracle of men! him did you leave,
	Second to none, unseconded by you,
	To look upon the hideous god of war
	In disadvantage; to abide a field
	Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
	Did seem defensible: so you left him.
	Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
	To hold your honour more precise and nice
	With others than with him! let them alone:
	The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
	Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
	To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
	Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Beshrew your heart,
	Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
	With new lamenting ancient oversights.
	But I must go and meet with danger there,
	Or it will seek me in another place
	And find me worse provided.

LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND	O, fly to Scotland,
	Till that the nobles and the armed commons
	Have of their puissance made a little taste.

LADY PERCY	If they get ground and vantage of the king,
	Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
	To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
	First let them try themselves. So did your son;
	He was so 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE IV	London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.


	[Enter two Drawers]

First Drawer	What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?
	thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

Second Drawer	Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish
	of apple-johns before him, and told him there were
	five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said
	'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,
	old, withered knights.' It 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 MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 TEARSHEET	Better than I was: hem!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

FALSTAFF	So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

DOLL TEARSHEET	You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

FALSTAFF	You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

DOLL TEARSHEET	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 TEARSHEET	Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

FALSTAFF	'Your broaches, 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 TEARSHEET	Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 they say, the
	emptier vessel.

DOLL TEARSHEET	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.

	[Re-enter First Drawer]

First Drawer	Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with
	you.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come
	hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no
	swaggerers here.

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your 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
	Dumbe, our minister, was by then; 'neighbour
	Quickly,' says he, 'receive those that are civil;
	for,' said he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a'
	said so, I can tell whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you
	are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore
	take heed what guests you receive: receive,' says
	he, 'no swaggering companions.' There comes none
	here: you would bless you to hear what he said:
	no, I'll no 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]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 TEARSHEET	So you do, hostess.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 hardly offend
	her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 TEARSHEET	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 TEARSHEET	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

DOLL TEARSHEET	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 the infernal deep, with Erebus and
	tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.
	Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not
	Hiren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
	faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

PISTOL	These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses
	And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
	Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
	Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
	And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
	King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
	Shall we fall foul for toys?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

BARDOLPH	Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to abrawl anon.

PISTOL	Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we
	not Heren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 nothing?

FALSTAFF	Pistol, I would be quiet.

PISTOL	Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen
	the seven stars.

DOLL TEARSHEET	For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot
	endure such a fustian rascal.

PISTOL	Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

FALSTAFF	Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
	shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing,
	a' shall be nothing here.

BARDOLPH	Come, get you down stairs.

PISTOL	What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?

	[Snatching up his sword]

	Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
	Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
	Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Here's goodly stuff toward!

FALSTAFF	Give me my rapier, boy.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

FALSTAFF	Get you down stairs.

	[Drawing, and driving PISTOL out]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
	house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights.
	So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up
	your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

	[Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH]

DOLL TEARSHEET	I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone.
	Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	He you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a
	shrewd thrust at your belly.

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Have you turned him out o' doors?

BARDOLPH	Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him,
	sir, i' the shoulder.

FALSTAFF	A rascal! to brave me!

DOLL TEARSHEET	Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! alas, poor ape,
	how thou sweatest! 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 TEARSHEET	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 TEARSHEET	I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church.
	Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,
	when wilt thou leave fighting o' days and foining
	o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

	[Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS, disguised]

FALSTAFF	Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's-head;
	do not bid me remember mine end.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Sirrah, what humour's the prince of?

FALSTAFF	A good shallow young fellow: a' would have made a
	good pantler, a' would ha' chipp'd bread well.

DOLL TEARSHEET	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 TEARSHEET	Why does the prince love him so, then?

FALSTAFF	Because their legs are both of a bigness, and a'
	plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel,
	and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and
	rides the wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon
	joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
	wears his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of
	the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet
	stories; and such other gambol faculties a' has,
	that show a weak mind and an able body, for the
	which the prince admits him: for the prince himself
	is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the
	scales between their avoirdupois.

PRINCE HENRY	Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

POINS	Let's beat him before his whore.

PRINCE HENRY	Look, whether 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 HENRY	Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what
	says the 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 TEARSHEET	By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

FALSTAFF	I am old, I am old.

DOLL TEARSHEET	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 to-morrow. A
	merry song, come: it grows late; we'll to bed.
	Thou'lt forget me when I am gone.

DOLL TEARSHEET	By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, an thou
	sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome
	till thy return: well, harken at the end.

FALSTAFF	Some sack, Francis.


PRINCE HENRY	|
	|  Anon, anon, sir.
POINS	|


	[Coming forward]

FALSTAFF	Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art not thou
	Poins his brother?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O, the Lord preserve thy good 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 TEARSHEET	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 HENRY	You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you
	speak of me even now before this honest, virtuous,
	civil gentlewoman!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is,
	by my troth.

FALSTAFF	Didst thou hear me?

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	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 HENRY	Not to dispraise me, and call me pantier and
	bread-chipper and I know not what?

FALSTAFF	No abuse, Hal.

POINS	No abuse?

FALSTAFF	No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. I
	dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked
	might not fall in love with him; 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 HENRY	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 HENRY	For the women?

FALSTAFF	For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns
	poor souls. For the other, I owe her money, and
	whether she be damned for that, I know not.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	All victuallers do so; what's a joint of mutton or
	two in a whole Lent?

PRINCE HENRY	You, gentlewoman,-

DOLL TEARSHEET	What says your grace?

FALSTAFF	His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.

	[Knocking within]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

	[Enter PETO]

PRINCE HENRY	Peto, how now! what news?

PETO	The king your father is at Westminster:
	And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
	Come from the north: and, as I came along,
	I met and overtook a dozen captains,
	Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
	And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY, 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!

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

	How now! what's the matter?

BARDOLPH	You must away to court, sir, presently;
	A dozen captains stay at door for you.

FALSTAFF	[To the Page]  Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell,
	hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches,
	how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver
	may sleep, when the man of action is called on.
	Farewell good wenches: if I be not sent away post,
	I will see you again ere I go.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I cannot speak; if my heart be not read to burst,--
	well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

FALSTAFF	Farewell, farewell.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What's the matter?

BARDOLPH	[Within]  Good Mistress Tearsheet, come to my master.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come.

	[She comes blubbered]

	Yea, will you come, Doll?

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE I	Westminster. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV in his nightgown, with a Page]

KING HENRY IV	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 thousand 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 hush'd 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 deafening 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 HENRY IV	Is it good morrow, lords?

WARWICK	'Tis one o'clock, and past.

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	O God! that one might read the book of fate,
	And see the revolution of the times
	Make mountains level, and the continent,
	Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
	Into the sea! and, other times, to see
	The beachy girdle of the ocean
	Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
	And changes fill the cup of alteration
	With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
	The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
	What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
	Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
	'Tis not 'ten years gone
	Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
	Did feast together, and in two years after
	Were they at wars: it is but eight years since
	This Percy was the man nearest my soul,
	Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
	And laid his love and life under my foot,
	Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
	Gave him defiance. But which of you was by--
	You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember--

	[To WARWICK]

	When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears,
	Then cheque'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 nature 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, which in their seeds
	And weak beginnings 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 HENRY IV	                  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 fear'd. 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 HENRY IV	I will take your counsel:
	And were these inward wars once out of hand,
	We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE II	Gloucestershire. Before 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, sir; 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 nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is
	become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

SILENCE	Indeed, sir, to my cost.

SHALLOW	A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. I was
	once of Clement's Inn, where I think they will
	talk of mad Shallow yet.

SILENCE	You were called 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.

SHALLOW	By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would
	have done any thing 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
	Skogan's head at the court-gate, when a' was a
	crack not thus high: and the very same day did I
	fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer,
	behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I
	have spent! and to see how many of my old
	acquaintance are dead!

SILENCE	We shall all follow, cousin.

SHADOW	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! a' drew a good bow; and dead! a'
	shot a fine shoot: John a Gaunt loved him well, and
	betted much money on his head. Dead! a' would have
	clapped i' the 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]

BARDOLPH	Good morrow, honest gentlemen: 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 me, sir; I have heard the word. Phrase call
	you it? by this good day, I know not the phrase;
	but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a
	soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good
	command, by heaven. Accommodated; that is, when a
	man is, as they say, accommodated; or when a man is,
	being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated;
	which is an excellent thing.

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:
	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't 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 the 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 down, 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'ld
	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' the 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 wilt
	have away thy cold; and I will take such order that
	my 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 the 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 watch-word was 'Hem boys!'
	Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner:
	Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and Justices]

BULLCALF	Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend;
	and here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns
	for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be
	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
	any thing 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 is
	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; thou'rt a good fellow.

FEEBLE	Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF and the Justices]

FALSTAFF	Come, sir, which men shall I have?

SHALLOW	Four of which you please.

BARDOLPH	Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to free
	Mouldy and Bullcalf.

FALSTAFF	Go to; well.

SHALLOW	Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

FALSTAFF	Do you choose for me.

SHALLOW	Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble and Shadow.

FALSTAFF	Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home
	till you are past service: and for your part,
	Bullcalf, grow 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 thewes, the stature,
	bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the
	spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a
	ragged appearance it is; a' shall charge you and
	discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's
	hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets
	on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-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; thus, thus, thus.

FALSTAFF	Come, manage me your caliver. So: very well: go
	to: very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a
	little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot. Well said, i'
	faith, Wart; thou'rt a good scab: hold, there's a
	tester for thee.

SHALLOW	He is not his craft's master; he doth not do it
	right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at
	Clement's Inn--I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's
	show,--there was a little quiver fellow, and a'
	would manage you his piece thus; and a' would about
	and about, and come you in and come you in: 'rah,
	tah, tah,' would a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and
	away again would a' go, and again would a' come: I
	shall ne'er see such a fellow.

FALSTAFF	These fellows will do well, Master Shallow. God
	keep you, Master Silence: I will not use many words
	with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank
	you: I must a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give
	the soldiers coats.

SHALLOW	Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your
	affairs! God send us peace! At your return visit
	our house; let our old acquaintance be renewed;
	peradventure I will with ye to the court.

FALSTAFF	'Fore God, 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 a'
	was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked
	radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it
	with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that his
	dimensions to any thick sight were invincible: a'
	was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a
	monkey, and the whores called him mandrake: a' came
	ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those
	tunes to the overscutched huswives that he heard the
	carmen whistle, and swear they were his fancies or
	his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger
	become a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a
	Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and
	I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the
	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 it shall
	go hard but I will 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE I	Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, LORD
	HASTINGS, and others]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	What is this forest call'd?

HASTINGS	'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your grace.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth
	To know the numbers of our enemies.

HASTINGS	We have sent forth already.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	'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 melting 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.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

	[Enter WESTMORELAND]

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 OF YORK	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 maintained,
	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 do you so ill translate ourself
	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 trumpet and a point of war?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 the 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	When ever yet was your appeal denied?
	Wherein have you been galled by the king?
	What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,
	That you should seal this lawless bloody book
	Of forged rebellion with a seal divine
	And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 remember'd 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 Harry 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 sparking 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 gentlemen:
	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, every thing set off
	That might so much as think you enemies.

MOWBRAY	But he hath forced 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 heart 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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	'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.

	[Re-enter WESTMORELAND]

WESTMORELAND	The prince is here at hand: pleaseth your lordship
	To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies.

MOWBRAY	Your grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we come.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE II	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards
	the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, 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 abrooch
	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 the 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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 well please them. Hie thee, captain.

	[Exit Officer]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	Against ill chances men are ever merry;
	But heaviness foreruns the good event.

WESTMORELAND	Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
	Serves to say thus, 'some good thing comes
	to-morrow.'

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 OF YORK	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 OF YORK	Go, good Lord Hastings,
	And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.

	[Exit HASTINGS]

LANCASTER	I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.

	[Re-enter WESTMORELAND]

	Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?

WESTMORELAND	The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
	Will not go off until they hear you speak.

LANCASTER	They know their duties.

	[Re-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 capitol treason I attach you both.

MOWBRAY	Is this proceeding just and honourable?

WESTMORELAND	Is your assembly so?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	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 scatter'd stray:
	God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
	Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
	Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



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
	indifference, 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 every thing 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 cheque 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.

	[Re-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 curdy
	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 extreme:
	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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV, the Princes Thomas of CLARENCE
	and Humphrey of GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others]

KING HENRY IV	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 every thing 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 HENRY IV	                  Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
	Where is the prince your brother?

GLOUCESTER	I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

KING HENRY IV	And how accompanied?

GLOUCESTER	I do not know, my lord.

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	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 thou perceive his blood inclined to mirth;
	But, being moody, give him line and scope,
	Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
	Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
	And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
	A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
	That the united vessel of their blood,
	Mingled with venom of suggestion--
	As, force perforce, the age will pour it in--
	Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
	As aconitum or rash gunpowder.

CLARENCE	I shall observe him with all care and love.

KING HENRY IV	Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

CLARENCE	He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

KING HENRY IV	And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?

CLARENCE	With Poins, and other his continual followers.

KING HENRY IV	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 the 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 look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd,
	Your highness knows, comes to no further use
	But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
	The prince will in the perfectness of time
	Cast off his followers; and their memory
	Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
	By which his grace must mete the lives of others,
	Turning past evils to advantages.

KING HENRY IV	'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 unsheath'd
	But peace puts forth her olive every where.
	The manner how this action hath been borne
	Here at more leisure may your highness read,
	With every course in his particular.

KING HENRY IV	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 sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
	The manner and true order of the fight
	This packet, please it you, contains at large.

KING HENRY IV	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:
	The 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 HENRY IV	I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
	Into some other chamber: softly, pray.




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE V	Another chamber.


	[KING HENRY IV lying on a bed: CLARENCE,
	GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance]

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	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 HENRY	Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

CLARENCE	I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

PRINCE HENRY	How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!
	How doth the king?

GLOUCESTER	Exceeding ill.

PRINCE HENRY	                  Heard he the good news yet?
	Tell it him.

GLOUCESTER	He alter'd much upon the hearing it.

PRINCE HENRY	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 HENRY	No; I will sit and watch here by the king.

	[Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY]

	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 scalds 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 as thy place and blood,
	Derives itself to me. Lo, here 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 HENRY IV	Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

	[Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest]

CLARENCE	Doth the king call?

WARWICK	What would your majesty? How fares your grace?

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	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 HENRY IV	Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?

WARWICK	When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

KING HENRY IV	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, culling 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
	Yield his engrossments to the ending father.

	[Re-enter WARWICK]

	Now, where is he that will not stay so long
	Till his friend sickness hath determined me?

WARWICK	My lord, I found the prince in the next room,
	Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
	With such a deep demeanor 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 HENRY IV	But wherefore did he take away the crown?

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY]

	Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
	Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

	[Exeunt WARWICK and the rest]

PRINCE HENRY	I never thought to hear you speak again.

KING HENRY IV	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 o'erwhelm 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 lovedst me not,
	And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
	Thou hidest 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 licence 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 HENRY	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 the 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 medicine 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 HENRY IV	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 bitter 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 see'st with peril I have answered;
	For all my reign hath been but as a scene
	Acting that argument: and now my death
	Changes the mode; 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 HENRY	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]

KING HENRY IV	Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.

LANCASTER	Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!

KING HENRY IV	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 HENRY	My Lord of Warwick!

	[Enter WARWICK, and others]

KING HENRY IV	Doth any name particular belong
	Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?

WARWICK	'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.

KING HENRY IV	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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE I	Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house.


	[Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and Page]

SHALLOW	By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night.
	What, Davy, I say!

FALSTAFF	You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.

SHALLOW	I will not excuse you; you shall not be 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 headland with wheat?

SHALLOW	With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook: are
	there no young pigeons?

DAVY	Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing
	and plough-irons.

SHALLOW	Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused.

DAVY	Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must need be
	had: and, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's
	wages, about the sack he lost the other day at
	Hinckley fair?

SHALLOW	A' shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple
	of short-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' the
	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 of the 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 a' shall laugh without intervallums. O,
	it is much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest
	with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never
	had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him
	laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!

SHALLOW	[Within]  Sir John!

FALSTAFF	I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE II	Westminster. The palace.


	[Enter WARWICK and the Lord Chief-Justice, meeting]

WARWICK	How now, my lord chief-justice! whither away?

Lord Chief-Justice	How doth the king?

WARWICK	Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.

Lord Chief-Justice	I hope, not dead.

WARWICK	He's walk'd the way of nature;
	And to our purposes he lives no more.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	I know he doth not, and do arm myself
	To welcome the condition of the time,
	Which cannot look more hideously upon me
	Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.

	[Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,
	WESTMORELAND, and others]

WARWICK	Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry:
	O that the living Harry had the temper
	Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen!
	How many nobles then should hold their places
	That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!

Lord Chief-Justice	O God, I fear all will be overturn'd!

LANCASTER	Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.


GLOUCESTER	|
	|  Good morrow, cousin.
CLARENCE	|


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.

Lord 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour,
	Led by the 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 V, attended]

Lord Chief-Justice	Good morrow; and God save your majesty!

KING HENRY V	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 other from your majesty.

KING HENRY V	You all look strangely on me: and you most;
	You are, I think, assured I love you not.

Lord Chief-Justice	I am assured, if I be measured rightly,
	Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

KING HENRY V	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
	The immediate heir of England! Was this easy?
	May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten?

Lord 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 judgment;
	Whereon, as an offender to your father,
	I gave bold way to my authority
	And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
	Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
	To have a son set your decrees at nought,
	To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
	To trip the course of law and blunt the sword
	That guards the peace and safety of your person;
	Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image
	And mock your workings in a second body.
	Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
	Be now the father and propose a son,
	Hear your own dignity so much 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 HENRY V	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
	The 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



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 my 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
	Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,

	[Singing]

	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	Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;

	[Singing]

	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.

	[Re-enter DAVY]

DAVY	There's a dish of leather-coats for you.

	[To BARDOLPH]

SHALLOW	Davy!

DAVY	Your worship! I'll be with you straight.

	[To BARDOLPH]

	A cup of wine, sir?

SILENCE	A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,

	[Singing]

	And drink unto the leman mine;
	And a merry heart lives long-a.

FALSTAFF	Well said, Master Silence.

SILENCE	An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' the night.

FALSTAFF	Health and long life to you, Master Silence.

SILENCE	Fill the cup, and let it come;

	[Singing]

	I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.

SHALLOW	Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest any
	thing, 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 cavaleros about London.

DAVY	I hove 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. A' will not
	out; he is 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	Why, now you have done me right.

	[To SILENCE, seeing him take off a bumper]

SILENCE	[Singing]

	Do me right,
	And dub me knight: Samingo.
	Is't not so?

FALSTAFF	'Tis so.

SILENCE	Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.

	[Re-enter DAVY]

DAVY	An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come
	from the court with news.

FALSTAFF	From the court! let him come in.

	[Enter PISTOL]

	How now, Pistol!

PISTOL	Sir John, God save you!

FALSTAFF	What wind blew you hither, Pistol?

PISTOL	Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet
	knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.

SILENCE	By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman Puff of Barson.

PISTOL	Puff!
	Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
	Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
	And helter-skelter have I rode to thee,
	And tidings do I bring and lucky joys
	And golden times and happy news of price.

FALSTAFF	I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.

PISTOL	A 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	And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John.

	[Singing]

PISTOL	Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
	And shall good news be baffled?
	Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.

SILENCE	Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.

PISTOL	Why then, lament therefore.

SHALLOW	Give me pardon, sir: if, sir, you come with news
	from the court, I take it there's but two ways,
	either to utter them, or to 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]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE IV	London. A street.


	[Enter Beadles, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY
	and DOLL TEARSHEET]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 TEARSHEET	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.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	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 TEARSHEET	I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I
	will have you as soundly swinged for this,--you
	blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished correctioner,
	if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.

First Beadle	Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O God, that right should thus overcome might!
	Well, of sufferance comes ease.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Goodman death, goodman bones!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Thou atomy, thou!

DOLL TEARSHEET	Come, you thin thing; come you rascal.

First Beadle	Very well.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



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]

	[Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL,
	BARDOLPH, and Page]

FALSTAFF	Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will
	make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him as
	a' comes by; and do but mark the countenance that he
	will give me.

PISTOL	God bless thy lungs, good knight.

FALSTAFF	Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. 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, and the trumpets sound]

PISTOL	There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.

	[Enter KING HENRY V 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 HENRY IV	My lord chief-justice, speak to that vain man.

Lord Chief-Justice	Have you your wits? know you what 'tis to speak?

FALSTAFF	My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!

KING HENRY IV	I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers;
	How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
	I have long dream'd 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 evil:
	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 HENRY V, &c]

FALSTAFF	Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.

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 well perceive how, unless you should give
	me your doublet and stuff me out with straw. I
	beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred
	of my thousand.

FALSTAFF	Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you
	heard was but a colour.

SHALLOW	A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.

FALSTAFF	Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: come,
	Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph: I shall be sent
	for soon at night.

	[Re-enter Prince John of LANCASTER, the Lord
	Chief-Justice; Officers with them]

Lord Chief-Justice	Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet:
	Take all his company along with him.

FALSTAFF	My lord, my lord,--

Lord Chief-Justice	I cannot now speak: I will hear you soon.
	Take them away.

PISTOL	Si fortune me tormenta, spero 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.

Lord Chief-Justice	And so they are.

LANCASTER	The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord.

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 beard a bird so sing,
	Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
	Come, will you hence?

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV

	EPILOGUE


	[Spoken by a Dancer]

	First my fear; then my courtesy; last my speech.
	My fear is, your displeasure; my courtesy, 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
	any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat,
	unless already a' be killed with your hard
	opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is
	not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are
	too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down
	before you; but, indeed, to pray for the queen.
	2 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Sixth	(KING HENRY VI:)

HUMPHREY	Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. (GLOUCESTER:)

CARDINAL BEAUFORT	Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King.
	(CARDINAL:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	|
	|  his sons
RICHARD	|


DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

YOUNG CLIFFORD	his son.

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

LORD SCALES	(SCALES:)

LORD SAY	(SAY:)

SIR HUMPHREY
STAFFORD	(SIR HUMPHREY:)

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Sir Humphrey Stafford's brother.

SIR JOHN STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

VAUX:

MATTHEW GOFFE:

	A Sea-captain, (Captain:)  Master, and Master's-Mate.

WALTER WHITMORE:

	Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)


JOHN HUME (HUME:)	|
	|  priests.
JOHN SOUTHWELL	|


BOLINGBROKE	a conjurer.

THOMAS HORNER	an armourer. (HORNER:)

PETER	Thomas Horner's man.

	Clerk of Chatham. (Clerk:)

	Mayor of Saint Alban's. (Mayor:)

SIMPCOX	an impostor.

ALEXANDER IDEN	a Kentish gentleman. (IDEN:)

JACK CADE	a rebel. (CADE:)


GEORGE BEVIS	(BEVIS:)	|
		|
JOHN HOLLAND	(HOLLAND:)	|
		|
DICK the butcher	(DICK:)	|
		|  followers of Cade.
SMITH the weaver	(SMITH:)	|
		|
MICHAEL	(MICHAEL:)	|
		|
&c.		|


	Two Murderers
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)

QUEEN MARGARET	Queen to King Henry.

ELEANOR	Duchess of Gloucester. (DUCHESS:)

MARGARET JOURDAIN	a witch.

	Wife to Simpcox  (Wife:)

	Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. Petitioners,
	Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
	Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
	Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
	(First Neighbour:)
	(Second Neighbour:)
	(Third Neighbour:)
	(First Petitioner:)
	(Second Petitioner:)
	(Herald:)
	(Beadle:)
	(Sheriff:)
	(Servant:)
	(Soldier:)
	(Townsman:)
	(First 'Prentice:)
	(Second 'Prentice:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)

	A Spirit. (Spirit:)



SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING
	HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and
	CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK,
	YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other]

SUFFOLK	As by your high imperial majesty
	I had in charge at my depart for France,
	As procurator to your excellence,
	To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
	So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
	In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
	The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
	Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
	I have perform'd my task and was 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 VI	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 alder-liefest sovereign,
	Makes me the bolder to salute my king
	With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
	And over-joy of heart doth minister.

KING HENRY VI	Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
	Her words y-clad 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 VI	Uncle, how now!

GLOUCESTER	       Pardon me, gracious lord;
	Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
	And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

KING HENRY VI	Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

CARDINAL	[Reads]  'Item, It is further agreed between them,
	that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
	released and delivered over to the king her father,
	and she sent over of the King of England's own
	proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'

KING HENRY VI	They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
	We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
	And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
	We here discharge your grace from being regent
	I' the 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 the great favour done,
	In entertainment to my princely queen.
	Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
	To see her coronation be perform'd.

	[Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, 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 conquer'd France,
	Undoing all, as all had never been!

CARDINAL	Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
	This peroration with such circumstance?
	For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

GLOUCESTER	Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
	But now it is impossible we should:
	Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
	Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
	Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
	Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

SALISBURY	Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
	These counties were the keys of Normandy.
	But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

WARWICK	For grief that they are past recovery:
	For, were there hope to conquer them again,
	My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
	Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
	Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
	And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
	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 stayed 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 hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

CARDINAL	This weighty business will not brook delay:
	I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

	[Exit]

SOMERSET	Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
	And greatness of his place be grief to us,
	Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:
	His insolence is more intolerable
	Than all the princes in the land beside:
	If Gloucester be 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' the church,
	As stout and proud as he were lord of all,
	Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
	Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
	Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,
	Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,
	Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
	Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:
	And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
	In bringing them to civil discipline,
	Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,
	When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
	Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:
	Join we together, for the public good,
	In what we can, to bridle and suppress
	The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,
	With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
	And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds,
	While they do tend the profit of the land.

WARWICK	So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
	And common profit of his country!

YORK	[Aside]  And so says York, 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 courtezans,
	Still revelling like lords till all be gone;
	While as the silly owner of the goods
	Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
	And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,
	While all is 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 bargain'd for and sold.
	Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland
	Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
	As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd
	Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
	Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!
	Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
	Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
	A day will come when York shall claim his own;
	And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts
	And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,
	And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
	For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
	Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
	Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
	Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
	Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.
	Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:
	Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,
	To pry into the secrets of the state;
	Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
	With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,
	And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
	Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
	With whose sweet smell the air shall be 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 pull'd fair England down.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	GLOUCESTER'S house.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS]

DUCHESS	Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
	Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
	Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
	As frowning at the favours of the world?
	Why are thine eyes 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 thought, when I imagine ill
	Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
	Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
	My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS	What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
	With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

GLOUCESTER	Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,
	Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,
	But, as I think, it was by the 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.

DUCHESS	Tut, this was nothing but an argument
	That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove
	Shall lose his head for his presumption.
	But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
	Methought I sat in seat of majesty
	In the cathedral church of Westminster,
	And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
	Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me
	And on my head did set the diadem.

GLOUCESTER	Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
	Presumptuous dame, ill-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!

DUCHESS	What, what, my lord! are you so choleric
	With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
	Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
	And not be cheque'd.

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 Alban's,
	Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.

GLOUCESTER	I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

DUCHESS	Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger]

	Follow I must; I cannot go before,
	While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.
	Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
	I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks
	And smooth my way upon their headless necks;
	And, being a woman, I will not be slack
	To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
	Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,
	We are alone; here's none but thee and I.

	[Enter HUME]

HUME	Jesus preserve your royal majesty!

DUCHESS	What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace.

HUME	But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
	Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

DUCHESS	What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
	With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,
	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 under-ground,
	That shall make answer to such questions
	As by your grace shall be propounded him.

DUCHESS	It is enough; I'll think upon the questions:
	When from St. Alban's 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 buz 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 it stands; and thus, I fear, at last
	Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,
	And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
	Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	The palace.


	[Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the
	Armourer's man, being one]

First Petitioner	My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector
	will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver
	our supplications in the quill.

Second Petitioner	Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man!
	Jesu bless him!

	[Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET]

PETER	Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him.
	I'll be the first, sure.

Second Petitioner	Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and
	not my lord protector.

SUFFOLK	How now, fellow! would'st anything with me?

First 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?

First Petitioner	Mine is, an't please your grace, against John
	Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my
	house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.

SUFFOLK	Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's
	yours? What's here!

	[Reads]

	'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the
	commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!

Second Petitioner	Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

PETER	[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 supplication]

	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 a tilt in honour of my love
	And stolest 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 Nevils:
	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 KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER,
	CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,
	WARWICK, and the DUCHESS]

KING HENRY VI	For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
	Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.

YORK	If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
	Then let him be denay'd the regentship.

SOMERSET	If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
	Let York be regent; I will yield to him.

WARWICK	Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,
	Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

CARDINAL	Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

WARWICK	The cardinal's not my better in the field.

BUCKINGHAM	All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

WARWICK	Warwick may live to be the best of all.

SALISBURY	Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,
	Why Somerset should be 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 wreck;
	The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
	And all the peers and nobles of the realm
	Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

CARDINAL	The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
	Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

SOMERSET	Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire
	Have cost a mass of public treasury.

BUCKINGHAM	Thy cruelty in execution
	Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,
	And left thee to the mercy of the law.

QUEEN MARGARET	They 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. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan]

	Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?

	[She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]

	I cry you mercy, madam; was it you?

DUCHESS	Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:
	Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
	I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

KING HENRY VI	Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.

DUCHESS	Against her will! good king, look to't in time;
	She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
	Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
	She shall not strike Dame Eleanor 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]

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Now, lords, my choler being over-blown
	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, famish'd, and lost.

WARWICK	That can I witness; and a fouler fact
	Did never traitor in the land commit.

SUFFOLK	Peace, headstrong Warwick!

WARWICK	Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

	[Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man
	PETER, guarded]

SUFFOLK	Because here is a man accused of treason:
	Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!

YORK	Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

KING HENRY VI	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 a usurper.

KING HENRY VI	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 rigor 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 VI	Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

GLOUCESTER	This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
	Let Somerset be regent over the French,
	Because in York this breeds suspicion:
	And let these have a day appointed them
	For single combat in convenient place,
	For he hath witness of his servant's malice:
	This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.

SOMERSET	I humbly thank your royal majesty.

HORNER	And I accept the combat willingly.

PETER	Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity
	my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O
	Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to
	fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.

KING HENRY VI	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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV	GLOUCESTER's garden.


	[Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, 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 the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following]

DUCHESS	Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this
	gear the sooner the better.

BOLINGBROKE	Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
	Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
	The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
	The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
	And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,
	That time best fits the work we have in hand.
	Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,
	We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.

	[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the
	circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te,
	&c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the
	Spirit riseth]

Spirit	Adsum.

MARGARET JOURDAIN	Asmath,
	By the eternal God, whose name and power
	Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
	For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spirit	Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!

BOLINGBROKE	'First of the king: what shall of him become?'

	[Reading out of a paper]

Spirit	The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
	But him outlive, and die a violent death.

	[As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]

BOLINGBROKE	'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'

Spirit	By water shall he die, and take his end.

BOLINGBROKE	'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'

Spirit	Let him shun castles;
	Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
	Than where castles mounted stand.
	Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

BOLINGBROKE	Descend to darkness and the burning lake!
	False fiend, avoid!

	[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit]

	[Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard
	and break in]

YORK	Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.
	Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
	What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
	Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:
	My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
	See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

DUCHESS	Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
	Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause.

BUCKINGHAM	True, madam, none at all: what call you this?
	Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close.
	And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.
	Stafford, take her to thee.

	[Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded]

	We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
	All, away!

	[Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, &c]

YORK	Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
	A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
	Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
	What have we here?

	[Reads]

	'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
	But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
	Why, this is just
	'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.'
	Well, to the rest:
	'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
	By water shall he die, and take his end.
	What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
	Let him shun castles;
	Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
	Than where castles mounted stand.'
	Come, come, my lords;
	These oracles are hardly attain'd,
	And hardly understood.
	The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
	With him the husband of this lovely lady:
	Thither go these news, as fast as horse can
	carry them:
	A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

BUCKINGHAM	Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
	To be the post, in hope of his reward.

YORK	At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within
	there, ho!

	[Enter a Servingman]

	Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
	To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I	Saint Alban's.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER,
	CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing]

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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 darest.

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 darest
	not peep: an if thou darest,
	This evening, on the east side of the grove.

KING HENRY VI	How now, my lords!

CARDINAL	       Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
	Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
	We had had more sport.

	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]

		 Come with thy two-hand sword.

GLOUCESTER	True, uncle.

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Are ye advised? the
	east side of the grove?

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CARDINAL]  Cardinal, I am with you.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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 Alban's, 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 VI	Now, God be praised, that to believing souls
	Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

	[Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's 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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	Where wert thou born?

SIMPCOX	At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

KING HENRY VI	Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:
	Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
	But still remember what the Lord hath done.

QUEEN MARGARET	Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,
	Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

SIMPCOX	God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
	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 camest thou so?

SIMPCOX	A fall off of a tree.

Wife	A plum-tree, master.

GLOUCESTER	How long hast thou been blind?

SIMPCOX	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 lovedst 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	Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?

SIMPCOX	Red, master; red as blood.

GLOUCESTER	Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?

SIMPCOX	Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.

KING HENRY VI	Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

SUFFOLK	And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

GLOUCESTER	But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.

Wife	Never, before this day, in all his life.

GLOUCESTER	Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

SIMPCOX	Alas, master, I know not.

GLOUCESTER	What's his name?

SIMPCOX	I know not.

GLOUCESTER	Nor his?

SIMPCOX	No, indeed, master.

GLOUCESTER	What's thine own name?

SIMPCOX	Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

GLOUCESTER	Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in
	Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou
	mightest 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 Alban's, 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 an Attendant]

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 VI	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, &c]

CARDINAL	Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.

SUFFOLK	True; made the lame to leap and fly away.

GLOUCESTER	But you have done more miracles than I;
	You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

KING HENRY VI	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 turn'd your weapon's edge;
	'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

GLOUCESTER	Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:
	Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
	And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
	Or to the meanest groom.

KING HENRY VI	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 dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name.

KING HENRY VI	Well, for this night we will repose us here:
	To-morrow toward London back again,
	To look into this business thoroughly
	And call these foul offenders to their answers
	And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
	Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II	London. 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 Nevils are thy subjects to command.

YORK	Then thus:
	Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:
	The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;
	The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,
	Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom
	Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
	The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
	The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
	William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
	Edward the Black Prince died before his father
	And left behind him Richard, his only son,
	Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king;
	Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
	The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
	Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
	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 murder'd traitorously.

WARWICK	Father, the duke hath told the truth:
	Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

YORK	Which now they hold by force and not by right;
	For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,
	The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

SALISBURY	But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

YORK	The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
	I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,
	Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:
	Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;
	Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

SALISBURY	This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
	As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
	And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
	Who kept him in captivity till he died.
	But to the rest.

YORK	       His eldest sister, Anne,
	My mother, being heir unto the crown
	Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was 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 Philippe,
	Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:
	So, if the issue of the elder son
	Succeed before the younger, I am king.

WARWICK	What plain 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 crown'd and that my sword be stain'd
	With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
	And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
	But with advice and silent secrecy.
	Do you as I do in these dangerous days:
	Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,
	At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
	At Buckingham and all the crew of them,
	Till they have 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, Nevil, this I do assure myself:
	Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
	The greatest man in England but the king.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	A hall of justice.


	[Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY;
	the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME,
	and BOLINGBROKE, under guard]

KING HENRY VI	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 burn'd to ashes,
	And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
	You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
	Despoiled of your honour in your life,
	Shall, after three days' open penance done,
	Live in your country here in banishment,
	With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.

DUCHESS	Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.

GLOUCESTER	Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:
	I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

	[Exeunt DUCHESS and 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 VI	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 banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
	This staff of honour raught, there let it stand
	Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

SUFFOLK	Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;
	Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

YORK	Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,
	This is the day appointed for the combat;
	And ready are the appellant and defendant,
	The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
	So please your highness to behold the fight.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
	Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

KING HENRY VI	O 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 this armourer, my lords.

	[Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his
	Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk;
	and he enters with a drum before him and his staff
	with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other
	door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and
	'Prentices drinking to him]

First Neighbour	Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of
	sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

Second Neighbour	And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.

Third Neighbour	And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour:
	drink, and fear not your man.

HORNER	Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and
	a fig for Peter!

First 'Prentice	Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.

Second 'Prentice	Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight
	for credit of the 'prentices.

PETER	I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray
	you; for I think I have taken my last draught in
	this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee
	my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:
	and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O
	Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to
	deal with my master, he hath learnt me 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!

	[Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down]

HORNER	Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.

	[Dies]

YORK	Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the
	good wine in thy master's way.

PETER	O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?
	O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

KING HENRY VI	Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
	For 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 murder'd wrongfully.
	Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

	[Sound a flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



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?

Servants	Ten, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	Ten is the hour that was appointed me
	To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
	Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
	To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
	Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
	The abject people gazing on thy face,
	With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
	That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
	When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
	But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
	My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

	[Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper
	burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff,
	and Officers]

Servant	So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

GLOUCESTER	No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

DUCHESS	Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
	Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
	See how the giddy multitude do point,
	And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
	Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
	And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
	And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!

GLOUCESTER	Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

DUCHESS	Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
	For whilst I think I am thy married wife
	And thou a prince, protector of this land,
	Methinks I should not thus be led along,
	Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
	And 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?
	Trow'st 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.
	Sometime 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 ask'd herein before!
	This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.

	[Exit Herald]

	My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,
	Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sheriff	An't please your grace, here my commission stays,
	And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
	To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

GLOUCESTER	Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

STANLEY	So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

GLOUCESTER	Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
	You use her well: the world may laugh again;
	And I may live to do you kindness if
	You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!

DUCHESS	What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!

GLOUCESTER	Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen]

DUCHESS	Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
	For none abides with me: my joy is death;
	Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
	Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
	Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;
	I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
	Only convey me where thou art commanded.

STANLEY	Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
	There to be used according to your state.

DUCHESS	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.

DUCHESS	Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
	Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sheriff	It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

DUCHESS	Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
	Come, Stanley, shall we go?

STANLEY	Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
	And go we to attire you for our journey.

DUCHESS	My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
	No, it will hang upon my richest robes
	And show itself, attire me how I can.
	Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's.


	[Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM,
	SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament]

KING HENRY VI	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 alter'd countenance?
	With what a majesty he bears himself,
	How insolent of late he is become,
	How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
	We know the time since he was mild and affable,
	And if we did but glance a far-off look,
	Immediately he was upon his knee,
	That all the court admired him for submission:
	But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
	When every one will give the time of day,
	He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,
	And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
	Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
	Small curs are not regarded when they grin;
	But great men tremble when the lion roars;
	And Humphrey is no little man in England.
	First note that he is near you in descent,
	And should you fall, he as the next will mount.
	Me seemeth then it is no policy,
	Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
	And his advantage following your decease,
	That he should come about your royal person
	Or be admitted to your highness' council.
	By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,
	And when he please to make commotion,
	'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
	Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
	Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden
	And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
	The reverent care I bear unto my lord
	Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
	If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
	Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
	I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.
	My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
	Reprove my allegation, if you can;
	Or else conclude my words effectual.

SUFFOLK	Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
	And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
	I think I should have told your grace's tale.
	The duchess, by his subornation,
	Upon my life, began her devilish practises:
	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 VI	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 wolf.
	Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
	Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
	Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

	[Enter SOMERSET]

SOMERSET	All health unto my gracious sovereign!

KING HENRY VI	Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?

SOMERSET	That all your interest in those territories
	Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

KING HENRY VI	Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!

YORK	[Aside]  Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
	As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
	Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
	And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
	But I will remedy this gear ere long,
	Or sell my title for a glorious grave.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	All happiness unto my lord the king!
	Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

SUFFOLK	Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,
	Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
	I do arrest thee of high treason here.

GLOUCESTER	Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush
	Nor change my countenance for this arrest:
	A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
	The purest spring is not so free from mud
	As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
	Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

YORK	'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
	And, being protector, 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 robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
	Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
	So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
	Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,
	That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
	Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
	Be brought against me at my trial-day!
	No; many a pound of mine own proper store,
	Because I would not tax the needy commons,
	Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
	And never ask'd for restitution.

CARDINAL	It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

GLOUCESTER	I say no more than truth, so help me God!

YORK	In your protectorship you did devise
	Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,
	That England was 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 VI	My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope
	That you will clear yourself from all suspect:
	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 unburthens with his tongue
	The envious load that lies upon his heart;
	And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
	Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
	By false accuse doth level at my life:
	And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
	Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
	And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
	My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
	Ay, all 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 traitors' rage
	Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
	And the offender granted scope of speech,
	'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

SUFFOLK	Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
	With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
	As if she had suborned some to swear
	False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

QUEEN MARGARET	But I can give the loser leave to chide.

GLOUCESTER	Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;
	Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
	And well such losers may have leave to speak.

BUCKINGHAM	He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day:
	Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

CARDINAL	Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

GLOUCESTER	Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch
	Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
	Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
	And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
	Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
	For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

	[Exit, guarded]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
	Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
	My body round engirt with misery,
	For what's more miserable than discontent?
	Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
	The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
	And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
	That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
	What louring star now envies thy estate,
	That these great lords and Margaret our queen
	Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
	Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;
	And as the butcher takes away the calf
	And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
	Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
	Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;
	And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
	Looking the way her harmless young one went,
	And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,
	Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
	With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
	Look after him and cannot do him good,
	So mighty are his vowed enemies.
	His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan
	Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'

	[Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL,
	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 roll'd in a flowering bank,
	With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child
	That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
	Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--
	And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--
	This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,
	To rid us of the fear we have of him.

CARDINAL	That he should die is worthy policy;
	But yet we want a colour for his death:
	'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

SUFFOLK	But, in my mind, that were no policy:
	The king will labour still to save his life,
	The commons haply rise, to save his life;
	And yet we have but trivial argument,
	More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

YORK	So that, by this, you would not have him die.

SUFFOLK	Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

YORK	'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
	But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
	Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,
	Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
	To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
	As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

QUEEN 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 stain'd 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 succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,
	Before the wound do grow uncurable;
	For, being green, there is great hope of help.

CARDINAL	A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
	What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

YORK	That Somerset be sent as regent thither:
	'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;
	Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

SOMERSET	If York, with all his far-fet policy,
	Had been the regent there instead of me,
	He never would have stay'd in France so long.

YORK	No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
	I rather would have lost my life betimes
	Than bring a burthen of dishonour home
	By staying there so long till all were lost.
	Show me one scar character'd 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 nought? nay, then, a shame take all!

SOMERSET	And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!

CARDINAL	My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
	The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
	And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
	To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
	Collected choicely, from each county some,
	And try your hap against the Irishmen?

YORK	I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

SUFFOLK	Why, our authority is his consent,
	And what we do establish he confirms:
	Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

YORK	I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
	Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

SUFFOLK	A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
	But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

CARDINAL	No more of him; for I will deal with him
	That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
	And so break off; the day is almost spent:
	Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

YORK	My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
	At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
	For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

SUFFOLK	I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.

	[Exeunt all but YORK]

YORK	Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
	And change misdoubt to resolution:
	Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
	Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:
	Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
	And find no harbour in a royal heart.
	Faster than spring-time 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, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting
	your hearts.
	'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
	I take it kindly; and 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-quill'd 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-hair'd crafty kern,
	Hath he conversed with the enemy,
	And undiscover'd come to me again
	And given me notice of their villanies.
	This devil here shall be my substitute;
	For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
	In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
	By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
	How they affect the house and claim of York.
	Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
	I know no pain they can inflict upon him
	Will make him say I 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 sow'd;
	For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
	And Henry put apart, the next for me.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state.


	[Enter certain Murderers, hastily]

First Murderer	Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
	We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

Second Murderer	O that it were to do! What have we done?
	Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

	[Enter SUFFOLK]

First Murder	Here comes my lord.

SUFFOLK	Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

First Murderer	Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

SUFFOLK	Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
	I will reward you for this venturous deed.
	The king and all the peers are here at hand.
	Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
	According as I gave directions?

First Murderer	'Tis, my good lord.

SUFFOLK	Away! be gone.

	[Exeunt Murderers]

	[Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
	Say we intend to try his grace to-day.
	If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

SUFFOLK	I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY VI	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 practise 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 VI	I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.

	[Re-enter SUFFOLK]

	How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
	Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK	Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN MARGARET	Marry, God forfend!

CARDINAL	God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night
	The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

	[KING HENRY VI 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 VI	O heavenly God!

QUEEN MARGARET	How fares my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK	Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

KING HENRY VI	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 sugar'd words;
	Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
	Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
	Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
	Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
	Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
	Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
	Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
	And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
	For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
	In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.

QUEEN 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 fill'd with my reproach.
	This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!
	To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

KING HENRY VI	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 wreck'd upon the sea
	And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
	Drove back again unto my native clime?
	What boded this, but well forewarning wind
	Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
	Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?
	What did I then, but 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 drown'd on shore,
	With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:
	The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands
	And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
	Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
	Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
	As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
	When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
	I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
	And when the dusky sky began to rob
	My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
	I took a costly jewel from my neck,
	A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,
	And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,
	And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
	And even with this I lost fair England's view
	And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart
	And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
	For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
	How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
	The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
	To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
	When he to madding Dido would unfold
	His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!
	Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
	Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!
	For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

	[Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons]

WARWICK	It is reported, mighty sovereign,
	That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
	By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
	The commons, like an angry hive of bees
	That want their leader, scatter up and down
	And care not who they sting in his revenge.
	Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
	Until they hear the order of his death.

KING HENRY VI	That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
	But how he died God knows, not Henry:
	Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
	And comment then upon his sudden death.

WARWICK	That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
	With the rude multitude till I return.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY VI	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 earthly image,
	What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

	[Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing
	GLOUCESTER'S body on a bed]

WARWICK	Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

KING HENRY VI	That is to see how deep my grave is made;
	For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
	For seeing him I see my life in death.

WARWICK	As surely as my soul intends to live
	With that dread King that took our state upon him
	To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
	I do believe that violent hands were laid
	Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

SUFFOLK	A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
	What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

WARWICK	See how the blood is settled in his face.
	Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
	Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,
	Being all descended to the labouring heart;
	Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
	Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
	Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
	To blush and beautify the cheek again.
	But see, his face is black and full of blood,
	His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
	Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
	His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;
	His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
	And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:
	Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;
	His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
	Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
	It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
	The least of all these signs were probable.

SUFFOLK	Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
	Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
	And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

WARWICK	But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,
	And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
	'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;
	And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

QUEEN 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 term'd a kite? Where are his talons?

SUFFOLK	I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
	But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
	That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
	That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
	Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,
	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 demeanor!
	If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
	Thy mother took into her blameful bed
	Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
	Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
	And never of the Nevils' noble race.

WARWICK	But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
	And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
	Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
	And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
	I would, false 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 was born in bastardy;
	And after all this fearful homage done,
	Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
	Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

SUFFOLK	Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,
	If from this presence thou darest 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 VI	What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
	Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
	And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel
	Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

	[A noise within]

QUEEN MARGARET	What noise is this?

	[Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their
	weapons drawn]

KING HENRY VI	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.

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 slily glided towards your majesty,
	It were but necessary you were waked,
	Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
	The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
	And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
	That they will guard you, whether you will or no,
	From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
	With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
	Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
	They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons	[Within]  An answer from the king, my
	Lord of Salisbury!

SUFFOLK	'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
	Could send such message to their sovereign:
	But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
	To show how quaint an orator you are:
	But all the honour Salisbury hath won
	Is, that he was the lord ambassador
	Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

Commons	[Within]  An answer from the king, or we will all break in!

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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 MARGARET 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!
	Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

SUFFOLK	A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
	Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
	I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
	As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,
	Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
	With full as many signs of deadly hate,
	As lean-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 burthen'd heart would break,
	Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
	Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
	Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
	Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!
	Their softest touch as smart as lizards' sting!
	Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
	And boding screech-owls make the concert 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 turn the force of them upon thyself.

SUFFOLK	You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
	Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
	Well could I curse away a winter's night,
	Though standing naked on a mountain top,
	Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
	And think it but a minute spent in sport.

QUEEN 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 woful 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 condemn'd
	Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,
	Loather a hundred times to part than die.
	Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

SUFFOLK	Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;
	Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
	'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;
	A wilderness is populous enough,
	So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
	For where thou art, there is the world itself,
	With every several pleasure in the world,
	And where thou art not, desolation.
	I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;
	Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.

	[Enter VAUX]

QUEEN MARGARET	Wither 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.
	Sometimes 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 wheresoe'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, lock'd into the wofull'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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	A bedchamber.


	[Enter the KING, SALISBURY, WARWICK, to the
	CARDINAL in bed]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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, whether 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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
	Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
	And let us all to meditation.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	The coast of Kent.


	[Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a
	Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE,
	and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners]

Captain	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 discolour'd shore.
	Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
	And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
	The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

First Gentleman	What is my ransom, master? let me know.

Master	A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Master's-Mate	And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Captain	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!

First Gentleman	I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

Second Gentleman	And so will I and write home for it straight.

WHITMORE	I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
	And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

	[To SUFFOLK]

	And so should these, if I might have my will.

Captain	Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.

SUFFOLK	Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
	Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

WHITMORE	And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
	How now! why start'st thou? what, doth
	death affright?

SUFFOLK	Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
	A cunning man did calculate my birth
	And told me that by water I should die:
	Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
	Thy name is 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 proclaim'd a coward through the world!

SUFFOLK	Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
	The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

WHITMORE	The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

SUFFOLK	Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
	Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?

Captain	But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

SUFFOLK	Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
	The honourable blood of Lancaster,
	Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
	Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?
	Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
	And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
	How often hast thou waited at my cup,
	Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board.
	When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
	Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n,
	Ay, and allay this 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?

Captain	First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

SUFFOLK	Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.

Captain	Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
	Strike off his head.

SUFFOLK	Thou darest not, for thy own.

Captain	Yes, Pole.

SUFFOLK	       Pole!

Captain	         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 kiss'd 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 Nevils all,
	Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
	As hating thee, are rising up in arms:
	And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
	By shameful murder of a guiltless king
	And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,
	Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
	Advance our half-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.

Captain	Walter,--

WHITMORE	Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

SUFFOLK	Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.

WHITMORE	Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
	What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

First Gentleman	My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

SUFFOLK	Suffolk's imperial tongue is 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 uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
	True nobility is exempt from fear:
	More can I bear than you dare execute.

Captain	Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

SUFFOLK	Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
	That this my death may never be forgot!
	Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
	A Roman sworder and banditto slave
	Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
	Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders
	Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.

	[Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk]

Captain	And as for these whose ransom we have set,
	It is our pleasure one of them depart;
	Therefore come you with us and let him go.

	[Exeunt all but the First Gentleman]

	[Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body]

WHITMORE	There let his head and lifeless body lie,
	Until the queen his mistress bury it.

	[Exit]

First Gentleman	O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
	His body will I bear unto the king:
	If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
	So will the queen, that living held him dear.

	[Exit with the body]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



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 handicrafts-men.

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]

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, notable 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 borne, under a hedge, for his
	father had never a house but the cage.

CADE	Valiant I am.

SMITH	[Aside]  A' must needs; for beggary is valiant.

CADE	I am able to endure much.

DICK	[Aside]  No question of that; for I have seen him
	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' the 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 forward the Clerk of Chatham]

SMITH	The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and
	cast accompt.

CADE	O monstrous!

SMITH	We took him setting of boys' copies.

CADE	Here's a villain!

SMITH	Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.

CADE	Nay, then, he is a conjurer.

DICK	Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand.

CADE	I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine
	honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.
	Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?

Clerk	Emmanuel.

DICK	They use to write it on the top of letters: 'twill
	go hard with you.

CADE	Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or
	hast thou a mark to thyself, like an 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
	ink-horn 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 a'?

MICHAEL	No.

CADE	To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.

	[Kneels]

	Rise up Sir John Mortimer.

	[Rises]

	Now have at him!

	[Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with
	drum and soldiers]

SIR HUMPHREY	Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
	Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;
	Home to your cottages, forsake this groom:
	The king is merciful, if you revolt.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	But angry, wrathful, and 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.

SIR HUMPHREY	Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
	And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?

CADE	And Adam was a gardener.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	And what of that?

CADE	Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
	Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?

SIR HUMPHREY	Ay, sir.

CADE	By her he had two children at one birth.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	That's false.

CADE	Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis true:
	The elder of them, being put to nurse,
	Was by a beggar-woman 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.

SIR HUMPHREY	And will you credit this base drudge's words,
	That speaks he knows not what?

ALL	Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.

CADE	[Aside]  He lies, for I invented it myself.
	Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his
	father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys
	went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content
	he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.

DICK	And furthermore, well have the Lord Say'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 Say
	hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch:
	and more than that, he can speak French; and
	therefore he is a traitor.

SIR HUMPHREY	O gross and miserable ignorance!

CADE	Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are our
	enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that
	speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good
	counsellor, or no?

ALL	No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
	Assail them with the army of the king.

SIR HUMPHREY	Herald, away; and throughout every town
	Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
	That those which fly before the battle ends
	May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
	Be hang'd up for example at their doors:
	And you that be the king's friends, follow me.

	[Exeunt WILLIAM STAFFORD and SIR HUMPHREY, 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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III	Another part of Blackheath.


	[Alarums to the fight, wherein SIR HUMPHREY and
	WILLIAM STAFFORD are slain. Enter CADE and the rest]

CADE	Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

DICK	Here, sir.

CADE	They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou
	behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own
	slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,
	the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou
	shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking
	one.

DICK	I desire no more.

CADE	And, to speak truth, thou 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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI with a supplication, and the
	QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head, BUCKINGHAM and Lord SAY]

QUEEN MARGARET	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 VI	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	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 VI	Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.

SAY	Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.

KING HENRY VI	How now, madam!
	Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?
	I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,
	Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.

QUEEN MARGARET	No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.

	[Enter a Messenger]

KING HENRY VI	How now! what news? why comest 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 VI	O graceless men! they know not what they do.

BUCKINGHAM	My gracious lord, return 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 VI	Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
	Therefore away with us to Killingworth.

SAY	So might your grace's person be in danger.
	The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
	And therefore in this city will I stay
	And live alone as secret as I may.

	[Enter another Messenger]

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 VI	Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succor us.

QUEEN MARGARET	My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.

KING HENRY VI	Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels.

BUCKINGHAM	Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.

SAY	The trust I have is in mine innocence,
	And therefore am I bold and resolute.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	London. The Tower.


	[Enter SCALES upon the Tower, walking.
	Then enter two or three Citizens below]

SCALES	How now! is Jack Cade slain?

First Citizen	No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have
	won the bridge, killing all those that withstand
	them: the lord mayor craves aid of your honour from
	the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.

SCALES	Such aid as I can spare you shall command;
	But I am troubled here with them myself;
	The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
	But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
	And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;
	Fight for your king, your country and your lives;
	And so, farewell, for I must hence again.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	London. Cannon Street.


	[Enter CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on
	London-stone]

CADE	Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
	upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
	city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but
	claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
	henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
	me other than Lord Mortimer.

	[Enter a Soldier, running]

Soldier	Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

CADE	Knock him down there.

	[They kill him]

SMITH	If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack
	Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.

DICK	My lord, there's an army gathered together in
	Smithfield.

CADE	Come, then, let's go fight with them; but first, go
	and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn
	down the Tower too. Come, let's away.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	London. Smithfield.


	[Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest.
	Then enter CADE, with his company.

CADE	So, sirs: now go some and pull down the Savoy;
	others to the 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 Say,
	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 BEVIS, with Lord SAY]

CADE	Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah,
	thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! now
	art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction
	regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for
	giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the
	dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these
	presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I
	am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such
	filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously
	corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a
	grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers
	had no other books but the score and the tally, thou
	hast caused printing to be 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 in a foot-cloth, dost thou not?

SAY	What of that?

CADE	Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a
	cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose
	and doublets.

DICK	And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example,
	that am a butcher.

SAY	You men of Kent,--

DICK	What say you of Kent?

SAY	Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'

CADE	Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.

SAY	Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
	Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,
	Is term'd the civil'st place of 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,
	But to maintain the king, the realm and you?
	Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
	Because my book preferr'd me to the king,
	And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
	Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,
	Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
	You cannot but forbear to murder me:
	This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
	For your behoof,--

CADE	Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?

SAY	Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck
	Those that I never saw and struck them dead.

BEVIS	O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?

SAY	These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.

CADE	Give him a box o' the ear and that will make 'em red again.

SAY	Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
	Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

CADE	Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the help of hatchet.

DICK	Why dost thou quiver, man?

SAY	The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.

CADE	Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I'll be even
	with you: I'll see if his head will stand steadier
	on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.

SAY	Tell me wherein have I offended most?
	Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.
	Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
	Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
	Whom have I 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 o'
	God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike
	off his head presently; and then break into his
	son-in-law's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off
	his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.

ALL	It shall be done.

SAY	Ah, countrymen! if when you make your 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 SAY]

	The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
	on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there
	shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me
	her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of
	me in capite; and we charge and command that their
	wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.

DICK	My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up
	commodities upon our bills?

CADE	Marry, presently.

ALL	O, brave!

	[Re-enter one with the heads]

CADE	But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another,
	for they 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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



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 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 offer'd you;
	Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?
	Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,
	Fling up his cap, and say 'God save his majesty!'
	Who hateth him and honours not his father,
	Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
	Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.

ALL	God save the king! God save the king!

CADE	What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And
	you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you
	needs be 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 burthens, 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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IX	Kenilworth Castle.


	[Sound Trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and SOMERSET, on the terrace]

KING HENRY VI	Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne,
	And could command no more content than I?
	No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
	But I was made a king, at nine months old.
	Was never subject long'd to be a king
	As I do long and wish to be a subject.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD]

BUCKINGHAM	Health and glad tidings to your majesty!

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
	To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!
	Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,
	And show'd how well you love your prince and country:
	Continue still in this so good a mind,
	And Henry, though he be infortunate,
	Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
	And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
	I do dismiss you to your several countries.

ALL	God save the king! God save the king!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Please it your grace to be advertised
	The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,
	And with a puissant and a mighty power
	Of gallowglasses and stout kerns
	Is marching hitherward in proud array,
	And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
	His arms are only to remove from thee
	The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.

KING HENRY VI	Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd.
	Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest,
	Is straightway calm'd 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'll commit thee thither,
	Until his army be dismiss'd from him.

SOMERSET	My lord,
	I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
	Or unto death, to do my country good.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
	For yet may England curse my wretched reign.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE X	Kent. IDEN's garden.


	[Enter CADE]

CADE	Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword,
	and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I
	hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for
	all the country is laid for me; but now am I so
	hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a
	thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore,
	on a brick wall have I 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 brainpan 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]

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 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 famish'd man.
	Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,
	See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:
	Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
	Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,
	Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
	My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
	And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
	Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
	As for words, whose greatness answers words,
	Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

CADE	By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I
	heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out
	the burly-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. 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'll 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 hollow 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]




	2 KING HENRY VI


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 know not how to rule;
	This hand was made to handle naught but gold.
	I cannot give due action to my words,
	Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
	A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
	On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

	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 a while,
	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 to-morrow in St. George's field,
	You shall have pay and every thing you wish.
	And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
	Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
	As pledges of my fealty and love;
	I'll send them all as willing as I live:
	Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing 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 HENRY VI and Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

IDEN	Alexander Iden, that's my name;
	A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

BUCKINGHAM	So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
	He were created knight for his good service.

KING HENRY VI	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 MARGARET and SOMERSET]

KING HENRY VI	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-imprison'd 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 darest 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-besotted 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 CLIFFORD and YOUNG CLIFFORD]

QUEEN MARGARET	And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.

CLIFFORD	Health and all happiness to my lord the king!

	[Kneels]

YORK	I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?
	Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;
	We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
	For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

CLIFFORD	This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
	But thou mistakest me much to think I do:
	To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

KING HENRY VI	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 WARWICK and SALISBURY]

CLIFFORD	Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death.
	And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
	If thou darest 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 suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
	Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried:
	And such a piece of service will you do,
	If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.

CLIFFORD	Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
	As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

YORK	Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

CLIFFORD	Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.

KING HENRY VI	Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
	Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
	Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!
	What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
	And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
	O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
	If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
	Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?
	Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
	And shame thine honourable age with blood?
	Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
	Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
	For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me
	That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

SALISBURY	My lord, I have consider'd 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 VI	Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

SALISBURY	I have.

KING HENRY VI	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 custom'd 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 VI	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 to-day;
	And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
	Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

WARWICK	Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
	The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
	This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
	As on a mountain top the cedar shows
	That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,
	Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

CLIFFORD	And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear
	And tread it under foot with all contempt,
	Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.

YOUNG CLIFFORD	And so to arms, victorious father,
	To quell the rebels and their complices.

RICHARD	Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
	For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

YOUNG CLIFFORD	Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.

RICHARD	If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

	[Exeunt severally]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	Saint Alban's.


	[Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK	Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls:
	And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
	Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
	And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
	Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:
	Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
	Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

	[Enter YORK]

	How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot?

YORK	The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,
	But match to match I have encounter'd him
	And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
	Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

	[Enter CLIFFORD]

WARWICK	Of one or both of us the time is come.

YORK	Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
	For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

WARWICK	Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
	As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
	It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

	[Exit]

CLIFFORD	What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

YORK	With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
	But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

CLIFFORD	Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
	But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.

YORK	So let it help me now against thy sword
	As I in justice and true right express it.

CLIFFORD	My soul and body on the action both!

YORK	A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

	[They fight, and CLIFFORD falls]

CLIFFORD	La fin couronne les oeuvres.

	[Dies]

YORK	Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
	Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!

	[Exit]

	[Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD	Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;
	Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
	Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
	Whom angry heavens do make their minister
	Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
	Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
	He that is truly dedicate to war
	Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself
	Hath not essentially but by circumstance
	The name of valour.

	[Seeing 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 ordain'd, dear father,
	To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
	The silver livery of advised age,
	And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus
	To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
	My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
	It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
	No more will I their babes: tears virginal
	Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
	And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
	Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
	Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
	Meet I an infant of the house of York,
	Into as many gobbets will I cut it
	As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
	In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
	Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:
	As did AEneas old Anchises bear,
	So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
	But then AEneas bare a living load,
	Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

	[Exit, 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 Alban's, 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 HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and others]

QUEEN MARGARET	Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!

KING HENRY VI	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 stopp'd.

	[Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD	But that my heart's on future mischief set,
	I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:
	But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
	Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
	Away, for your relief! and we will live
	To see their day and them our fortune give:
	Away, my lord, away!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Fields near St. Alban's.


	[Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK,
	and Soldiers, with drum and colours]

YORK	Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
	That winter lion, who in rage forgets
	Aged contusions and all brush of time,
	And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
	Repairs him with occasion? This happy day
	Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
	If Salisbury be lost.

RICHARD	My noble father,
	Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
	Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
	Persuaded him from any further act:
	But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
	And like rich hangings in a homely house,
	So was his will in his old feeble body.
	But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

	[Enter SALISBURY]

SALISBURY	Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;
	By the 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 to-day
	You have defended me from imminent death.
	Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:
	'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
	Being opposites of such repairing nature.

YORK	I know our safety is to follow them;
	For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
	To call a present court of parliament.
	Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
	What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?

WARWICK	After them! nay, before them, if we can.
	Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
	Saint Alban's 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]
	3 KING HENRY VI
	
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Sixth.

EDWARD,
PRINCE OF WALES	his son. (PRINCE EDWARD:)

KING LEWIS XI	King of France. (KING LEWIS XI:)

DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF EXETER	(EXETER:)

EARL OF OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	(EDWARD:) Earl of March,	|
	afterwards King Edward IV.	|
	(KING EDWARD IV:)		|
			|
EDMUND	Earl of Rutland, (RUTLAND:)	|
			|  his sons.
GEORGE	(GEORGE:)  afterwards Duke of	|
	Clarence  (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	(RICHARD:) afterwards Duke of	|
	Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)	|


DUKE OF NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

MARQUESS OF
MONTAGUE	(MONTAGUE:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STAFFORD	(STAFFORD:)


SIR JOHN MORTIMER	(JOHN MORTIMER:)	|
		|  uncles to the Duke of York.
SIR HUGH MORTIMER	(HUGH MORTIMER:)	|


HENRY	Earl of Richmond, a youth (HENRY OF RICHMOND:).

LORD RIVERS	brother to Lady Grey. (RIVERS:)

SIR
WILLIAM STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

SIR
JOHN MONTGOMERY	(MONTGOMERY:)

SIR
JOHN SOMERVILLE	(SOMERVILLE:)

	Tutor to Rutland. (Tutor:)

	Mayor of York. (Mayor:)

	Lieutenant of the Tower. (Lieutenant:)

	A Nobleman. (Nobleman:)

	Two Keepers.
	(First Keeper:)
	(Second Keeper:)

	A Huntsman. (Huntsman:)

	A Son that has killed his father. (Son:)

	A Father that has killed his son. (Father:)

QUEEN MARGARET:

LADY GREY	afterwards Queen to Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

BONA	sister to the French Queen.

	Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c.
	(Soldier:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)
	(First Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)
	(Third Watchman:)


SCENE	England and France.




ACT I



SCENE I	London. The Parliament-house.


	[Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK,
	MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

WARWICK	I wonder how the king escaped our hands.

YORK	While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
	He slily stole away and left his men:
	Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
	Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
	Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
	Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
	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 dangerously;
	I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
	That this is true, father, behold his blood.

MONTAGUE	And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
	Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

RICHARD	Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.

	[Throwing down SOMERSET's head]

YORK	Richard hath best 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.

	[They go up]

WARWICK	And when the king comes, offer no violence,
	Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

YORK	The queen this day here holds her parliament,
	But little thinks we shall be of her council:
	By words or blows here let us win our right.

RICHARD	Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

WARWICK	The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
	Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
	And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
	Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

YORK	Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
	I mean to take possession of my right.

WARWICK	Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
	The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
	Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
	I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:
	Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.

	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD,
	NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest]

KING HENRY VI	My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
	Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
	Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
	To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
	Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
	And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
	On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.

NORTHUMBERLAND	If I be not, heavens be 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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
	To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
	Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
	Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
	Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
	and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
	I am thy sovereign.

YORK	I am thine.

EXETER	For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.

YORK	'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

EXETER	Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

WARWICK	Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
	In following this usurping Henry.

CLIFFORD	Whom should he follow but his natural king?

WARWICK	True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.

KING HENRY VI	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
	March'd through the city to the palace gates.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
	And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

WESTMORELAND	Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
	Thy kinsman 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 VI	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 VI	The lord protector lost it, and not I:
	When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.

RICHARD	You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
	Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

EDWARD	Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

MONTAGUE	Good brother, as thou lovest 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 VI	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 VI	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 VI	Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

YORK	'Twas by rebellion against his king.

KING HENRY VI	[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 VI	An if he may, then am I lawful king;
	For Richard, in the view of many lords,
	Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
	Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

YORK	He rose against him, being his sovereign,
	And made him to resign his crown perforce.

WARWICK	Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
	Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

EXETER	No; for he could not so resign his crown
	But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	[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 VI	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 VI	My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:
	Let me for this my life-time reign as king.

YORK	Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
	And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.

KING HENRY VI	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 abandon'd and despised!

	[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND]

WARWICK	Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

EXETER	They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.

KING HENRY VI	Ah, Exeter!

WARWICK	          Why should you sigh, my lord?

KING HENRY VI	Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,
	Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
	But be it as it may: 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.

WARWICK	Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.

KING HENRY VI	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, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD,
	WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and
	Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD]

EXETER	Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:
	I'll steal away.

KING HENRY VI	                  Exeter, so will I.

QUEEN MARGARET	Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

KING HENRY VI	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 nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
	Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
	Rather than have 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 VI	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 toss'd me on their pikes
	Before I would have granted to that act.
	But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
	And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
	Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
	Until that act of parliament be repeal'd
	Whereby my son is disinherited.
	The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours
	Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
	And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace
	And utter ruin of the house of York.
	Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;
	Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.

KING HENRY VI	Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

KING HENRY VI	Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, to be murder'd 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 PRINCE EDWARD]

KING HENRY VI	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	Sandal Castle.


	[Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, 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 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 finger 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 employ'd, what resteth more,
	But that I seek occasion how to rise,
	And yet the king not privy to my drift,
	Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

	[Enter a Messenger]

	But, stay: what news? Why comest 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 JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER]

	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.

JOHN MORTIMER	She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.

YORK	What, with five thousand men?

RICHARD	Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:
	A woman's general; what should we fear?

	[A march afar off]

EDWARD	I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
	And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

YORK	Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
	I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
	Many a battle have I won in France,
	When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
	Why should I not now have the like success?

	[Alarum. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield.


	[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 threatening 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 stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

RUTLAND	Then let my father's blood open it again:
	He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD	Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine
	Were not revenge sufficient for me;
	No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
	And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
	It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
	The sight of any of the house of York
	Is as a fury to torment my soul;
	And till I root out their accursed line
	And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
	Therefore--

	[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.

	[Stabs him]

RUTLAND	Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

	[Dies]

CLIFFORD	Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
	And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
	Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
	Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

	[Exit]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter 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 demean'd themselves
	Like men born to renown by life or death.
	Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
	And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!'
	And full as oft came Edward to my side,
	With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
	In blood of those that had encounter'd 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 bodged 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 number'd that make up my life;
	Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,
	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, show'd unto my father.
	Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
	And made an evening at the noontide prick.

YORK	My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
	A bird that will revenge upon you all:
	And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
	Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
	Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

CLIFFORD	So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
	So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
	So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
	Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

YORK	O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
	And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
	And, if though 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	So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
	So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What would your grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET	Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
	Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
	That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
	Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
	What! was it you that would be England's king?
	Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
	And made a preachment of your high descent?
	Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
	The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
	And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
	Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
	Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
	Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
	Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
	That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
	Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
	And if thine eyes can water for his death,
	I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
	Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
	I should lament thy miserable state.
	I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
	What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
	That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
	Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
	And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
	Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
	Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
	York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
	A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
	Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

	[Putting a paper crown on his head]

	Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
	Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
	And this is he was his adopted heir.
	But how is it that great Plantagenet
	Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
	As I bethink me, you should not be king
	Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
	And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
	And rob his temples of the diadem,
	Now in his life, against your holy oath?
	O, 'tis a fault too too 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; lets 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 camest, 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 wonder'd 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 wrapt 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.
	Bids't 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 cheque my eyes from tears.

YORK	That face of his the hungry cannibals
	Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
	But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
	O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
	See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
	This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
	And I with tears do wash the blood away.
	Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
	And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
	Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
	Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
	And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'
	There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
	And in thy need such comfort come to thee
	As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
	Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
	My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

NORTHUMBERLAND	Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
	I should not for my life but weep with him.
	To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

QUEEN MARGARET	What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
	Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
	And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

CLIFFORD	Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

	[Stabbing him]


QUEEN MARGARET	And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

	[Stabbing him]

YORK	Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
	My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

	[Dies]

QUEEN MARGARET	Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
	So York may overlook the town of York.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I	A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.


	[A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power]

EDWARD	I wonder how our princely father '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 watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
	Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
	As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
	Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
	Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
	The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
	So fared our father with his enemies;
	So fled his enemies my warlike father:
	Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
	See how the morning opes her golden gates,
	And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
	How well resembles it the prime of youth,
	Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

EDWARD	Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

RICHARD	Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
	Not separated with the racking clouds,
	But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
	See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
	As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
	Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
	In this the heaven figures some event.

EDWARD	'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
	I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
	That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
	Each one already blazing by our meeds,
	Should notwithstanding join our lights together
	And over-shine 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]

	But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
	Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Messenger	Ah, one that was a woful 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 enter'd Troy.
	But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
	And many strokes, though with a little axe,
	Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
	By many hands your father was subdued;
	But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
	Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
	Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,
	Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
	The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
	A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
	Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
	And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
	They took his head, and on the gates of York
	They set the same; and there it doth remain,
	The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

EDWARD	Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
	Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
	O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain
	The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
	And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
	For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
	Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
	Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
	Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
	For never henceforth shall I joy again,
	Never, O never shall I see more joy!

RICHARD	 I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
	Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
	Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great 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, 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 three dearly as his soul's redemption,
	Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

WARWICK	Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
	And now, to add more measure to your woes,
	I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.
	After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
	Where your brave father 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,
	Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
	And very well appointed, as I thought,
	March'd toward Saint Alban's 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 Alban's met
	Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
	But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
	Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
	That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
	Or whether 'twas report of her success;
	Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
	Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
	I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,
	Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
	Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight,
	Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
	Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
	I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
	With promise of high pay and great rewards:
	But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
	And we in them no hope to win the day;
	So that we fled; the king unto the queen;
	Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
	In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you:
	For in the marches here we heard you were,
	Making another head to fight again.

EDWARD	Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
	And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK	Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
	And for your brother, he was lately sent
	From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
	With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

RICHARD	'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
	Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
	But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK	Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
	For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
	Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
	And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
	Were he as famous and as bold in war
	As he is 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 more proud birds,
	Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
	He swore consent to your succession,
	His oath enrolled in the parliament;
	And now to London all the crew are gone,
	To frustrate both his oath and what beside
	May make against the house of Lancaster.
	Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
	Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,
	With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
	Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
	Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
	Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
	And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
	And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'
	But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD	Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:
	Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
	That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.

EDWARD	Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
	And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--
	Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!

WARWICK	No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
	The next degree is England's royal throne;
	For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
	In every borough as we pass along;
	And he that throws not up his cap for joy
	Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
	King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
	Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
	But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

RICHARD	Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
	As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
	I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

EDWARD	Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us!

	[Enter a Messenger]

WARWICK	How now! what news?

Messenger	The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
	The queen is coming with a puissant host;
	And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK	Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II	Before York.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET,
	PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with
	drum and trumpets]

QUEEN MARGARET	Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
	Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy
	That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
	Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY VI	Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
	To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
	Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
	Nor wittingly have I 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 doth 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 climb'd unto their nest,
	Offer 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 his 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 VI	Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
	Inferring arguments of mighty force.
	But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
	That things ill-got had ever bad success?
	And happy always was it for that son
	Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
	I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
	And would my father had left me no more!
	For all the rest is held at such a rate
	As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
	Than in possession and 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 VI	Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
	And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE	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 VI	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 kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD	Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD	For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK	What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET	Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak?
	When you and I met at Saint Alban's 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 VI	Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET	Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

KING HENRY VI	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 to-day,
	That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

WARWICK	If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
	For York in justice puts his armour on.

PRINCE EDWARD	If that be right which Warwick says is right,
	There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

RICHARD	Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
	For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

QUEEN MARGARET	But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
	But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,
	Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
	As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

RICHARD	Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
	Whose father bears the title of a king,--
	As if a channel should be call'd the sea,--
	Shamest 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 wrong'd
	By that false woman, as this king by thee.
	His father revell'd in the heart of France,
	And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop;
	And had he match'd according to his state,
	He might have kept that glory to this day;
	But when he took a beggar to his bed,
	And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day,
	Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
	That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
	And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
	For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?
	Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
	And we, in pity of the gentle king,
	Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

GEORGE	But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
	And that thy summer bred us no increase,
	We set the axe to thy usurping root;
	And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
	Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
	We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,
	Or 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in
	Yorkshire.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK	Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
	I lay me down a little while to breathe;
	For strokes received, and many blows repaid,
	Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
	And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.

	[Enter EDWARD, running]

EDWARD	Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
	For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

WARWICK	How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

	[Enter GEORGE]

GEORGE	Our hap is 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,
	Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
	And in the very pangs of death he cried,
	Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,
	'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'
	So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
	That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
	The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

WARWICK	Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
	I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
	Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
	Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
	And look upon, as if the tragedy
	Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
	Here on my knee I vow to God above,
	I'll never pause again, never stand still,
	Till either death hath 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 they 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD]

RICHARD	Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
	Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
	And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
	Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD	Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
	This is the hand that stabb'd 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone]

KING HENRY VI	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 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 bring 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,
	Pass'd over to the end they were created,
	Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
	Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
	Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
	To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
	Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
	To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
	O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
	And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
	His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.
	His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
	All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
	Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
	His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
	His body couched in a curious bed,
	When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

	[Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father,
	dragging 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 kill'd.
	O heavy times, begetting such events!
	From London by the king was I press'd forth;
	My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
	Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
	And I, who at his hands received my life, him
	Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
	Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!
	And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
	My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
	And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.

KING HENRY VI	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 that has killed his son, bringing in the body]

Father	Thou that so stoutly hast 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 words, 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 VI	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 VI	How will the country for these woful chances
	Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

Son	Was ever son so rued a father's death?

Father	Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
	Here sits a king more woful than you are.

	[Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE
	EDWARD, 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 grasp'd in their ireful hands,
	Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

EXETER	Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
	Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
	Or else come after: I'll away before.

KING HENRY VI	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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



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 commixture 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 Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
	Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
	And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
	Or as thy father and his father did,
	Giving no ground unto the house of York,
	They never then had sprung like summer flies;
	I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
	Had left no mourning widows for our death;
	And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
	For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
	And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
	Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
	No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
	The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
	For at their hands I have 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 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

	[He faints]

	[Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,
	MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

EDWARD	Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
	And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
	Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,
	That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
	As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
	Command an argosy to 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 mark'd him for the grave:
	And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

	[CLIFFORD groans, and dies]

EDWARD	Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

RICHARD	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 lopp'd 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.

WARWICK	I think his understanding is bereft.
	Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
	Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
	And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.

RICHARD	O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
	'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
	Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
	Which in the time of death he gave our father.

GEORGE	If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.

RICHARD	Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

EDWARD	Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

WARWICK	Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

GEORGE	While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

RICHARD	Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

EDWARD	Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee.

GEORGE	Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

WARWICK	They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.

RICHARD	What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
	When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
	I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,
	If this right hand would buy two hour's life,
	That I in all despite might rail at him,
	This hand should chop it off, and with the
	issuing blood
	Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
	York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

WARWICK	Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head,
	And rear it in the place your father's stands.
	And now to London with triumphant march,
	There to be crowned England's royal king:
	From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
	And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:
	So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
	And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
	The scatter'd 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	A forest in the north of England.


	[Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands]

First Keeper	Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;
	For through this laund anon the deer will come;
	And in this covert will we make our stand,
	Culling the principal of all the deer.

Second Keeper	I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

First Keeper	That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
	Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
	Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
	And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
	I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
	In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

Second Keeper	Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

	[Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook]

KING HENRY VI	From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
	To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
	No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
	Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
	Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
	No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
	No humble suitors press to speak for right,
	No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
	For how can I help them, and not myself?

First Keeper	Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
	This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

KING HENRY VI	Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
	For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Second Keeper	Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

First Keeper	Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

KING HENRY VI	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 battery 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 install'd;
	That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
	Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
	Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
	And in conclusion wins the king from her,
	With promise of his sister, and what else,
	To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
	O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
	Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!

Second Keeper	Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

KING HENRY VI	More than I seem, and less than I was born to:
	A man at least, for less I should not be;
	And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Second Keeper	Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

KING HENRY VI	Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper	But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

KING HENRY VI	My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
	Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
	Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
	A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Second Keeper	Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
	Your crown content and you must be contented
	To go along with us; for as we think,
	You are the king King Edward hath deposed;
	And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance
	Will apprehend you as his enemy.

KING HENRY VI	But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper	No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

KING HENRY VI	Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper	Here in this country, where we now remain.

KING HENRY VI	I was anointed king at nine months old;
	My father and my grandfather were kings,
	And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
	And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

First Keeper	No;
	For we were subjects but while you were king.

KING HENRY VI	Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
	Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
	Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
	And as the air blows it to me again,
	Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
	And yielding to another when it blows,
	Commanded always by the greater gust;
	Such is the lightness of you common men.
	But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
	My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
	Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
	And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.

First Keeper	We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.

KING HENRY VI	So would you be again to Henry,
	If he were seated as King Edward is.

First Keeper	We charge you, in God's name, and the king's,
	To go with us unto the officers.

KING HENRY VI	In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:
	And what God will, that let your king perform;
	And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and
	LADY GREY]

KING EDWARD IV	Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field
	This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
	His lands 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.

GLOUCESTER	Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;
	It were dishonour to deny it her.

KING EDWARD IV	It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Yea, is it so?
	I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
	Before the king will grant her humble suit.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He knows the game: how true
	he keeps the wind!

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Silence!

KING EDWARD IV	Widow, we will consider of your suit;
	And come some other time to know our mind.

LADY GREY	Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
	May it please your highness to resolve me now;
	And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, widow? then I'll warrant
	you all your lands,
	An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.
	Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I fear her not, unless she
	chance to fall.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll
	take vantages.

KING EDWARD IV	How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I think he means to beg a
	child of her.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Nay, whip me then: he'll rather
	give her two.

LADY GREY	Three, my most gracious lord.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  You shall have four, if you'll
	be ruled by him.

KING EDWARD IV	'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

LADY GREY	Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

KING EDWARD IV	Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, good leave have you; for
	you will have leave,
	Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.

	[GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire]

KING EDWARD IV	Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

LADY GREY	Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

KING EDWARD IV	And would you not do much to do them good?

LADY GREY	To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

KING EDWARD IV	Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

LADY GREY	Therefore I came unto your majesty.

KING EDWARD IV	I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

LADY GREY	So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

KING EDWARD IV	What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

LADY GREY	What you command, that rests in me to do.

KING EDWARD IV	But you will take exceptions to my boon.

LADY GREY	No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

LADY GREY	Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  He plies her hard; and much rain
	wears the marble.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  As red as fire! nay, then
	her wax must melt.

LADY GREY	Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?

KING EDWARD IV	An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.

LADY GREY	That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

KING EDWARD IV	Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

LADY GREY	I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The match is made; she seals it
	with a curtsy.

KING EDWARD IV	But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

LADY GREY	The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
	What love, think'st 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 IV	No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

LADY GREY	Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

LADY GREY	To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	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 IV	Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request;
	No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand.

LADY GREY	Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The widow likes him not, she
	knits her brows.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He is the bluntest wooer in
	Christendom.

KING EDWARD IV	[Aside]  Her looks do argue her replete with modesty;
	Her words do 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 IV	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 IV	You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.

LADY GREY	'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

KING EDWARD IV	No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
	Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
	And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
	Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
	To be the father unto many sons.
	Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The ghostly father now hath done
	his shrift.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  When he was made a shriver,
	'twas for shift.

KING EDWARD IV	Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

GLOUCESTER	The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

KING EDWARD IV	You'll think it strange if I should marry her.

CLARENCE	To whom, my lord?

KING EDWARD IV	                  Why, Clarence, to myself.

GLOUCESTER	That would be ten days' wonder at the least.

CLARENCE	That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

GLOUCESTER	By so much is the wonder in extremes.

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
	And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
	To question of his apprehension.
	Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
	Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
	That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
	To cross me from the golden time I look for!
	And yet, between my soul's desire and me--
	The lustful Edward's title buried--
	Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
	And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
	To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
	A cold premeditation for my purpose!
	Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
	Like one that stands upon a promontory,
	And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
	Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
	And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
	Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:
	So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
	And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;
	And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,
	Flattering me with impossibilities.
	My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
	Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
	Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;
	What other pleasure can the world afford?
	I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
	And deck my body in gay ornaments,
	And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
	O miserable thought! and more unlikely
	Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
	Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:
	And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
	She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,
	To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
	To make an envious mountain on my back,
	Where sits deformity to mock my body;
	To shape my legs of an unequal size;
	To disproportion me in every part,
	Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
	That carries no impression like the dam.
	And am I then a man to be beloved?
	O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
	Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
	But to command, to cheque, 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, to account this world but hell,
	Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears 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 rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
	Seeking a way and straying from the way;
	Not knowing how to find the open air,
	But toiling desperately to find it out,--
	Torment myself to catch the English crown:
	And from that torment I will free myself,
	Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
	Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
	And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,
	And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
	And frame my face to all occasions.
	I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;
	I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
	I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
	Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
	And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
	I can add colours to the chameleon,
	Change shapes with 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	France. KING LEWIS XI's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING LEWIS XI, his sister BONA,
	his Admiral, called BOURBON, PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and OXFORD. KING LEWIS XI sits, and
	riseth up again]

KING LEWIS XI	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 XI	Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

QUEEN MARGARET	From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
	And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

KING LEWIS XI	Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
	And sit thee by our side:

	[Seats her by him]

		    Yield not thy neck
	To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
	Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
	Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
	It shall be 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 banish'd 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 treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,
	And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

KING LEWIS XI	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 XI	The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee.

QUEEN MARGARET	O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
	And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!

	[Enter WARWICK]

KING LEWIS XI	What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

QUEEN MARGARET	Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

KING LEWIS XI	Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?

	[He descends. She ariseth]

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
	For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

WARWICK	From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
	My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
	I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,
	First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
	And then to crave a league of amity;
	And lastly, to confirm that amity
	With a 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 are 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 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 mellow'd years,
	When nature brought him to the door of death?
	No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
	This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

WARWICK	And I the house of York.

KING LEWIS XI	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 XI	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 XI	But is he gracious in the people's eye?

WARWICK	The more that Henry was unfortunate.

KING LEWIS XI	Then further, all dissembling set aside,
	Tell me for truth the measure of his love
	Unto our sister Bona.

WARWICK	Such it seems
	As may beseem a monarch like himself.
	Myself have often heard him say and swear
	That this his love was an eternal plant,
	Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
	The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
	Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
	Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

KING LEWIS XI	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 XI	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 XI	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, peace,
	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 blows a horn within]

KING LEWIS XI	Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

	[Enter a Post]

Post	[To WARWICK]  My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,
	Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague:

	[To KING LEWIS XI]

	These from our king unto your majesty:

	[To QUEEN MARGARET]

	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 XI	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 XI	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 the 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 the abuse done to my niece?
	Did I impale him with the regal crown?
	Did I put Henry from his native right?
	And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
	Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:
	And to repair my honour lost for him,
	I here renounce him and return to Henry.
	My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
	And henceforth I am thy true servitor:
	I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
	And replant Henry in his former state.

QUEEN MARGARET	Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
	And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
	And joy that thou becomest 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 succor 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 XI	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 XI	Then, England's messenger, return in post,
	And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
	That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
	To revel it with him and his new bride:
	Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.

BONA	Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
	I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

QUEEN MARGARET	Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,
	And I am ready to put armour on.

WARWICK	Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
	And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
	There's thy reward: be gone.

	[Exit Post]

KING LEWIS XI	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 XI	Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
	And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
	Shalt 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE]

GLOUCESTER	Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
	Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
	Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

CLARENCE	Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
	How could he stay till Warwick made return?

SOMERSET	My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.

GLOUCESTER	And his well-chosen bride.

CLARENCE	I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, attended; QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,
	That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

CLARENCE	As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick,
	Which are so weak of courage and in judgment
	That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

KING EDWARD IV	Suppose they take offence without a cause,
	They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
	Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

GLOUCESTER	And shall have your will, because our king:
	Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

KING EDWARD IV	Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

GLOUCESTER	Not I:
	No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
	Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity
	To sunder them that yoke so well together.

KING EDWARD IV	Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
	Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
	Should not become my wife and England's queen.
	And you too, Somerset and Montague,
	Speak freely what you think.

CLARENCE	Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis
	Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
	About the marriage of the Lady Bona.

GLOUCESTER	And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
	Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

KING EDWARD IV	What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased
	By such invention as I can devise?

MONTAGUE	Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance
	Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
	'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.

HASTINGS	Why, knows not Montague that of itself
	England is safe, if true within itself?

MONTAGUE	But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.

HASTINGS	'Tis better using France than trusting France:
	Let us be back'd with God and with the seas
	Which He hath given for fence impregnable,
	And with their helps only defend ourselves;
	In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

CLARENCE	For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
	To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
	And for this once my will shall stand for law.

GLOUCESTER	And yet methinks your grace hath not done well,
	To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
	Unto the brother of your loving bride;
	She better would have fitted me or Clarence:
	But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

CLARENCE	Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
	Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
	And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

KING EDWARD IV	Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
	That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

CLARENCE	In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment,
	Which being shallow, you give me leave
	To play the broker in mine own behalf;
	And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.

KING EDWARD IV	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 dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,
	Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

KING EDWARD IV	My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns:
	What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,
	So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
	And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
	Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
	Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;
	Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
	And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.

	[Enter a Post]

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	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 masquers
	To revel it with him and his new bride.'

KING EDWARD IV	Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.
	But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

Post	These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain:
	'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
	I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	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 IV	Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
	Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:
	They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
	But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Post	Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in
	friendship
	That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

CLARENCE	Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
	Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
	For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
	That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
	I may not prove inferior to yourself.
	You that love me and Warwick, follow me.

	[Exit CLARENCE, and SOMERSET follows]

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Not I:
	My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
	Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.

KING EDWARD IV	Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
	Yet am I arm'd 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 IV	Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

KING EDWARD IV	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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II	A plain in Warwickshire.


	[Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers]

WARWICK	Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
	The common people by numbers swarm to us.

	[Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET]

	But see where Somerset and Clarence come!
	Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

CLARENCE	Fear not that, my lord.

WARWICK	Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
	And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice
	To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
	Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
	Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
	Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
	But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
	And now what rests but, in night's coverture,
	Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
	His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
	And but attended by a simple guard,
	We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
	Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
	That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
	With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
	And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
	So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
	At unawares may beat down Edward's guard
	And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him,
	For I intend but only to surprise him.
	You that will follow me to this attempt,
	Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.

	[They all cry, 'Henry!']

	Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
	For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III	Edward's camp, near Warwick.


	[Enter three Watchmen, to guard KING EDWARD IV's tent]

First Watchman	Come on, my masters, each man take his stand:
	The king by this is set him down to sleep.

Second Watchman	What, will he not to bed?

First Watchman	Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
	Never to lie and take his natural rest
	Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.

Second Watchman	To-morrow then belike shall be the day,
	If Warwick be so near as men report.

Third Watchman	But say, I pray, what nobleman is that
	That with the king here resteth in his tent?

First Watchman	'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.

Third Watchman	O, is it so? But why commands the king
	That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
	While he himself keeps in the cold field?

Second Watchman	'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.

Third Watchman	Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
	I like it better than a dangerous honour.
	If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
	'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.

First Watchman	Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.

Second Watchman	Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
	But to defend his person from night-foes?

	[Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and
	French soldiers, silent all]

WARWICK	This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.
	Courage, my masters! honour now or never!
	But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

First Watchman	Who goes there?

Second Watchman	Stay, or thou diest!

	[WARWICK and the rest cry all, 'Warwick! Warwick!'
	and set upon the Guard, who fly, crying, 'Arm!
	arm!' WARWICK and the rest following them]

	[The drum playing and trumpet sounding, reenter
	WARWICK, SOMERSET, and the rest, bringing KING
	EDWARD IV out in his gown, sitting in a chair.
	RICHARD 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 IV	        The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,
	Thou call'dst me king.

WARWICK	Ay, but the case is alter'd:
	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 IV	Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too?
	Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.
	Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,
	Of thee thyself and all thy complices,
	Edward will always bear himself as king:
	Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
	My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.

WARWICK	Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king:

	[Takes off his crown]

	But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
	And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow.
	My Lord of Somerset, at my request,
	See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
	Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.
	When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
	I'll follow you, and tell what answer
	Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.
	Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.

	[They lead him out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV	What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
	It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

	[Exit, guarded]

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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS]

RIVERS	Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
	What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?

RIVERS	What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	No, but the loss of his own royal person.

RIVERS	Then is my sovereign slain?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,
	Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard
	Or by his foe 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 the English crown.

RIVERS	But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I am inform'd that he comes towards London,
	To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
	Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must down,
	But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,--
	For trust not him that hath once broken faith,--
	I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
	To save at least the heir of Edward's right:
	There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.
	Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:
	If Warwick take us we are sure to die.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	A park near Middleham Castle In Yorkshire.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and STANLEY]

GLOUCESTER	Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,
	Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
	Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
	Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother,
	Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
	He hath good usage and great liberty,
	And, often but attended with weak guard,
	Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
	I have advertised him by secret means
	That if about this hour he make his 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 IV and a Huntsman with him]

Huntsman	This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.

KING EDWARD IV	Nay, this way, man: see where the huntsmen stand.
	Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
	Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer?

GLOUCESTER	Brother, the time and case requireth haste:
	Your horse stands ready at the park-corner.

KING EDWARD IV	But whither shall we then?

HASTINGS	To Lynn, my lord,
	And ship from thence to Flanders.

GLOUCESTER	Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.

KING EDWARD IV	Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

GLOUCESTER	But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

KING EDWARD IV	Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?

Huntsman	Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.

GLOUCESTER	Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.

KING EDWARD IV	Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
	And pray that I may repossess the crown.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	London. The Tower.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLARENCE, WARWICK,
	SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, and
	Lieutenant of the Tower]

KING HENRY VI	Master lieutenant, now that God and friends
	Have shaken Edward from the regal seat,
	And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
	My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
	At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

Lieutenant	Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;
	But if an humble prayer may prevail,
	I then crave pardon of your majesty.

KING HENRY VI	For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
	Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,
	For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;
	Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
	Conceive when after many moody thoughts
	At last by notes of household harmony
	They quite forget their loss of liberty.
	But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
	And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;
	He was the author, thou the instrument.
	Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite
	By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me,
	And that the people of this blessed land
	May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars,
	Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
	I here resign my government to thee,
	For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

WARWICK	Your grace hath still been 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.

CLARENCE	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 VI	Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands:
	Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
	That no dissension hinder government:
	I make you both protectors of this land,
	While I myself will lead a private life
	And in devotion spend my latter days,
	To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.

WARWICK	What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?

CLARENCE	That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
	For on thy fortune I repose myself.

WARWICK	Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content:
	We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
	To Henry's body, and supply his place;
	I mean, in bearing weight of government,
	While he enjoys the honour and his ease.
	And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful
	Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor,
	And all his lands and goods be confiscate.

CLARENCE	What else? and that succession be determined.

WARWICK	Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

KING HENRY VI	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.

CLARENCE	It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI	Come hither, England's hope.

	[Lays his hand on his head]

		       If secret powers
	Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
	This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
	His looks are full of peaceful majesty,
	His head by nature 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 convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester
	And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
	In secret ambush on the forest side
	And from the bishop's huntsmen 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, HENRY OF 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	Before York.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
	HASTINGS, and Soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
	Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
	And says that once more I shall interchange
	My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
	Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas
	And brought desired help from Burgundy:
	What then remains, we being thus arrived
	From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,
	But that we enter, as into our dukedom?

GLOUCESTER	The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;
	For many men that stumble at the threshold
	Are well foretold that danger lurks within.

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	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 IV	Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,
	As being well content with that alone.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  But when the fox hath once got in his nose,
	He'll soon find means to make the body follow.

HASTINGS	Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
	Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.

Mayor	Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd.

	[They descend]

GLOUCESTER	A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!

HASTINGS	The good old man would fain that all were well,
	So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd,
	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 IV	So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut
	But in the night or in the time of war.
	What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;

	[Takes his keys]

	For Edward will defend the town and thee,
	And all those friends that deign to follow me.

	[March. Enter MONTGOMERY, with drum and soldiers]

GLOUCESTER	Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
	Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.

KING EDWARD IV	Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms?

MONTAGUE	To help King Edward in his time of storm,
	As every loyal subject ought to do.

KING EDWARD IV	Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget
	Our title to the crown and only claim
	Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.

MONTAGUE	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 IV	Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate
	By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.

MONTAGUE	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 succor you:
	Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?

GLOUCESTER	Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

KING EDWARD IV	When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
	Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

HASTINGS	Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.

GLOUCESTER	And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
	Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand:
	The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.

KING EDWARD IV	Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
	And Henry but usurps the diadem.

MONTAGUE	Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
	And now will I be Edward's champion.

HASTINGS	Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:
	Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.

	[Flourish]

Soldier	Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of
	England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c.

MONTAGUE	And whosoe'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 IV	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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VIII	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, WARWICK, MONTAGUE,
	CLARENCE, EXETER, and OXFORD]

WARWICK	What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
	With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
	Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,
	And with his troops doth march amain to London;
	And many giddy people flock to him.

KING HENRY VI	Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

CLARENCE	A little fire is quickly trodden out;
	Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

WARWICK	In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
	Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
	Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence,
	Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
	The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:
	Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
	Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find
	Men well 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 VI	Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.

CLARENCE	In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.

KING HENRY VI	Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!

MONTAGUE	Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.

OXFORD	And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

KING HENRY VI	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 VI and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	Here at the palace I will rest awhile.
	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 VI	That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:
	I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
	Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
	My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
	My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
	My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;
	I have not been desirous of their wealth,
	Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies.
	Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd:
	Then why should they love Edward more than me?
	No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
	And when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
	The lamb will never cease to follow him.

	[Shout within. 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']

EXETER	Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

	[Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	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 sha$l 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 VI]

	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.

GLOUCESTER	Away betimes, before his forces join,
	And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
	Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I	Coventry.


	[Enter WARWICK, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers,
	and others upon the walls]

WARWICK	Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?
	How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

First Messenger	By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

WARWICK	How far off is our brother Montague?
	Where is the post that came from Montague?

Second Messenger	By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

	[Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE]

WARWICK	Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
	And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?

SOMERSET	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.

SOMERSET	It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:
	The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.

WARWICK	Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

SOMERSET	They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

	[March: flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
	and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.

GLOUCESTER	See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!

WARWICK	O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
	Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced,
	That we could hear no news of his repair?

KING EDWARD IV	Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
	Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee,
	Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy?
	And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

WARWICK	Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
	Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own,
	Call Warwick patron and be penitent?
	And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

GLOUCESTER	I thought, at least, he would have said the king;
	Or did he make the jest against his will?

WARWICK	Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:
	I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

WARWICK	'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
	And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
	What is the body when the head is off?

GLOUCESTER	Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
	But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
	The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
	You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
	And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

EDWARD	'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

GLOUCESTER	Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:
	Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

WARWICK	I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
	And with the other fling it at thy face,
	Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

KING EDWARD IV	Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
	This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair
	Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
	Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
	'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'

	[Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours]

WARWICK	O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!

OXFORD	Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	The gates are open, let us enter too.

KING EDWARD IV	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 quickly rouse the traitors in the same.

WARWICK	O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

	[Enter MONTAGUE with drum and colours]

MONTAGUE	Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
	Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

KING EDWARD IV	The harder match'd, the greater victory:
	My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.

	[Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours]

SOMERSET	Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
	Have sold their lives unto the house of York;
	And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold.

	[Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours]

WARWICK	And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along,
	Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
	With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
	More than the nature of a brother's love!
	Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.

CLARENCE	Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

	[Taking his red rose out of his hat]

	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, trow'st 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, wheresoe'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 IV	Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,
	Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.

GLOUCESTER	Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike.

WARWICK	O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!

KING EDWARD IV	What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
	Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

WARWICK	Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!
	I will away towards Barnet presently,
	And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.

KING EDWARD IV	Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
	Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!

	[Exeunt King Edward and his company. March. Warwick
	and his company follow]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	A field of battle near Barnet.


	[Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD IV, bringing
	forth WARWICK wounded]

KING EDWARD IV	So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;
	For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
	Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
	That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.

	[Exit]

WARWICK	Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
	And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
	Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
	My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows.
	That I must yield my body to the earth
	And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
	Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
	Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
	Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
	Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree
	And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
	These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
	Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
	To search the secret treasons of the world:
	The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
	Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
	For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?
	And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow?
	Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
	My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
	Even now forsake me, and of all my lands
	Is nothing left me but my body's length.
	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, could'st 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 lovest 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 clamour 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.

	[Dies]

OXFORD	Away, away, to meet the queen's great power!

	[Here they bear away his body. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV in triumph; with
	GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest]

KING EDWARD IV	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, threatening 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.

CLARENCE	A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
	And blow it to the source from whence it came:
	The very beams will dry those vapours up,
	For every cloud engenders not a storm.

GLOUCESTER	The queen is valued thirty thousand strong,
	And Somerset, with Oxford fled to her:
	If she have time to breathe be well assured
	Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

KING EDWARD IV	We are advertised by our loving friends
	That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:
	We, having now the best at Barnet field,
	Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
	And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
	In every county as we go along.
	Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV	Plains near Tewksbury.


	[March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD,
	SOMERSET, OXFORD, and soldiers]

QUEEN MARGARET	Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
	But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
	What though the mast be now blown overboard,
	The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
	And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
	Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
	Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
	With tearful eyes add water to the sea
	And give more strength to that which hath too much,
	Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
	Which industry and courage might have saved?
	Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
	Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
	And Montague our topmost; what of him?
	Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?
	Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
	And Somerset another goodly mast?
	The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
	And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
	For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
	We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
	But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
	From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
	As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
	And what is Edward but 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 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 mock'd and wonder'd 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 IV, GLOUCESTER,
	CLARENCE, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,
	Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,
	Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
	I need not add more fuel to your fire,
	For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out
	Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!

QUEEN MARGARET	Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
	My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
	Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
	Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
	Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
	His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
	His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent;
	And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
	You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
	Be valiant and give signal to the fight.

	[Alarum. Retreat. Excursions. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE,
	and soldiers; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and
	SOMERSET, prisoners]

KING EDWARD IV	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 IV	Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward
	Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

GLOUCESTER	It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes!

	[Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD]

KING EDWARD IV	Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak.
	What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?
	Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
	For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
	And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

PRINCE 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, that thy father had been so resolved!

GLOUCESTER	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 riddles sort not with this place.

GLOUCESTER	By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

GLOUCESTER	For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE EDWARD	Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

KING EDWARD IV	Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

CLARENCE	Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE EDWARD	I know my duty; you are all undutiful:
	Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George,
	And thou mis-shapen 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 IV	Take that, thou likeness of this railer here.

	[Stabs him]

GLOUCESTER	Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.

	[Stabs him]

CLARENCE	And there's for twitting me with perjury.

	[Stabs him]

QUEEN MARGARET	O, kill me too!

GLOUCESTER	Marry, and shall.

	[Offers to kill her]

KING EDWARD IV	Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.

GLOUCESTER	Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD IV	What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

GLOUCESTER	Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;
	I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
	Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

CLARENCE	What? what?

GLOUCESTER	The Tower, the Tower.

	[Exit]

QUEEN MARGARET	O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!
	Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!
	They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,
	Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
	If this foul deed were by to equal it:
	He was a man; this, in respect, a child:
	And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
	What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
	No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak:
	And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.
	Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!
	How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
	You have no children, butchers! if you had,
	The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
	But if you ever chance to have a child,
	Look in his youth to have him so cut off
	As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD IV	Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET	Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here,
	Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death:
	What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.

CLARENCE	By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

QUEEN MARGARET	Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

CLARENCE	Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:
	'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
	What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
	Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
	Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;
	Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

KING EDWARD IV	Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET	So come to you and yours, as to this Prince!

	[Exit, led out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV	Where's Richard gone?

CLARENCE	To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
	To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

KING EDWARD IV	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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VI	London. The Tower.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI and GLOUCESTER, with the
	Lieutenant, on the walls]

GLOUCESTER	Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

KING HENRY VI	Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather;
	'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better:
	'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,
	And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'

GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.

	[Exit Lieutenant]

KING HENRY VI	So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;
	So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece
	And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
	What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

GLOUCESTER	Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
	The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

KING HENRY VI	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 kill'd.

GLOUCESTER	Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
	That taught his son the office of a fowl!
	An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

KING HENRY VI	I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
	Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
	The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy
	Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea
	Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
	Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
	My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
	Than can my ears that tragic history.
	But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?

GLOUCESTER	Think'st thou I am an executioner?

KING HENRY VI	A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
	If murdering innocents be executing,
	Why, then thou art an executioner.

GLOUCESTER	Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

KING HENRY VI	Hadst thou been kill'd 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,
	And orphans for their parents timeless death--
	Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
	The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign;
	The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
	Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
	The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
	And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
	Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
	And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
	To wit, an 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 camest to bite the world:
	And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
	Thou camest--

GLOUCESTER	I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:

	[Stabs him]

	For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

KING HENRY VI	Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
	God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

	[Dies]

GLOUCESTER	What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
	Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
	See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
	O, may such purple tears be alway shed
	From those that wish the downfall of our house!
	If any spark of life be yet remaining,
	Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither:

	[Stabs him again]

	I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
	Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
	For I have often heard my mother say
	I came into the world with my legs forward:
	Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
	And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
	The midwife wonder'd and the women cried
	'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'
	And so I was; which plainly signified
	That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.
	Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
	Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
	I have no brother, I am like no brother;
	And this word 'love,' which graybeards 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 buz 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]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VII	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, QUEEN ELIZABETH,
	CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the
	young Prince, and Attendants]

KING EDWARD IV	Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
	Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
	What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
	Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
	Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
	For hardy and undoubted champions;
	Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
	And two Northumberlands; two braver men
	Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
	With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
	That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
	And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
	Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
	And made our footstool of security.
	Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
	Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
	Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,
	Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
	That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
	And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
	For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
	This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
	And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:
	Work thou the way,--and thou shalt execute.

KING EDWARD IV	Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
	And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

CLARENCE	The duty that I owe unto your majesty
	I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

GLOUCESTER	And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
	Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
	[Aside]  To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master,
	And cried 'all hail!' when as he meant all harm.

KING EDWARD IV	Now am I seated as my soul delights,
	Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.

CLARENCE	What will your grace have done with Margaret?
	Reignier, her father, to the king of France
	Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
	And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

KING EDWARD IV	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 V


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fifth. (KING HENRY V)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	(GLOUCESTER:)	|
		|  brothers to the King.
DUKE OF BEDFORD	(BEDFORD:)	|


DUKE OF EXETER	uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

DUKE OF YORK	cousin to the King. (YORK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

BISHOP OF
CANTERBURY	(CANTERBURY:)

BISHOP OF ELY	(ELY:)

EARL OF CAMBRIDGE	(CAMBRIDGE:)

LORD SCROOP	(SCROOP:)

SIR THOMAS GREY	(GREY:)


SIR
THOMAS ERPINGHAM	(ERPINGHAM:)	|
		|
GOWER		|
		|
FLUELLEN		|  Officers in King Henry's army.
		|
MACMORRIS		|
		|
JAMY		|


BATES	|
	|
COURT	|  soldiers in the same.
	|
WILLIAMS	|


PISTOL:

NYM:

BARDOLPH:

	Boy
	A Herald.

CHARLES the Sixth	King of France. (KING OF FRANCE:) (FRENCH KING:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin. (DAUPHIN:)

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ORLEANS	(ORLEANS:)

DUKE OF BOURBON	(BOURBON:)

	The Constable of France. (Constable:)


RAMBURES	|
	|  French Lords.
GRANDPRE	|


GOVERNOR	of Harfleur.

MONTJOY	a French Herald.

	Ambassadors to the King of England.

ISABEL	Queen of France. (QUEEN ISABEL:)

KATHARINE	daughter to Charles and Isabel.

ALICE	a lady attending on her.

	Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap formerly
	Mistress Quickly, and now married to Pistol.
	Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens,
	Messengers, and Attendants. Chorus.
	(Hostess:)
	(First Ambassador:)
	(Messenger:)
	(French Soldier:)

SCENE	England; afterwards France.




	KING HENRY V

	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, and gentles all,
	The flat unraised spirits that have dared
	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 confined 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 on man,
	And make imaginary puissance;
	Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
	Printing their proud hoofs i' the 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]




	KING HENRY V


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 urged,
	Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign
	Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
	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 valued 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 the 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 promised it not.
	The breath no sooner left his father's body,
	But that his wildness, mortified in him,
	Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment
	Consideration, like an angel, came
	And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,
	Leaving his body as a paradise,
	To envelop 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 render'd 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 charter'd libertine, is still,
	And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
	To steal his sweet and honey'd 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 unletter'd, rude and shallow,
	His hours fill'd 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
	Neighbour'd 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 the exhibiters 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 open'd 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 the 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. The Presence chamber.


	[Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER,
	WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants]

KING HENRY V	Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

EXETER	Not here in presence.

KING HENRY V	Send for him, good uncle.

WESTMORELAND	Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

KING HENRY V	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 V	Sure, we thank you.
	My learned lord, we pray you to proceed
	And justly and religiously unfold
	Why the law Salique 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 wrong gives edge unto the swords
	That make 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 wash'd
	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 Salique land:'
	Which Salique 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 Salique is in Germany,
	Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
	Where Charles the Great, having subdued 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 Salique land:
	Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
	Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
	Then doth it well appear that Salique law
	Was not devised for the realm of France:
	Nor did the French possess the Salique land
	Until four hundred one and twenty years
	After defunction of King Pharamond,
	Idly supposed the founder of this law;
	Who died within the year of our redemption
	Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great
	Subdued 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 usurped 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,
	'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,
	Convey'd himself as 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 Salique 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 V	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.

WESTMORELAND	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 V	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 V	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 fulness of his force,
	Galling the gleaned land with hot assays,
	Girding 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 exampled 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 sunless treasuries.

WESTMORELAND	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 may 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 V	Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.

	[Exeunt some Attendants]

	Now are we well resolved; 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 prepared 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 V	We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;
	Unto whose grace our passion is as subject
	As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons:
	Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness
	Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

First 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 advised 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 V	What treasure, uncle?

EXETER	Tennis-balls, my liege.

KING HENRY V	We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
	His present and your pains we thank you for:
	When we have march'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 valued 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 V	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. Flourish]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II


	PROLOGUE


	[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,
	Promised to Harry and his followers.
	The French, advised 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



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 killed 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, an 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 of 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.

	[Re-enter Hostess]

Hostess	As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir
	John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked 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.




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE II	Southampton. A council-chamber.


	[Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND]

BEDFORD	'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.

EXETER	They shall be apprehended by and by.

WESTMORELAND	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 bedfellow,
	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 V, SCROOP,
	CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants]

KING HENRY V	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 V	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 loved
	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 V	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 V	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 V	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 V	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 punished. And now to our French causes:
	Who are the late commissioners?

CAMBRIDGE	I one, my lord:
	Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

SCROOP	So did you me, my liege.

GREY	And I, my royal sovereign.

KING HENRY V	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 Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
	We will aboard to night. 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 hath so cowarded and chased your blood
	Out of appearance?

CAMBRIDGE	                  I do confess my fault;
	And do submit me to your highness' mercy.


GREY	|
	|  To which we all appeal.
SCROOP	|


KING HENRY V	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 all appertinents
	Belonging to his honour; and this man
	Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired,
	And sworn unto the practises 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 practised 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:
	All other devils that suggest by treasons
	Do botch and bungle up damnation
	With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd
	From glistering 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 judgment 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 practises!

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 V	God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
	You have conspired 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.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE III	London. Before a tavern.


	[Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy]

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 hoped 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
	they were as cold as any stone, 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 talked 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 maintained 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE IV	France. The KING'S palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the
	DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others]

KING OF FRANCE	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 Berri and of Bretagne,
	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 fear 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 or niggardly projection
	Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting
	A little cloth.

KING OF FRANCE	                  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 smiled 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.

KING OF FRANCE	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.

	[Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train]

KING OF FRANCE	From our brother 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 borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven,
	By law of nature and of nations, 'long
	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 raked,
	He sends you this most memorable line,
	In every branch truly demonstrative;
	Willing to overlook this pedigree:
	And when you find him evenly derived
	From his most famed of famous ancestors,
	Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
	Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
	From him the native and true challenger.

KING OF FRANCE	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 swallow'd in this controversy.
	This is his claim, his threatening and my message;
	Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
	To whom expressly I bring greeting too.

KING OF FRANCE	For us, we will consider of this further:
	To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
	Back to our brother England.

DAUPHIN	For the Dauphin,
	I stand here for him: what to him from England?

EXETER	Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,
	And any thing 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 ordnance.

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 assured, 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.

KING OF FRANCE	To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.

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.

KING OF FRANCE	You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions:
	A night is but small breath and little pause
	To answer matters of this consequence.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III


	PROLOGUE.


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Thus with imagined 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 confused; 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 ravage 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 arrived 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE I	France. Before Harfleur.


	[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD,
	GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders]

KING HENRY V	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 pry through the portage of the head
	Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
	As fearfully as doth 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 sheathed 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 yeoman,
	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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



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 observed 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-livered and
	red-faced; 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 matched 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
	any thing, 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 villany goes against my weak stomach, and
	therefore I must cast it up.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following]

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 plough 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: be 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 falourous gentleman,
	that is certain; and of great expedition and
	knowledge in th' aunchient 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 beseeched, 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, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i'
	the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay
	't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do,
	that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full
	fain hear 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	A! 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE III	The same. Before the gates.


	[The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the
	English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train]

KING HENRY V	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 flowering 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 villany.
	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 confused
	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 succors 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 V	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.
	To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest;
	To-morrow for the march are we addrest.

	[Flourish. The King and his train enter the town]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE IV	The FRENCH KING's palace.


	[Enter KATHARINE and ALICE]

KATHARINE	Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage.

ALICE	Un peu, madame.

KATHARINE	Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a
	parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois?

ALICE	La main? elle est appelee 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
	appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres.

KATHARINE	La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense
	que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots
	d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles?

ALICE	Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails.

KATHARINE	De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de
	hand, de fingres, et de nails.

ALICE	C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois.

KATHARINE	Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras.

ALICE	De arm, madame.

KATHARINE	Et le coude?

ALICE	De elbow.

KATHARINE	De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les
	mots que vous m'avez appris des a present.

ALICE	Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

KATHARINE	Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres,
	de nails, de arma, de bilbow.

ALICE	De elbow, madame.

KATHARINE	O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment
	appelez-vous le col?

ALICE	De neck, madame.

KATHARINE	De nick. Et le menton?

ALICE	De chin.

KATHARINE	De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin.

ALICE	Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez
	les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.

KATHARINE	Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu,
	et en peu de temps.

ALICE	N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne?

KATHARINE	Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de 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; de 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! ce sont 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!
	Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon
	ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de
	elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.

ALICE	Excellent, madame!

KATHARINE	C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE V	The same.


	[Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF
	BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others]

KING OF FRANCE	'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.

KING OF FRANCE	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 Berri,
	Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
	Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
	Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
	Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, 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.

KING OF FRANCE	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.

KING OF FRANCE	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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



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 aunchient 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 did see him do as
	gallant service.

GOWER	What do you call him?

FLUELLEN	He is called Aunchient 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, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is
	painted blind, with a muffler afore her 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 wind-pipe 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	Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

PISTOL	Why then, rejoice therefore.

FLUELLEN	Certainly, aunchient, 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 figo 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 brave words at the
	bridge 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, 'tis 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 disgraced, 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-washed 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 Soldiers]

	God pless your majesty!

KING HENRY V	How now, Fluellen! camest thou from the bridge?

FLUELLEN	Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke of Exeter has
	very gallantly maintained 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 V	What men have you lost, Fluellen?

FLUELLEN	The perdition of th' 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 V	We would have all such offenders so cut off: and we
	give express charge, that in our marches through the
	country, there be nothing compelled 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 V	Well then I know thee: what shall I know of thee?

MONTJOY	My master's mind.

KING HENRY V	Unfold it.

MONTJOY	Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry of England:
	Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep: advantage
	is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him we
	could have rebuked 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 pettiness 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 pronounced. So far
	my king and master; so much my office.

KING HENRY V	What is thy name? I know thy quality.

MONTJOY	Montjoy.

KING HENRY V	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 lessened, 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 hinder'd,
	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 V	We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.
	March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:
	Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
	And on to-morrow, bid them march away.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



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.
	Ca, ha! he bounds from the earth, as if his
	entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus,
	chez 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 composed 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 straight strossers.

Constable	You have good judgment in horsemanship.

DAUPHIN	Be warned 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 retourne a son propre vomissement, et
	la truie lavee au bourbier;' thou makest use of any thing.

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
	to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?

Constable	Stars, my lord.

DAUPHIN	Some of them will fall to-morrow, 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 to-morrow a mile, and
	my way shall be paved with English faces.

Constable	I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 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 to-morrow: 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 cared
	not who knew it

ORLEANS	He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.

Constable	By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body 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 placed: 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 measured the ground?

Messenger	The Lord Grandpre.

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-brained 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 crushed 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 to-morrow 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV


	PROLOGUE.


	[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 fixed 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
	Presenteth 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 every one,
	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-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
	The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
	Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE I	The English camp at Agincourt.


	[Enter KING HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER]

KING HENRY V	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 V	'Tis good for men to love their present pains
	Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
	And when the mind is quicken'd, 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 an to my pavilion.

GLOUCESTER	We shall, my liege.

ERPINGHAM	Shall I attend your grace?

KING HENRY V	No, my good knight;
	Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
	I and my bosom must debate awhile,
	And then I would no other company.

ERPINGHAM	The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

	[Exeunt all but KING HENRY]

KING HENRY V	God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

	[Enter PISTOL]

PISTOL	Qui va la?

KING HENRY V	A friend.

PISTOL	Discuss unto me; art thou officer?
	Or art thou base, common and popular?

KING HENRY V	I am a gentleman of a company.

PISTOL	Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

KING HENRY V	Even so. What are you?

PISTOL	As good a gentleman as the emperor.

KING HENRY V	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 V	Harry le Roy.

PISTOL	Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

KING HENRY V	No, I am a Welshman.

PISTOL	Know'st thou Fluellen?

KING HENRY V	Yes.

PISTOL	Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate
	Upon Saint Davy's day.

KING HENRY V	Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,
	lest he knock that about yours.

PISTOL	Art thou his friend?

KING HENRY V	And his kinsman too.

PISTOL	The figo for thee, then!

KING HENRY V	I thank you: God be with you!

PISTOL	My name is Pistol call'd.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	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 of the universal world, when
	the true and aunchient 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 toddle
	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 V	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 V	A friend.

WILLIAMS	Under what captain serve you?

KING HENRY V	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 V	Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be
	washed off the next tide.

BATES	He hath not told his thought to the king?

KING HENRY V	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 V	By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:
	I think he would not wish himself any where 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 V	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 any where 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 kings 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, chopped off in 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 any thing, 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; whom to disobey were against all proportion of
	subjection.

KING HENRY V	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 irreconciled 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 vengeance;
	so that here men are punished 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 it.

BATES	But I do not desire he should answer for me; and
	yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

KING HENRY V	I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.

WILLIAMS	Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but
	when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we
	ne'er the wiser.

KING HENRY V	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 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 V	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 V	I embrace it.

WILLIAMS	How shall I know thee again?

KING HENRY V	Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my
	bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I
	will make it my quarrel.

WILLIAMS	Here's my glove: give me another of thine.

KING HENRY V	There.

WILLIAMS	This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come
	to me and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,'
	by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.

KING HENRY V	If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

WILLIAMS	Thou darest as well be hanged.

KING HENRY V	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 enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

KING HENRY V	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 to-morrow 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 idle 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 V	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 V	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 to-day, O Lord,
	O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
	My father made in compassing the crown!
	I Richard's body have interred anew;
	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 V	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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE II	The French camp.


	[Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others]

ORLEANS	The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

DAUPHIN	Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!

ORLEANS	O brave spirit!

DAUPHIN	Via! les eaux et la terre.

ORLEANS	Rien puis? L'air et la feu.

DAUPHIN	Ciel, 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 Messenger]

Messenger	The English are embattled, 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 to-day 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 enow
	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 couch down in fear and yield.

	[Enter GRANDPRE]

GRANDPRE	Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
	Yon 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, dropping 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 guidon: 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE III	The English camp.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with
	all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND]

GLOUCESTER	Where is the king?

BEDFORD	The king himself is rode to view their battle.

WESTMORELAND	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 to-day:
	And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
	For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.

	[Exit SALISBURY]

BEDFORD	He is full of valour as of kindness;
	Princely in both.

	[Enter the KING]

WESTMORELAND	                  O that we now had here
	But one ten thousand of those men in England
	That do no work to-day!

KING HENRY V	What's he that wishes so?
	My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
	If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
	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, Westmoreland, 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 called the feast of Crispian:
	He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
	Will stand a tip-toe when the 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 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
	Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
	And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin'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 remember'd.
	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 remember'd;
	We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
	For he to-day 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 a-bed
	Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
	And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
	That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

	[Re-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 V	All things are ready, if our minds be so.

WESTMORELAND	Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

KING HENRY V	Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?

WESTMORELAND	God's will! my liege, would you and I alone,
	Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

KING HENRY V	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 V	Who hath sent thee now?

MONTJOY	The Constable of France.

KING HENRY V	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 lived, was killed 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 famed; 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 V	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 V	Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away:
	And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The field of battle.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter PISTOL, French Soldier, and Boy]

PISTOL	Yield, cur!

French Soldier	Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme de bonne qualite.

PISTOL	Qualtitie calmie custure 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 misericorde! ayez pitie 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'echapper 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	Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?

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 de vous dire que vous faites vous
	pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a 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 gentilhomme de bonne maison:
	gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.

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, neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous
	l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la
	liberte, le franchisement.

French Soldier	Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et
	je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les
	mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave,
	vaillant, et tres distingue 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 signieur 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 every one may pare his nails with
	a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so
	would this be, if he durst steal any thing
	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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



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. O merchante fortune!
	Do not run away.

	[A short alarum]

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 us 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 pander, 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 enow 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Another part of the field.


	[Alarums. Enter KING HENRY and forces, EXETER, and others]

KING HENRY V	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 V	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 insteep'd,
	And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
	That bloodily did spawn upon his face;
	And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear 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 smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
	And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord,
	Commend my service to me sovereign.'
	So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck
	He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
	And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd
	A testament of noble-ending love.
	The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
	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 V	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 reinforced their scatter'd men:
	Then every soldier kill his prisoners:
	Give the word through.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



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 caused 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 called 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 killed
	any of his friends.

FLUELLEN	It is not well done, mark you now 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 killed his friend Cleitus, being in his
	ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in
	his right wits and his good judgments, turned 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, and others]

KING HENRY V	I was not angry since I came to France
	Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;
	Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon 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 used to be.

KING HENRY V	How now! what means this, herald? know'st thou not
	That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
	Comest thou again for ransom?

MONTJOY	No, great king:
	I come to thee for charitable licence,
	That we may wander o'er this bloody field
	To look 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 V	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 V	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 V	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 V	They did, Fluellen.

FLUELLEN	Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is
	remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
	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 V	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:
	God pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases
	his grace, and his majesty too!

KING HENRY V	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 to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be
	God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.

KING HENRY V	God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:
	Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
	On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.

	[Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy]

EXETER	Soldier, you must come to the king.

KING HENRY V	Soldier, why wearest 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 V	An Englishman?

WILLIAMS	An't please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered
	with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to
	challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box
	o' th' 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 V	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 V	It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,
	quite from the answer of his degree.

FLUELLEN	Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as
	Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look
	your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if
	he be perjured, 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 V	Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetest the fellow.

WILLIAMS	So I will, my liege, as I live.

KING HENRY V	Who servest 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 V	Call him hither to me, soldier.

WILLIAMS	I will, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and
	stick it in thy cap: when Alencon and myself were
	down together, I plucked this glove from his helm:
	if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
	Alencon, and an enemy to our person; if thou
	encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.

FLUELLEN	Your grace doo's me as great honours as can be
	desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain
	see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find
	himself aggrieved 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 V	Knowest thou Gower?

FLUELLEN	He is my dear friend, an please you.

KING HENRY V	Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.

FLUELLEN	I will fetch him.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	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' th' 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, touched 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



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 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 ploughs, 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 Alencon'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 V	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 Alencon.

WILLIAMS	My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of
	it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to
	wear it in his cap: I promised 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 Alencon, that your majesty is
	give me; in your conscience, now?

KING HENRY V	Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here is the
	fellow of it.
	'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike;
	And thou hast given me most bitter terms.

FLUELLEN	An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it,
	if there is any martial law in the world.

KING HENRY V	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 V	It was ourself thou didst abuse.

WILLIAMS	Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to
	me but as a common man; witness the night, your
	garments, your lowliness; and what your highness
	suffered 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 V	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 the 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 Got, 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 V	Now, herald, are the dead number'd?

Herald	Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.

KING HENRY V	What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

EXETER	Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;
	John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:
	Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
	Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

KING HENRY V	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;
	Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France;
	The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
	Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin,
	John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant,
	The brother of the Duke of Burgundy,
	And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
	Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix,
	Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
	Here was a royal fellowship of death!
	Where is the number of our English dead?

	[Herald shews 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 V	Come, go we in procession to the village.
	And be it death proclaimed through our host
	To boast of this or take the praise from God
	Which is his only.

FLUELLEN	Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell
	how many is killed?

KING HENRY V	Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgement,
	That God fought for us.

FLUELLEN	Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.

KING HENRY V	Do we all holy rites;
	Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum;'
	The dead with charity enclosed in clay:
	And then to Calais; and to England then:
	Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V


	PROLOGUE.


	[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 the 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 chanced,
	Till Harry's back-return again to France:
	There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
	The interim, by remembering you 'tis past.
	Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance,
	After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V



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, asse 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 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, Aunchient 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, scurvy, 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 doo's 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, scauld knave, as eat it?

PISTOL	Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

FLUELLEN	You say very true, scauld 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 called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will
	make you to-day 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 astonished 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, scauld 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 any thing, I will pay you in cudgels:
	you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but
	cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

	[Exit]

PISTOL	All hell shall stir for this.

GOWER	Go, go; you are a counterfeit 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 Nell 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 cudgelled. 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]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V



SCENE II	France. A royal palace.


	[Enter, at one door KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD,
	GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other Lords;
	at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the
	PRINCESS KATHARINE, ALICE and other Ladies; the
	DUKE of BURGUNDY, and his train]

KING HENRY V	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 contrived,
	We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;
	And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!

KING OF FRANCE	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 V	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 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 chased,
	And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
	Corrupting in its 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, diffused attire
	And every thing 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 V	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 tenors and particular effects
	You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.

BURGUNDY	The king hath heard them; to the which as yet
	There is no answer made.

KING HENRY V	Well then the peace,
	Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.

KING OF FRANCE	I have but with a cursorary eye
	O'erglanced 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 V	Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
	And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
	Warwick and Huntingdon, 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,
	Any thing 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 urged be stood on.

KING HENRY V	Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:
	She is our capital demand, comprised
	Within the fore-rank of our articles.

QUEEN ISABEL	She hath good leave.

	[Exeunt all except HENRY, KATHARINE, and ALICE]

KING HENRY V	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 at me; I cannot speak your England.

KING HENRY V	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 vat is 'like me.'

KING HENRY V	An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.

KATHARINE	Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?

ALICE	Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.

KING HENRY V	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 V	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 V	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 vell.

KING HENRY V	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 urged,
	nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a
	fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth
	sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love
	of any thing 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
	livest, 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 curled 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 sayest thou then to my love?
	speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

KATHARINE	Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?

KING HENRY V	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 vat is dat.

KING HENRY V	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 etes 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 Francois que vous parlez, il
	est meilleur que l'Anglois lequel je parle.

KING HENRY V	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 V	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 sayest thou, my fair
	flower-de-luce?

KATHARINE	I do not know dat

KING HENRY V	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 Katharine du monde, mon tres cher
	et devin deesse?

KATHARINE	Your majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de
	most sage demoiselle dat is en France.

KING HENRY V	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 Harry
	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 sall please de roi mon pere.

KING HENRY V	Nay, it will please him well, Kate it shall please
	him, Kate.

KATHARINE	Den it sall also content me.

KING HENRY V	Upon that I kiss your hand, and I 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 de votre seigeurie indigne
	serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon
	tres-puissant seigneur.

KING HENRY V	Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

KATHARINE	Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant
	leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France.

KING HENRY V	Madam my interpreter, what says she?

ALICE	Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of
	France,--I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.

KING HENRY V	To kiss.

ALICE	Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.

KING HENRY V	It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss
	before they are married, would she say?

ALICE	Oui, vraiment.

KING HENRY V	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.

	[Re-enter the FRENCH KING and his QUEEN, BURGUNDY,
	and other Lords]

BURGUNDY	God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you
	our princess English?

KING HENRY V	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 V	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 rosed 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 V	Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.

BURGUNDY	They are then excused, my lord, when they see not
	what they do.

KING HENRY V	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
	summered 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 V	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 V	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
	turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with
	maiden walls that war hath never entered.

KING HENRY V	Shall Kate be my wife?

FRENCH KING	So please you.

KING HENRY V	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 V	Is't so, my lords of England?

WESTMORELAND	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 trescher fils Henri, Roi
	d'Angleterre, Heritier 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 your request shall make me let it pass.

KING HENRY V	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.

ALL	Amen!

KING HENRY V	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 V	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]




	KING HENRY V

	EPILOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,
	Our bending author hath pursued 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 be 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]
	KING HENRY VIII


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Eighth	(KING HENRY VIII:)

CARDINAL WOLSEY:

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS:

CAPUCIUS	Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V

CRANMER	Archbishop of Canterbury.

DUKE OF NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

EARL OF SURREY	(SURREY:)

Lord Chamberlain	(Chamberlain:)

Lord Chancellor	(Chancellor:)

GARDINER	Bishop of Winchester.

	Bishop of Lincoln. (LINCOLN:)

LORD ABERGAVENNY	(ABERGAVENNY:)

LORD SANDS	(SANDS:)

SIR HENRY
GUILDFORD	(GUILDFORD:)

SIR THOMAS LOVELL	(LOVELL:)

SIR ANTHONY DENNY	(DENNY:)

SIR NICHOLAS VAUX	(VAUX:)

	Secretaries to Wolsey.
	(First Secretary:)
	(Second Secretary:)

CROMWELL	Servant to Wolsey.

GRIFFITH	Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.

	Three Gentlemen.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)

DOCTOR BUTTS	Physician to the King.

	Garter King-at-Arms. (Garter:)

	Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. (Surveyor:)

BRANDON:

	A Sergeant-at-Arms. (Sergeant:)

	Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, (Porter:)
	and his Man. (Man:)

	Page to Gardiner. (Boy:)
	A Crier. (Crier:)

QUEEN KATHARINE	(QUEEN KATHARINE:)  Wife to King Henry, afterwards
	divorced. (KATHARINE:)

ANNE BULLEN	(ANNE:) her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen. (QUEEN ANNE:)

	An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. (Old Lady:)

PATIENCE	woman to Queen Katharine.

	Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women
	attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards,
	and other Attendants.
	Spirits.

	(Scribe:)
	(Keeper:)
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	London; Westminster; Kimbolton




	KING HENRY VIII


	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 follow'd with the general throng and sweat
	Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
	How soon this mightiness meets misery:
	And, if you can be merry then, I'll say
	A man may weep upon his wedding-day.




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT I



SCENE I	London. An ante-chamber in the palace.


	[Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM
	and ABERGAVENNY]

BUCKINGHAM	Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
	Since last we saw in France?

NORFOLK	I thank your grace,
	Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
	Of what I saw there.

BUCKINGHAM	An untimely ague
	Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
	Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
	Met in the vale of Andren.

NORFOLK	'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
	I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
	Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
	In their embracement, as they grew together;
	Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd
	Such a compounded one?

BUCKINGHAM	All the whole time
	I was my chamber's prisoner.

NORFOLK	Then you lost
	The view of earthly glory: men might say,
	Till this time pomp was single, but now married
	To one above itself. Each following day
	Became the next day's master, till the last
	Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
	All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
	Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
	Made Britain India: every man that stood
	Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
	As cherubins, all guilt: 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 the 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 every thing
	Would by a good discourser lose some life,
	Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
	To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
	Order gave each thing view; the office did
	Distinctly his full function.

BUCKINGHAM	Who did guide,
	I mean, who set the body and the limbs
	Of this great sport together, as you guess?

NORFOLK	One, certes, that promises no element
	In such a business.

BUCKINGHAM	I pray you, who, my lord?

NORFOLK	All this was order'd 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' the beneficial sun
	And keep it from the earth.

NORFOLK	Surely, sir,
	There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
	For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
	Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
	For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
	For 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' the king, to 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 the 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 follow'd, 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 flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
	Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

ABERGAVENNY	Is it therefore
	The 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. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his
	eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full
	of disdain]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
	Where's his examination?

First Secretary	Here, so please you.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Is he in person ready?

First Secretary	Ay, please your grace.

CARDINAL 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-mouth'd, and I
	Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
	Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
	Outworths a noble's blood.

NORFOLK	What, are you chafed?
	Ask God for temperance; 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 the king;
	I'll follow and outstare him.

NORFOLK	Stay, my lord,
	And let your reason with your choler question
	What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
	Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
	A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
	Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
	Can advise me like you: be to yourself
	As you would to your friend.

BUCKINGHAM	I'll to the king;
	And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
	This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
	There's difference in no persons.

NORFOLK	Be 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 til 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 the 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, the interview,
	That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass
	Did break i' the rinsing.

NORFOLK	Faith, and so it did.

BUCKINGHAM	Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal
	The articles o' the 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
	Peep'd 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 ask'd; 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 practise.

BRANDON	I am sorry
	To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
	The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure
	You shall to the Tower.

BUCKINGHAM	It will help me nothing
	To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me
	Which makes my whitest 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. The king

	[To ABERGAVENNY]

	Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know
	How he determines further.

ABERGAVENNY	As the duke said,
	The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
	By me obey'd!

BRANDON	                  Here is a warrant from
	The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies
	Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
	One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor--

BUCKINGHAM	So, so;
	These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope.

BRANDON	A monk o' the Chartreux.

BUCKINGHAM	O, Nicholas Hopkins?

BRANDON	He.

BUCKINGHAM	My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal
	Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already:
	I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
	Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,
	By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. The council-chamber.


	[Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on
	CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL;
	CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY
	VIII's feet on his right side]

KING HENRY VIII	My life itself, and the best heart of it,
	Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level
	Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks
	To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us
	That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person
	I'll hear him 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 KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK:
	she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state,
	takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him]

QUEEN KATHARINE	Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor.

KING HENRY VIII	Arise, and take place by us: half your suit
	Never name to us; you have half our power:
	The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;
	Repeat your will and take it.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Thank your majesty.
	That you would love yourself, and in that love
	Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
	The dignity of your office, is the point
	Of my petition.

KING HENRY VIII	                  Lady mine, proceed.

QUEEN KATHARINE	I am solicited, not by a few,
	And those of true condition, that your subjects
	Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
	Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart
	Of all their loyalties: wherein, although,
	My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
	Most bitterly on you, as putter on
	Of these exactions, yet the king our master--
	Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he
	escapes not
	Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
	The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
	In loud rebellion.

NORFOLK	                  Not almost appears,
	It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
	The clothiers all, not able to maintain
	The many to them longing, have put off
	The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
	Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
	And lack of other means, in desperate manner
	Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
	And danger serves among then!

KING HENRY VIII	Taxation!
	Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal,
	You that are blamed for it alike with us,
	Know you of this taxation?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Please you, sir,
	I know but of a single part, in aught
	Pertains to the state; and front but in that file
	Where others tell steps with me.

QUEEN KATHARINE	No, my lord,
	You know no more than others; but you frame
	Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome
	To those which would not know them, and yet must
	Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
	Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
	Most pestilent to the bearing; 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 HENRY VIII	Still exaction!
	The nature of it? in what kind, let's know,
	Is this exaction?

QUEEN KATHARINE	                  I am much too venturous
	In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
	Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief
	Comes through commissions, which compel 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 HENRY VIII	By my life,
	This is against our pleasure.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	And for me,
	I have no further gone in this than by
	A single voice; and that not pass'd me but
	By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
	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-trimm'd, but benefit no further
	Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
	By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
	Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
	Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
	For our best act. If we shall stand still,
	In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
	We should take root here where we sit, or sit
	State-statues only.

KING HENRY VIII	Things done well,
	And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
	Things done without example, in their issue
	Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
	Of this commission? I believe, not any.
	We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
	And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
	A trembling contribution! Why, we take
	From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber;
	And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
	The air will drink the sap. To every county
	Where this is question'd send our letters, with
	Free pardon to each man that has denied
	The force of this commission: pray, look to't;
	I put it to your care.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	A word with you.

	[To the Secretary]

	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 KATHARINE	I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
	Is run in your displeasure.

KING HENRY VIII	It grieves many:
	The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker;
	To nature none more bound; his training such,
	That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,
	And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,
	When these so noble benefits shall prove
	Not well 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 enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
	Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find
	His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,
	Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
	That once were his, and is become as black
	As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear--
	This was his gentleman in trust--of him
	Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount
	The fore-recited practises; whereof
	We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
	Most like a careful subject, have collected
	Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

KING HENRY VIII	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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Please your highness, note
	This dangerous conception in this point.
	Not friended by by his wish, to your high person
	His will is most malignant; and it stretches
	Beyond you, to your friends.

QUEEN KATHARINE	My learn'd lord cardinal,
	Deliver all with charity.

KING HENRY VIII	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 Hopkins.

KING HENRY VIII	What was that Hopkins?

Surveyor	Sir, a Chartreux friar,
	His confessor, who fed him every minute
	With words of sovereignty.

KING HENRY VIII	How know'st thou this?

Surveyor	Not long before your highness sped to France,
	The duke being at the Rose, within the parish
	Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
	What was the speech among the Londoners
	Concerning the French journey: I replied,
	Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,
	To the king's danger. Presently the duke
	Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted
	'Twould prove the verity of certain words
	Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he,
	'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
	John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
	To hear from him a matter of some moment:
	Whom after under the confession's seal
	He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke
	My chaplain to no creature living, but
	To me, should utter, with demure confidence
	This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs,
	Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive
	To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke
	Shall govern England.'

QUEEN KATHARINE	If I know you well,
	You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
	On the complaint o' the 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 HENRY VIII	Let him on.
	Go forward.

Surveyor	     On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
	I told my lord the duke, by the 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 answer'd, 'Tush,
	It can do me no damage;' adding further,
	That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
	The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
	Should have gone off.

KING HENRY VIII	Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!
	There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further?

Surveyor	I can, my liege.

KING HENRY VIII	                  Proceed.

Surveyor	Being at Greenwich,
	After your highness had reproved the duke
	About Sir William Blomer,--

KING HENRY VIII	I remember
	Of such a time: being my sworn servant,
	The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence?

Surveyor	'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed,
	As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd
	The part my father meant to act upon
	The 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 to him.'

KING HENRY VIII	A giant traitor!

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
	and this man out of prison?

QUEEN KATHARINE	God mend all!

KING HENRY VIII	There's something more would out of thee; what say'st?

Surveyor	After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,'
	He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
	Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes
	He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor
	Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo
	His father by as much as a performance
	Does an irresolute purpose.

KING HENRY VIII	There's his period,
	To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd;
	Call him to present trial: if he may
	Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none,
	Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night,
	He's traitor to the height.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT I



SCENE III	An ante-chamber in the palace.


	[Enter Chamberlain and SANDS]

Chamberlain	Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
	Men into such strange mysteries?

SANDS	New customs,
	Though they be never so ridiculous,
	Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Chamberlain	As far as I see, all the good our English
	Have got by the late voyage is but merely
	A fit or two o' the 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.

SANDS	They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it,
	That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
	Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.

Chamberlain	Death! my lord,
	Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
	That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.

	[Enter LOVELL]

		                  How now!
	What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?

LOVELL	Faith, my lord,
	I hear of none, but the new proclamation
	That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.

Chamberlain	What is't for?

LOVELL	The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
	That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

Chamberlain	I'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 point 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 blister'd breeches, and those types of travel,
	And understand again like honest men;
	Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it,
	They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away
	The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.

SANDS	'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.

SANDS	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 Sands;
	Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

SANDS	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 every where.

Chamberlain	No doubt he's noble;
	He had a black mouth that said other of him.

SANDS	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.

SANDS	I am your lordship's.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT I



SCENE IV	A Hall in York Place.


	[Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL
	WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter
	ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as
	guests, at one door; at another door, enter
	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. O, my lord, you're tardy:

	[Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL]

	The very thought of this fair company
	Clapp'd wings to me.

Chamberlain	You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

SANDS	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!

SANDS	I would I were;
	They should find easy penance.

LOVELL	Faith, how easy?

SANDS	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 entering. Nay, you must not freeze;
	Two women placed together makes cold weather:
	My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking;
	Pray, sit between these ladies.

SANDS	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?

SANDS	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.

SANDS	For my little cure,
	Let me alone.

	[Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state]

CARDINAL 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]

SANDS	Your grace is noble:
	Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
	And save me so much talking.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	My Lord Sands,
	I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours.
	Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen,
	Whose fault is this?

SANDS	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 Sands.

SANDS	                  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.

SANDS	I told your grace they would talk anon.

	[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	What's that?

Chamberlain	Look out there, some of ye.

	[Exit Servant]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	What warlike voice,
	And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
	By all the laws of war you're privileged.

	[Re-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.

CARDINAL 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 HENRY VIII and others, as
	masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the
	Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL
	WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him]

	A noble company! what are their pleasures?

Chamberlain	Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
	To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame
	Of this so noble and so fair assembly
	This night to meet here, they could do no less
	Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
	But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,
	Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat
	An hour of revels with 'em.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Say, lord chamberlain,
	They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em
	A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.

	[They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII
	chooses ANNE]

KING HENRY VIII	The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
	Till now I never knew thee!

	[Music. Dance]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	My lord!

Chamberlain	Your grace?

CARDINAL 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 the Masquers]

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Let me see, then.
	By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make
	My royal choice.

KING HENRY VIII	                  Ye have found him, cardinal:

	[Unmasking]

	You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:
	You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
	I should judge now unhappily.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	I am glad
	Your grace is grown so pleasant.

KING HENRY VIII	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 HENRY VIII	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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
	I' the privy chamber?

LOVELL	Yes, my lord.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Your grace,
	I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

KING HENRY VIII	I fear, too much.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	                  There's fresher air, my lord,
	In the next chamber.

KING HENRY VIII	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]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT II



SCENE I	Westminster. A street.


	[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting]

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 happen'd.

First Gentleman	You may guess quickly what.

Second Gentleman	Is he found guilty?

First Gentleman	Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.

Second Gentleman	I am sorry for't.

First Gentleman	                  So are a number more.

Second Gentleman	But, pray, how pass'd it?

First Gentleman	I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
	Came to the bar; where to his accusations
	He pleaded still not guilty and alleged
	Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
	The king's attorney on the contrary
	Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions
	Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired
	To have brought viva voce to his face:
	At which appear'd against him his surveyor;
	Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car,
	Confessor to him; with that devil-monk,
	Hopkins, that made this mischief.

Second Gentleman	That was he
	That fed him with his prophecies?

First Gentleman	The same.
	All these 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 the bar, to hear
	His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
	With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
	And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:
	But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
	In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.

Second Gentleman	I do not think he fears death.

First Gentleman	Sure, he does not:
	He never was so womanish; the cause
	He may a little grieve at.

Second Gentleman	Certainly
	The cardinal is the end of this.

First Gentleman	'Tis likely,
	By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
	Then deputy of Ireland; who 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;--

First Gentleman	Stay there, sir,
	And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves
	before him; the axe with the edge towards him;
	halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL,
	VAUX, SANDS, and common people]

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 judgment,
	And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness,
	And if I have a conscience, let it sink me,
	Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
	The law I bear no malice for my death;
	'T has done, upon the premises, but justice:
	But those that sought it I could wish more Christians:
	Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em:
	Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief,
	Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
	For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.
	For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
	Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
	More than I dare make faults. You few that 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, o' 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 the water side I must conduct your grace;
	Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
	Who undertakes you to your end.

VAUX	Prepare there,
	The duke is coming: see the barge be ready;
	And fit it with such furniture as suits
	The greatness of his person.

BUCKINGHAM	Nay, Sir Nicholas,
	Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
	When I came hither, I was lord high constable
	And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:
	Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
	That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
	And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't.
	My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
	Who first raised head against usurping Richard,
	Flying for succor to his servant Banister,
	Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
	And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!
	Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
	My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
	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 BUCKINGHAM and Train]

First Gentleman	O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,
	I fear, too many curses on their beads
	That were the authors.

Second Gentleman	If the duke be guiltless,
	'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling
	Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
	Greater than this.

First Gentleman	                  Good angels keep it from us!
	What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

Second Gentleman	This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
	A strong faith to conceal it.

First Gentleman	Let me have it;
	I do not talk much.

Second Gentleman	I am confident,
	You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear
	A buzzing of a separation
	Between the king and Katharine?

First Gentleman	Yes, but it held not:
	For when the king once heard it, out of anger
	He sent command to the lord mayor straight
	To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues
	That durst disperse it.

Second Gentleman	But that slander, sir,
	Is found a truth now: for it grows again
	Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain
	The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal,
	Or some about him near, have, out of malice
	To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
	That will undo her: to confirm this too,
	Cardinal Campeius is 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 woful.
	We are too open here to argue this;
	Let's think in private more.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT II



SCENE II	An ante-chamber in the palace.


	[Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter]

Chamberlain	'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with
	all the care I 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 Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]

NORFOLK	Well met, my lord chamberlain.

Chamberlain	Good day to both your graces.

SUFFOLK	How is the king employ'd?

Chamberlain	I left him private,
	Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

NORFOLK	What's the cause?

Chamberlain	It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
	Has crept too near his conscience.

SUFFOLK	No, his conscience
	Has crept too near another lady.

NORFOLK	'Tis so:
	This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
	That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
	Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.

SUFFOLK	Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else.

NORFOLK	How holily he works in all his business!
	And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league
	Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew,
	He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
	Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
	Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage:
	And out of all these to restore the king,
	He counsels a divorce; a loss of her
	That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
	About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
	Of her that loves him with that excellence
	That angels love good men with; even of her
	That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
	Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?

Chamberlain	Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true
	These news are every where; 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 fashion'd
	Into what pitch he please.

SUFFOLK	For me, my lords,
	I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
	As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
	If the king please; his curses and his blessings
	Touch me alike, 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 Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the
	curtain, and sits reading pensively]

SUFFOLK	How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.

KING HENRY VIII	Who's there, ha?

NORFOLK	                  Pray God he be not angry.

KING HENRY VIII	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 HENRY VIII	Ye are too bold:
	Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:
	Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?

	[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL 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 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS]

		          You're welcome,
	Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:
	Use us and it.

	[To CARDINAL WOLSEY]

	My good lord, have great care
	I be not found a talker.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Sir, you cannot.
	I would your grace would give us but an hour
	Of private conference.

KING HENRY VIII	[To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]
		 We are busy; go.

NORFOLK	[Aside to SUFFOLK]
	This priest has no pride in him?

SUFFOLK	[Aside to NORFOLK]             Not to speak of:
	I would not be so sick though for his place:
	But this cannot continue.

NORFOLK	[Aside to SUFFOLK]      If it do,
	I'll venture one have-at-him.

SUFFOLK	[Aside to NORFOLK]          I another.

	[Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]

CARDINAL 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 blood and favour to her,
	Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
	The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
	I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms
	Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment,
	Invited by your noble self, hath sent
	One general tongue unto us, this good man,
	This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;
	Whom once more I present unto your highness.

KING HENRY VIII	And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,
	And thank the holy conclave for their loves:
	They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.

CARDINAL 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 join'd with me their servant
	In the unpartial judging of this business.

KING HENRY VIII	Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted
	Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

CARDINAL 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 allow'd freely to argue for her.

KING HENRY VIII	Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour
	To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
	Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
	I find him a fit fellow.

	[Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY]

	[Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	[Aside to GARDINER]  Give me your hand much joy and
	favour to you;
	You are the king's now.

GARDINER	[Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY]
		  But to be commanded
	For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.

KING HENRY VIII	Come hither, Gardiner.

	[Walks and whispers]

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace
	In this man's place before him?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Yes, he was.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Was he not held a learned man?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Yes, surely.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
	Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	How! of me?

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Heaven's peace be with him!
	That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers
	There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
	For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
	If I command him, follows my appointment:
	I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
	We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.

KING HENRY VIII	Deliver this with modesty to the queen.

	[Exit GARDINER]

	The most convenient place that I can think of
	For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;
	There ye shall meet about this weighty business.
	My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,
	Would it not grieve an able man to leave
	So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!
	O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT II



SCENE III	An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments.


	[Enter ANNE 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 thousand-fold more bitter than
	'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process,
	To give her the avaunt! it is a pity
	Would move a monster.

Old Lady	Hearts of most hard temper
	Melt and lament for her.

ANNE	O, God's will! much better
	She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal,
	Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce
	It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging
	As soul and body's severing.

Old Lady	Alas, poor lady!
	She's a stranger now again.

ANNE	So much the more
	Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
	I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
	And range with humble livers in content,
	Than to be perk'd up in a glistering 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 three-pence bow'd would hire me,
	Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,
	What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
	To bear that load of title?

ANNE	No, in truth.

Old Lady	Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little;
	I would not be a young count in your way,
	For more than blushing comes to: if your back
	Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'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'ld venture an emballing: I myself
	Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd
	No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?

	[Enter 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 hallow'd, 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 to 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.

	[Exit Chamberlain]

ANNE	My honour'd lord.

Old Lady	Why, this it is; see, see!
	I have been begging sixteen years in court,
	Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could
	Come pat betwixt too early and too late
	For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!
	A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon
	This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up
	Before you open it.

ANNE	This is strange to me.

Old Lady	How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.
	There was a lady once, 'tis an old story,
	That would not be a queen, that would she not,
	For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?

ANNE	Come, you are pleasant.

Old Lady	With your theme, I could
	O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
	A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!
	No other obligation! By my life,
	That promises moe thousands: honour's train
	Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time
	I know your back will bear a duchess: say,
	Are you not stronger than you were?

ANNE	Good lady,
	Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
	And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,
	If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me,
	To think what follows.
	The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
	In our long absence: pray, do not deliver
	What here you've heard to her.

Old Lady	What do you think me?

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT II



SCENE IV	A hall in Black-Friars.


	[Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers,
	with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in
	the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone;
	after him, 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,
	CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen
	with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes
	place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and
	CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN
	KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING
	HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each
	side the court, in manner of a consistory; below
	them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops.
	The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient
	order about the stage]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
	Let silence be commanded.

KING HENRY VIII	What's the need?
	It hath already publicly been read,
	And on all sides the authority allow'd;
	You may, then, spare that time.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Be't so. Proceed.

Scribe	Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.

Crier	Henry King of England, &c.

KING HENRY VIII	Here.

Scribe	Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

Crier	Katharine Queen of England, &c.

	[QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her
	chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY
	VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks]

QUEEN KATHARINE	Sir, I desire you do me right and justice;
	And to bestow your pity on me: for
	I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
	Born out of your dominions; having here
	No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
	Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
	In what have I offended you? what cause
	Hath my behavior 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 blest
	With many children by you: if, in the course
	And process of this time, you can report,
	And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
	My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
	Against your sacred person, in God's name,
	Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
	Shut door upon me, and so give me up
	To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir,
	The king, your father, was reputed for
	A prince most prudent, of an excellent
	And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,
	My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
	The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many
	A year before: it is not to be question'd
	That they had gather'd a wise council to them
	Of every realm, that did debate this business,
	Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly
	Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
	Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel
	I will implore: if not, i' the name of God,
	Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

CARDINAL WOLSEY	You have here, lady,
	And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men
	Of singular integrity and learning,
	Yea, the elect o' the 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.

CARDINAL 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 KATHARINE	Lord cardinal,
	To you I speak.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	                  Your pleasure, madam?

QUEEN KATHARINE	Sir,
	I am about to weep; but, thinking that
	We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain
	The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
	I'll turn to sparks of fire.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Be patient yet.

QUEEN KATHARINE	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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	I do profess
	You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
	Have stood to charity, and display'd the 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 KATHARINE	My lord, my lord,
	I am a simple woman, much too weak
	To oppose your cunning. You're meek and
	humble-mouth'd;
	You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
	With meekness and humility; but your heart
	Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
	You have, by fortune and his highness' favours,
	Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted
	Where 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 KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart]

CARDINAL 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 HENRY VIII	Call her again.

Crier	Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

GRIFFITH	Madam, you are call'd back.

QUEEN KATHARINE	What need you note it? pray you, keep your way:
	When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help,
	They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on:
	I will not tarry; no, nor ever more
	Upon this business my appearance make
	In any of their courts.

	[Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants]

KING HENRY VIII	Go thy ways, Kate:
	That man i' the world who shall report he has
	A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
	For speaking false in that: thou art, alone,
	If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
	Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
	Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
	Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,
	The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born;
	And, like her true nobility, she has
	Carried herself towards me.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Most gracious sir,
	In humblest manner I require your highness,
	That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
	Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound,
	There must I be 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 HENRY VIII	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 wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired
	It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, 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 the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't:
	My conscience first received a tenderness,
	Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
	By the 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' the progress of this business,
	Ere a determinate resolution, he,
	I mean the bishop, did require a respite;
	Wherein he might the king his lord advertise
	Whether our daughter were legitimate,
	Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,
	Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook
	The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
	Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
	The region of my breast; which forced such way,
	That many mazed considerings did throng
	And press'd in with this caution. First, methought
	I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had
	Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
	If it conceived a male child by me, should
	Do no more offices of life to't than
	The grave does to the dead; for her male issue
	Or died where they were made, or shortly after
	This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought,
	This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,
	Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not
	Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that
	I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
	By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me
	Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
	The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
	Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
	Now present here together: that's to say,
	I meant to rectify my conscience,--which
	I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,--
	By all the reverend fathers of the land
	And doctors learn'd: first I began in private
	With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember
	How under my oppression I did reek,
	When I first moved you.

LINCOLN	Very well, my liege.

KING HENRY VIII	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 HENRY VIII	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' the world against the person
	Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
	Of my alleged reasons, drive 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,
	Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
	That's paragon'd o' the world.

CARDINAL 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 HENRY VIII	[Aside]	I may perceive
	These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
	This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
	My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
	Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know,
	My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
	I say, set on.

	[Exeunt in manner as they entered]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT III



SCENE I	London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments.


	[Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work]

QUEEN KATHARINE	Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles;
	Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working.
	[SONG]

	Orpheus with his lute made trees,
	And the mountain tops that freeze,
	Bow themselves when he did sing:
	To his music plants and flowers
	Ever sprung; as sun and showers
	There had made a lasting spring.

	Every thing that heard him play,
	Even the billows of the sea,
	Hung their heads, and then lay by.
	In sweet music is such art,
	Killing care and grief of heart
	Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

	[Enter a Gentleman]

QUEEN KATHARINE	How now!

Gentleman	An't please your grace, the two great cardinals
	Wait in the presence.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Would they speak with me?

Gentleman	They will'd me say so, madam.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Pray their graces
	To come near.

	[Exit Gentleman]

	What can be their business
	With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?
	I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,
	They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:
	But all hoods make not monks.

	[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Peace to your highness!

QUEEN KATHARINE	Your graces find me here part of a housewife,
	I would be all, against the worst may happen.
	What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	May it please you noble madam, to withdraw
	Into your private chamber, we shall give you
	The full cause of our coming.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Speak it here:
	There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
	Deserves a corner: would all other women
	Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
	My lords, I care not, so much I am happy
	Above a number, if my actions
	Were tried by 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina
	serenissima,--

QUEEN KATHARINE	O, good my lord, no Latin;
	I am not such a truant since my coming,
	As not to know the language I have 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.

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Most honour'd madam,
	My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,
	Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
	Forgetting, like a good man your late censure
	Both of his truth and him, which was too far,
	Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
	His service and his counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE	[Aside]	To betray me.--
	My lords, I thank you both for your good 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!

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears:
	Your hopes and friends are infinite.

QUEEN KATHARINE	In England
	But little for my profit: can you think, lords,
	That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
	Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
	Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,
	And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
	They that must weigh out my afflictions,
	They that my trust must grow to, live not here:
	They are, as all my other comforts, far hence
	In mine own country, lords.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	I would your grace
	Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE	How, sir?

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	He tells you rightly.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin:
	Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye!
	Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge
	That no king can corrupt.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Your rage mistakes us.

QUEEN KATHARINE	The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye,
	Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
	But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye:
	Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?
	The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady,
	A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
	I will not wish ye half my miseries;
	I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye;
	Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
	The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, this is a mere distraction;
	You turn the good we offer into envy.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye
	And all such false professors! would you have me--
	If you have any justice, any pity;
	If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits--
	Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
	Alas, has banish'd me his bed already,
	His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords,
	And all the fellowship I hold now with him
	Is only my obedience. What can happen
	To me above this wretchedness? all your studies
	Make me a curse like this.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Your fears are worse.

QUEEN KATHARINE	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 vain-glory,
	Never yet branded with suspicion?
	Have I with all my full affections
	Still met the king? loved him next heaven?
	obey'd him?
	Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?
	Almost forgot my prayers to content him?
	And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.
	Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
	One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure;
	And to that woman, when she has done most,
	Yet will I add an honour, a great patience.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

QUEEN KATHARINE	My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,
	To give up willingly that noble title
	Your master wed me to: nothing but death
	Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Pray, hear me.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Would I had never trod this English earth,
	Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
	Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
	What will become of me now, wretched lady!
	I am the most unhappy woman living.
	Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes!
	Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
	No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me;
	Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily,
	That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,
	I'll hang my head and perish.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	If your grace
	Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
	You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady,
	Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places,
	The way of our profession is against it:
	We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
	For goodness' sake, consider what you do;
	How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
	Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage.
	The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
	So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits
	They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
	I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
	A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us
	Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues
	With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit,
	As yours was put into you, ever casts
	Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you;
	Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please
	To trust us in your business, we are ready
	To use our utmost studies in your service.

QUEEN KATHARINE	Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me,
	If I have 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]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT III



SCENE II	Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment.


	[Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain]

NORFOLK	If you will now unite in your complaints,
	And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
	Cannot stand under them: if you omit
	The offer of this time, I cannot promise
	But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces,
	With these you bear already.

SURREY	I am joyful
	To meet the least occasion that may give me
	Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
	To be revenged on him.

SUFFOLK	Which of the peers
	Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
	Strangely neglected? when did he regard
	The stamp of nobleness in any person
	Out of himself?

Chamberlain	                  My lords, you speak your pleasures:
	What he deserves of you and me I know;
	What we can do to him, though now the time
	Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot
	Bar his access to the king, never attempt
	Any thing 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 practises to light?

SUFFOLK	Most strangely.

SURREY	O, how, how?

SUFFOLK	The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried,
	And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read,
	How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
	To stay the judgment o' the 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 memorised.

SURREY	But, will the king
	Digest this letter of the cardinal's?
	The Lord forbid!

NORFOLK	                  Marry, amen!

SUFFOLK	No, no;
	There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose
	Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
	Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;
	Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and
	Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
	To second all his plot. I do assure you
	The king cried Ha! at this.

Chamberlain	Now, God incense him,
	And let him cry Ha! louder!

NORFOLK	But, my lord,
	When returns Cranmer?

SUFFOLK	He is return'd in his opinions; which
	Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
	Together with all famous colleges
	Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe,
	His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
	Her coronation. Katharine no more
	Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager
	And widow to Prince Arthur.

NORFOLK	This same Cranmer's
	A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
	In the king's business.

SUFFOLK	He has; and we shall see him
	For it an archbishop.

NORFOLK	So I hear.

SUFFOLK	'Tis so.
	The cardinal!

	[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL]

NORFOLK	                  Observe, observe, he's moody.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	The packet, Cromwell.
	Gave't you the king?

CROMWELL	To his own hand, in's bedchamber.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Look'd he o' the inside of the paper?

CROMWELL	Presently
	He did unseal them: and the first he view'd,
	He did it with a serious mind; a heed
	Was in his countenance. You he bade
	Attend him here this morning.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Is he ready
	To come abroad?

CROMWELL	                  I think, by this he is.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Leave me awhile.

	[Exit CROMWELL]

	[Aside]

	It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,
	The French king's sister: he shall marry her.
	Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him:
	There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!
	No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish
	To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!

NORFOLK	He's discontented.

SUFFOLK	                  May be, he hears the king
	Does whet his anger to him.

SURREY	Sharp enough,
	Lord, for thy justice!

CARDINAL 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' the bosom of
	Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up
	An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
	Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
	And is his oracle.

NORFOLK	                  He is vex'd at something.

SURREY	I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
	The master-cord on's heart!

	[Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL]

SUFFOLK	The king, the king!

KING HENRY VIII	What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
	To his own portion! and what expense by the hour
	Seems to flow from him! How, i' the 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 HENRY VIII	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 out-speaks
	Possession of a subject.

NORFOLK	It's heaven's will:
	Some spirit put this paper in the packet,
	To bless your eye withal.

KING HENRY VIII	If we did think
	His contemplation were above the earth,
	And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still
	Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid
	His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
	His serious considering.

	[King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL,
	who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Heaven forgive me!
	Ever God bless your highness!

KING HENRY VIII	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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Sir,
	For holy offices I have a time; a time
	To think upon the part of business which
	I bear i' the state; and nature does require
	Her times of preservation, which perforce
	I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
	Must give my tendence to.

KING HENRY VIII	You have said well.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	And ever may your highness yoke together,
	As I will lend you cause, my doing well
	With my well saying!

KING HENRY VIII	'Tis well said again;
	And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well:
	And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you:
	His said he did; and with his deed did crown
	His word upon you. Since I had my office,
	I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
	Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
	But pared my present havings, to bestow
	My bounties upon you.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	[Aside]             What should this mean?

SURREY	[Aside]  The Lord increase this business!

KING HENRY VIII	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?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
	Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could
	My studied purposes requite; which went
	Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours
	Have ever come too short of my desires,
	Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends
	Have been mine so that evermore they pointed
	To the good of your most sacred person and
	The profit of the state. For your great graces
	Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
	Can nothing render but allegiant thanks,
	My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty,
	Which ever has and ever shall be growing,
	Till death, that winter, kill it.

KING HENRY VIII	Fairly answer'd;
	A loyal and obedient subject is
	Therein illustrated: the honour of it
	Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrary,
	The foulness is the punishment. I presume
	That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,
	My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more
	On you than any; so your hand and heart,
	Your brain, and every function of your power,
	Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
	As 'twere in love's particular, be more
	To me, your friend, than any.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	I do profess
	That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
	More than mine own; that am, have, and will be--
	Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
	And throw it from their soul; though perils did
	Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and
	Appear in forms more horrid,--yet my duty,
	As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
	Should the approach of this wild river break,
	And stand unshaken yours.

KING HENRY VIII	'Tis nobly spoken:
	Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
	For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this;

	[Giving him papers]

	And after, this: and then to breakfast with
	What appetite you have.

	[Exit KING HENRY VIII, frowning upon CARDINAL WOLSEY:
	the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	What should this mean?
	What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
	He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
	Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion
	Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;
	Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
	I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;
	This paper has undone me: 'tis the 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 the Pope!'
	The letter, as I live, with all the business
	I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewell!
	I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
	And, from that full meridian of my glory,
	I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
	Like a bright exhalation m the evening,
	And no man see me more.

	[Re-enter to CARDINAL WOLSEY, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK, SURREY,
	and the 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Stay:
	Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry
	Authority so weighty.

SUFFOLK	Who dare cross 'em,
	Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Till I find more than will or words to do it,
	I mean your malice, know, officious lords,
	I dare and must deny it. Now I feel
	Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy:
	How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
	As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton
	Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
	Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
	You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no doubt,
	In time will find their fit rewards. That seal,
	You ask with such a violence, the king,
	Mine and your master, with his own hand gave me;
	Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
	During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,
	Tied it by letters-patents: now, who'll take it?

SURREY	The king, that gave it.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	It must be himself, then.

SURREY	Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Proud lord, thou liest:
	Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
	Have burnt that tongue than said so.

SURREY	Thy ambition,
	Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
	Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law:
	The heads of all thy brother cardinals,
	With thee and all thy best parts bound together,
	Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
	You sent me deputy for Ireland;
	Far from his succor, from the king, from all
	That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest him;
	Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
	Absolved him with an axe.

CARDINAL 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' the life-blood of thee else. My lords,
	Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
	And from this fellow? if we live thus tamely,
	To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
	Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
	And dare us with his cap like larks.

CARDINAL 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 scaring bell, when the brown wench
	Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

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.

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Speak on, sir;
	I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
	It is to see a nobleman want manners.

SURREY	I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!
	First, that, without the king's assent or knowledge,
	You wrought to be a legate; by which power
	You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

NORFOLK	Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else
	To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus'
	Was still 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 stamp'd on the king's coin.

SURREY	Then that you have sent innumerable substance--
	By what means got, I leave to your own conscience--
	To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
	You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
	Of all the kingdom. Many more there are;
	Which, since they are of you, and odious,
	I will not taint my mouth with.

Chamberlain	O my lord,
	Press not a falling man too far! 'tis virtue:
	His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
	Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
	So little of his great self.

SURREY	I forgive him.

SUFFOLK	Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,
	Because all those things you have done of late,
	By your power legatine, within this kingdom,
	Fall into the 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 CARDINAL WOLSEY]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	So farewell to the little good you bear me.
	Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
	This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
	The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
	And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
	The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
	And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
	His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
	And then he falls, as I do. I have 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 open'd. O, how wretched
	Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
	There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
	That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
	More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
	And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
	Never to hope again.

	[Enter CROMWELL, and stands amazed]

		Why, how now, Cromwell!

CROMWELL	I have no power to speak, sir.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	What, amazed
	At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
	A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
	I am fall'n indeed.

CROMWELL	How does your grace?

CARDINAL 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 ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
	A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
	O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen
	Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

CROMWELL	I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.

CARDINAL 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	God bless him!

CROMWELL	The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
	Lord chancellor in your place.

CARDINAL 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 em! What more?

CROMWELL	That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
	Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	That's news indeed.

CROMWELL	Last, that the Lady Anne,
	Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
	This day was view'd in open as his queen,
	Going to chapel; and the voice is now
	Only about her coronation.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell,
	The king has gone beyond me: all my glories
	In that one woman I have lost for ever:
	No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
	Or gild again the noble troops that waited
	Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
	I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
	To be thy lord and master: seek the king;
	That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
	What and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
	Some little memory of me will stir him--
	I know his noble nature--not to let
	Thy hopeful service perish too: good Cromwell,
	Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
	For thine own future safety.

CROMWELL	O my lord,
	Must I, then, leave you? must I needs forego
	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.

CARDINAL 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 miss'd it.
	Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
	Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:
	By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
	The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
	Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
	Corruption wins not more than honesty.
	Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
	To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
	Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
	Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st,
	O Cromwell,
	Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king;
	And,--prithee, lead me in:
	There take an inventory of all I have,
	To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
	And my integrity to heaven, is all
	I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
	Had I but 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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	So I have. Farewell
	The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


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 offer'd sorrow;
	This, general joy.

Second Gentleman	'Tis well: the citizens,
	I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds--
	As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward--
	In celebration of this day with shows,
	Pageants and sights of honour.

First Gentleman	Never greater,
	Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.

Second Gentleman	May I be bold to ask at what that contains,
	That paper in your hand?

First Gentleman	Yes; 'tis the list
	Of those that claim their offices this day
	By custom of the coronation.
	The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
	To be high-steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
	He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest.

Second Gentleman	I thank you, sir: had I not known those customs,
	I should have been beholding to your paper.
	But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
	The princess dowager? how goes her business?

First Gentleman	That I can tell you too. The Archbishop
	Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
	Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
	Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
	From Ampthill where the princess lay; to which
	She was often cited by them, but appear'd not:
	And, to be short, for not appearance and
	The king's late scruple, by the main assent
	Of all these learned men she was 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.

	[Hautboys]

	[THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION]

	1. A lively flourish of Trumpets.

	2. Then, two Judges.

	3. Lord Chancellor, with the 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 a gilt copper crown.

	6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold,
	on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With
	him, SURREY, bearing the rod of silver with
	the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet.
	Collars of SS.

	7. SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet
	on his head, bearing a long white wand, as
	high-steward. With him, NORFOLK, with the
	rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head.
	Collars of SS.

	8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports;
	under it, QUEEN ANNE 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 QUEEN
	ANNE's train.

	10. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain
	circlets of gold without flowers.

	[They pass over the stage in order and state]

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	Heaven bless thee!

	[Looking on QUEEN ANNE]

	Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
	Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
	Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
	And more and richer, when he strains that lady:
	I cannot blame his conscience.

First Gentleman	They that bear
	The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
	Of the Cinque-ports.

Second Gentleman	Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.
	I take it, she that carries up the train
	Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.

First Gentleman	It is; and all the rest are countesses.

Second Gentleman	Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed;
	And sometimes falling ones.

First Gentleman	No more of that.

	[Exit procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets]

	[Enter a third Gentleman]

First Gentleman	God save you, sir! where have you been broiling?

Third Gentleman	Among the crowd i' the 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 awhile, some half an hour or so,
	In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
	The beauty of her person to the people.
	Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
	That ever lay by man: which when the people
	Had the full view of, such a noise arose
	As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
	As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks--
	Doublets, I think,--flew up; and had their faces
	Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
	I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
	That had not half a week to go, like rams
	In the old time of war, would shake the press,
	And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
	Could say 'This is my wife' there; all were woven
	So strangely in one piece.

Second Gentleman	But, what follow'd?

Third Gentleman	At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
	Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint-like
	Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly.
	Then rose again and bow'd her to the people:
	When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
	She had all the royal makings of a queen;
	As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
	The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
	Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir,
	With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
	Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,
	And with the same full state 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 call'd Whitehall.

Third Gentleman	I know it;
	But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
	Is fresh about me.

Second Gentleman	                  What two reverend bishops
	Were those that went on each side of the queen?

Third Gentleman	Stokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester,
	Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,
	The other, London.

Second Gentleman	                  He of Winchester
	Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
	The virtuous Cranmer.

Third Gentleman	All the land knows that:
	However, yet there is no great breach; when it comes,
	Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

Second Gentleman	Who may that be, I pray you?

Third Gentleman	Thomas Cromwell;
	A man in much esteem with the king, and truly
	A worthy friend. The king has made him master
	O' the 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 the 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]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT IV



SCENE II	Kimbolton.


	[Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between
	GRIFFITH, her gentleman usher, and PATIENCE, her woman]

GRIFFITH	How does your grace?

KATHARINE	O Griffith, sick to death!
	My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
	Willing to leave their burthen. Reach a chair:
	So; now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
	Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
	That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

GRIFFITH	        Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
	Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

KATHARINE	Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died:
	If well, he stepp'd before me, happily
	For my example.

GRIFFITH	                  Well, the voice goes, madam:
	For after the stout Earl Northumberland
	Arrested him at York, and brought him forward,
	As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,
	He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill
	He could not sit his mule.

KATHARINE	Alas, poor man!

GRIFFITH	At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
	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.

KATHARINE	So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
	Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
	And yet with charity. He was a man
	Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
	Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,
	Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair-play;
	His own opinion was his law: i' the 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 in example.

GRIFFITH	Noble madam,
	Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
	We write in water. May it please your highness
	To hear me speak his good now?

KATHARINE	Yes, good Griffith;
	I were malicious else.

GRIFFITH	This cardinal,
	Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
	Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
	He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
	Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading:
	Lofty and sour to them that 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 unfinish'd, yet so famous,
	So excellent in art, and still so rising,
	That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
	His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
	For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
	And found the blessedness of being little:
	And, to add greater honours to his age
	Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

KATHARINE	After my death I wish no other herald,
	No other speaker of my living actions,
	To keep mine honour from corruption,
	But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
	Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
	With thy religious truth and modesty,
	Now in his ashes honour: peace be with him!
	Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
	I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,
	Cause the musicians play me that sad note
	I 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]

KATHARINE	Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye all gone,
	And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

GRIFFITH	Madam, we are here.

KATHARINE	It is not you I call for:
	Saw ye none enter since I slept?

GRIFFITH	None, madam.

KATHARINE	No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
	Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
	Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
	They 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.

KATHARINE	Bid the music leave,
	They are harsh and heavy to me.

	[Music ceases]

PATIENCE	Do you note
	How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
	How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,
	And of an earthy cold? Mark her eyes!

GRIFFITH	She is going, wench: pray, pray.

PATIENCE	Heaven comfort her!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	An't like your grace,--

KATHARINE	You are a saucy fellow:
	Deserve we no more reverence?

GRIFFITH	You are to blame,
	Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
	To use so rude behavior; go to, kneel.

Messenger	I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
	My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
	A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.

KATHARINE	Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this fellow
	Let me ne'er see again.

	[Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger]

	[Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS]

		 If my sight fail not,
	You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
	My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

CAPUCIUS	Madam, the same; your servant.

KATHARINE	O, my lord,
	The times and titles now are alter'd strangely
	With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
	What is your pleasure with me?

CAPUCIUS	Noble lady,
	First mine own service to your grace; the next,
	The king's request that I would visit you;
	Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
	Sends you his princely commendations,
	And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

KATHARINE	O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
	'Tis like a pardon after execution:
	That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me;
	But now I am past an comforts here, but prayers.
	How does his highness?

CAPUCIUS	Madam, in good health.

KATHARINE	So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
	When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
	Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter,
	I caused you write, yet sent away?

PATIENCE	No, madam.

	[Giving it to KATHARINE]

KATHARINE	Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
	This to my lord the king.

CAPUCIUS	Most willing, madam.

KATHARINE	In which I have commended to his goodness
	The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter;
	The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!
	Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding--
	She is young, and of a noble modest nature,
	I hope she will deserve well,--and a little
	To love her for her mother's sake, that 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 follow'd both my fortunes faithfully:
	Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
	And now I should not lie, but will deserve
	For virtue and true beauty of the soul,
	For honesty and decent carriage,
	A right good husband, let him be a noble
	And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 'em.
	The last is, for my men; they are the poorest,
	But poverty could never draw 'em from me;
	That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,
	And something over to remember me by:
	If heaven had 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.

CAPUCIUS	By heaven, I will,
	Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

KATHARINE	I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
	In all humility unto his highness:
	Say his long trouble now is passing
	Out of this world; tell him, in death I bless'd him,
	For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,
	My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,
	You must not leave me yet: I must to bed;
	Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,
	Let me be 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 unqueen'd, yet like
	A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
	I can no more.

	[Exeunt, leading KATHARINE]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT V



SCENE I	London. A gallery in the palace.


	[Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a
	torch before him, met by LOVELL]

GARDINER	It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?

Boy	It hath struck.

GARDINER	These should be hours for necessities,
	Not for delights; times to repair our nature
	With comforting repose, and not for us
	To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!
	Whither so late?

LOVELL	                  Came you from the king, my lord

GARDINER	I did, Sir Thomas: and left him at primero
	With the Duke of Suffolk.

LOVELL	I must to him too,
	Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

GARDINER	Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter?
	It seems you are in haste: an if there be
	No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
	Some touch of your late business: affairs, that walk,
	As they say spirits do, at midnight, have
	In them a wilder nature than the business
	That seeks dispatch by day.

LOVELL	My lord, I love you;
	And durst commend a secret to your ear
	Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour,
	They say, in great extremity; and fear'd
	She'll with the labour end.

GARDINER	The fruit she goes with
	I pray for heartily, that it may find
	Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas,
	I wish it grubb'd up now.

LOVELL	Methinks I could
	Cry 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 remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell,
	Beside that of the jewel house, is made master
	O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
	Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,
	With which the time will load him. The 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' the council, that he is,
	For so I know he is, they know he is,
	A most arch heretic, a pestilence
	That does infect the land: with which they moved
	Have broken with the king; who hath so far
	Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace
	And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs
	Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded
	To-morrow morning to the council-board
	He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
	And we must root him out. From your affairs
	I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.

LOVELL	Many good nights, my lord: I rest your servant.

	[Exeunt GARDINER and Page]

	[Enter KING HENRY VIII and SUFFOLK]

KING HENRY VIII	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 HENRY VIII	But little, Charles;
	Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
	Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news?

LOVELL	I could not personally deliver to her
	What you commanded me, but by her woman
	I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
	In the great'st humbleness, and desired your highness
	Most heartily to pray for her.

KING HENRY VIII	What say'st thou, ha?
	To pray for her? what, is she crying out?

LOVELL	So said her woman; and that her sufferance made
	Almost each pang a death.

KING HENRY VIII	Alas, good lady!

SUFFOLK	God safely quit her of her burthen, and
	With gentle travail, to the gladding of
	Your highness with an heir!

KING HENRY VIII	'Tis midnight, Charles;
	Prithee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
	The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
	For I must think of that which company
	Would not be friendly to.

SUFFOLK	I wish your highness
	A quiet night; and my good mistress will
	Remember in my prayers.

KING HENRY VIII	Charles, good night.

	[Exit SUFFOLK]

	[Enter DENNY]

	Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY	Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
	As you commanded me.

KING HENRY VIII	Ha! Canterbury?

DENNY	Ay, my good lord.

KING HENRY VIII	'Tis true: where is he, Denny?

DENNY	He attends your highness' pleasure.

	[Exit DENNY]

LOVELL	[Aside]  This is about that which the bishop spake:
	I am happily come hither.

	[Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER]

KING HENRY VIII	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 HENRY VIII	How now, my lord! you desire to know
	Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER	[Kneeling]              It is my duty
	To attend your highness' pleasure.

KING HENRY VIII	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 consider'd,
	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 winnow'd, 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 HENRY VIII	Stand up, good Canterbury:
	Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
	In us, thy friend: give me thy hand, stand up:
	Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame.
	What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
	You would have given me your petition, that
	I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
	Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you,
	Without indurance, further.

CRANMER	Most dread liege,
	The good I stand on is my truth and honesty:
	If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,
	Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
	Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
	What can be said against me.

KING HENRY VIII	Know you not
	How your state stands i' the world, with the whole world?
	Your enemies are many, and not small; their practises
	Must bear the same proportion; and not ever
	The justice and the truth o' the question carries
	The due o' the 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 HENRY VIII	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
	The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
	Will render you no remedy, this ring
	Deliver them, and your appeal to us
	There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!
	He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother!
	I swear he is true--hearted; and a soul
	None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,
	And do as I have bid you.

	[Exit CRANMER]

		    He has strangled
	His language in his tears.

	[Enter Old Lady, LOVELL following]

Gentleman	[Within]                 Come back: what mean you?

Old Lady	I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring
	Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels
	Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
	Under their blessed wings!

KING HENRY VIII	Now, by thy looks
	I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
	Say, ay; and of a boy.

Old Lady	Ay, ay, my liege;
	And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven
	Both now and ever bless her! 'tis a girl,
	Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
	Desires your visitation, and to be
	Acquainted with this stranger 'tis as like you
	As cherry is to cherry.

KING HENRY VIII	Lovell!

LOVELL	Sir?

KING HENRY VIII	Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the queen.

	[Exit]

Old Lady	An hundred marks! By this light, I'll ha' more.
	An ordinary groom is for such payment.
	I will have more, or scold it out of him.
	Said I for this, the girl was like to him?
	I will have more, or else unsay't; and now,
	While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT V



SCENE II	Before the council-chamber. Pursuivants, Pages, &c.
	attending.


	[Enter CRANMER]

CRANMER	I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman,
	That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me
	To make great haste. All fast? what means this? Ho!
	Who waits there? Sure, you know me?

	[Enter Keeper]

Keeper	Yes, my lord;
	But yet I cannot help you.

CRANMER	Why?

	[Enter DOCTOR BUTTS]

Keeper	Your grace must wait till you be call'd for.

CRANMER	So.

DOCTOR BUTTS	[Aside]  This is a piece of malice. I am glad
	I came this way so happily: the king
	Shall understand it presently.

	[Exit]

CRANMER	[Aside]	'Tis Butts,
	The king's physician: as he pass'd along,
	How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
	Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
	This is of purpose laid by some that hate me--
	God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice--
	To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me
	Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
	'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
	Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

	[Enter the KING HENRY VIII and DOCTOR BUTTS at a window above]

DOCTOR BUTTS	I'll show your grace the strangest sight--

KING HENRY VIII	What's that, Butts?

DOCTOR BUTTS	I think your highness saw this many a day.

KING HENRY VIII	Body o' me, where is it?

DOCTOR BUTTS	There, my lord:
	The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury;
	Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
	Pages, and footboys.

KING HENRY VIII	Ha! 'tis he, indeed:
	Is this the honour they do one another?
	'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
	They had parted so much honesty among 'em
	At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
	A man of his place, and so near our favour,
	To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
	And at the door too, like a post with packets.
	By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:
	Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close:
	We shall hear more anon.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT V



SCENE III	The Council-Chamber.


	[Enter Chancellor; places himself at the upper end
	of the table on the left hand; a seat being left
	void above him, as for CRANMER's seat. SUFFOLK,
	NORFOLK, SURREY, Chamberlain, GARDINER, seat
	themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at
	lower end, as secretary. Keeper at the door]

Chancellor	Speak to the business, master-secretary:
	Why are we met in council?

CROMWELL	Please your honours,
	The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.

GARDINER	Has he had knowledge of it?

CROMWELL	Yes.

NORFOLK	Who waits there?

Keeper	Without, my noble lords?

GARDINER	Yes.

Keeper	My lord archbishop;
	And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.

Chancellor	Let him come in.

Keeper	                  Your grace may enter now.

	[CRANMER enters and approaches the council-table]

Chancellor	My good lord archbishop, I'm very sorry
	To sit here at this present, and behold
	That chair stand empty: but we all are men,
	In our own natures frail, and capable
	Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty
	And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
	Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
	Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
	The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains,
	For so we are inform'd, with new opinions,
	Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
	And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

GARDINER	Which reformation must be sudden too,
	My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
	Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
	But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 'em,
	Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
	Out of our easiness and childish pity
	To one man's honour, this contagious sickness,
	Farewell all physic: and what follows then?
	Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
	Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
	The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
	Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

CRANMER	My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
	Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
	And with no little study, that my teaching
	And the strong course of my authority
	Might go one way, and safely; and the end
	Was ever, to do well: nor is there living,
	I speak it with a single heart, my lords,
	A man that more detests, more stirs against,
	Both in his private conscience and his place,
	Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
	Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
	With less allegiance in it! Men that make
	Envy and crooked malice nourishment
	Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
	That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
	Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
	And freely urge against me.

SUFFOLK	Nay, my lord,
	That cannot be: you are a counsellor,
	And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

GARDINER	My lord, because we have business of more moment,
	We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure,
	And our consent, for better trial of you,
	From hence you be committed to the Tower;
	Where, being but a private man again,
	You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
	More than, I fear, you are provided for.

CRANMER	Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;
	You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
	I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
	You are so merciful: I see your end;
	'Tis my undoing: love and meekness, lord,
	Become a churchman better than ambition:
	Win straying souls with modesty again,
	Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
	Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
	I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
	In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
	But reverence to your calling makes me modest.

GARDINER	My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
	That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers,
	To men that understand you, words and weakness.

CROMWELL	My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,
	By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
	However faulty, yet should find respect
	For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
	To load a falling man.

GARDINER	Good master secretary,
	I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
	Of all this table, say so.

CROMWELL	Why, my lord?

GARDINER	Do not I know you for a favourer
	Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

CROMWELL	Not sound?

GARDINER	Not sound, I say.

CROMWELL	                  Would you were half so honest!
	Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

GARDINER	I shall remember this bold language.

CROMWELL	Do.
	Remember your bold life too.

Chancellor	This is too much;
	Forbear, for shame, my lords.

GARDINER	I have done.

CROMWELL	And I.

Chancellor	Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,
	I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
	You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
	There to remain till the king's further pleasure
	Be known unto us: are you all agreed, lords?

All	We are.

CRANMER	      Is there no other way of mercy,
	But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

GARDINER	What other
	Would you expect? you are strangely troublesome.
	Let some o' the guard be ready there.

	[Enter Guard]

CRANMER	For me?
	Must I go like a traitor thither?

GARDINER	Receive him,
	And see him safe i' the Tower.

CRANMER	Stay, good my lords,
	I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
	By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
	Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
	To a most noble judge, the king my master.

Chamberlain	This is the king's ring.

SURREY	'Tis no counterfeit.

SUFFOLK	'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all,
	When ye first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
	'Twould fall upon ourselves.

NORFOLK	Do you think, my lords,
	The king will suffer but the little finger
	Of this man to be vex'd?

Chancellor	'Tis now too certain:
	How much more is his life in value with him?
	Would I were fairly out on't!

CROMWELL	My mind gave me,
	In seeking tales and informations
	Against this man, whose honesty the devil
	And his disciples only envy at,
	Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!

	[Enter KING, frowning on them; takes his seat]

GARDINER	Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
	In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
	Not only good and wise, but most religious:
	One that, in all obedience, makes the church
	The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
	That holy duty, out of dear respect,
	His royal self in judgment comes to hear
	The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

KING HENRY VIII	You were ever good at sudden commendations,
	Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
	To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
	They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
	To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
	And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
	But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, I'm sure
	Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.

	[To CRANMER]

	Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest
	He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
	By all that's holy, he had better starve
	Than but once think this place becomes thee not.

SURREY	May it please your grace,--

KING HENRY VIII	No, sir, it does not please me.
	I had thought I had had men of some understanding
	And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
	Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
	This good man,--few of you deserve that title,--
	This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
	At chamber--door? and one as great as you are?
	Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
	Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
	Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
	Not as a groom: there's some of ye, I see,
	More out of malice than integrity,
	Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
	Which ye shall never have while I live.

Chancellor	Thus far,
	My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
	To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed
	Concerning his imprisonment, was rather,
	If there be faith in men, meant for his trial,
	And fair purgation to the world, than malice,
	I'm sure, in me.

KING HENRY VIII	Well, well, my lords, respect him;
	Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
	I will say thus much for him, if a prince
	May be beholding to a subject, I
	Am, for his love and service, so to him.
	Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:
	Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of
	Canterbury,
	I have a suit which you must not deny me;
	That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
	You must be godfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER	The greatest monarch now alive may glory
	In such an honour: how may I deserve it
	That am a poor and humble subject to you?

KING HENRY VIII	Come, come, my lord, you'ld spare your spoons: you
	shall have two noble partners with you; the old
	Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess Dorset: will
	these please you?
	Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,
	Embrace and love this man.

GARDINER	With a true heart
	And brother-love I do it.

CRANMER	And let heaven
	Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING HENRY VIII	Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart:
	The common voice, I see, is verified
	Of thee, which says thus, 'Do my Lord of Canterbury
	A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.'
	Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
	To have this young one made a Christian.
	As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
	So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT V



SCENE IV	The palace yard.


	[Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man]

Porter	You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you
	take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude slaves,
	leave your gaping.

	[Within]

	Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Porter	Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! is
	this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree
	staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to
	'em. I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing
	christenings? do you look for ale and cakes here,
	you rude rascals?

Man	Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible--
	Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons--
	To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
	On May-day morning; which will never be:
	We may as well push against Powle's, as stir em.

Porter	How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man	Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
	As much as one sound cudgel of four foot--
	You see the poor remainder--could distribute,
	I made no spare, sir.

Porter	You did nothing, sir.

Man	I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
	To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any
	That had a head to hit, either young or old,
	He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
	Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again
	And that I would not for a cow, God save her!

	[Within]

	Do you hear, master porter?

Porter	I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
	Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man	What would you have me do?

Porter	What should you do, but knock 'em down by the
	dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have
	we some strange Indian with the great tool come to
	court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a
	fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian
	conscience, this one christening will beget a
	thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man	The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a
	fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a
	brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty
	of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand
	about him are under the line, they need no other
	penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on
	the head, and three times was his nose discharged
	against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to
	blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small
	wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked
	porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a
	combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once,
	and hit that woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I
	might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to
	her succor, which were the hope o' the Strand, where
	she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my
	place: at length they came to the broom-staff to
	me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of
	boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower
	of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in,
	and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst
	'em, I think, surely.

Porter	These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse,
	and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but
	the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of
	Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure.
	I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they
	are like to dance these three days; besides the
	running banquet of two beadles that is to come.

	[Enter Chamberlain]

Chamberlain	Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
	They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
	As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
	These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows:
	There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
	Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
	Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
	When they pass back from the christening.

Porter	An't please
	your honour,
	We are but men; and what so many may do,
	Not being torn a-pieces, we have done:
	An army cannot rule 'em.

Chamberlain	As I live,
	If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
	By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
	Clap round fines for neglect: ye are lazy knaves;
	And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
	Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
	They're come already from the christening:
	Go, break among the press, and find a way out
	To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
	A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

Porter	Make way there for the princess.

Man	You great fellow,
	Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

Porter	You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
	I'll peck you o'er the pales else.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT V



SCENE V	The palace.


	[Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord
	Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, NORFOLK with his marshal's
	staff, SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great
	standing-bowls for the christening-gifts; then
	four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the
	Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child
	richly habited in a mantle, &c., train borne by a
	Lady; then follows the Marchioness Dorset, the
	other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once
	about the stage, and Garter speaks]

Garter	Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous
	life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
	princess of England, Elizabeth!

	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VIII and Guard]

CRANMER	[Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good queen,
	My noble partners, and myself, thus pray:
	All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
	Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
	May hourly fall upon ye!

KING HENRY VIII	Thank you, good lord archbishop:
	What is her name?

CRANMER	                  Elizabeth.

KING HENRY VIII	Stand up, lord.

	[KING HENRY VIII kisses the child]

	With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
	Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER	Amen.

KING HENRY VIII	My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:
	I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,
	When she has so much English.

CRANMER	Let me speak, sir,
	For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
	Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
	This royal infant--heaven still move about her!--
	Though in her cradle, yet now promises
	Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
	Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be--
	But few now living can behold that goodness--
	A pattern to all princes living with her,
	And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
	More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
	Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
	That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
	With all the virtues that attend the good,
	Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
	Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
	She shall be loved and fear'd: her own shall bless her;
	Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
	And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her:
	In her days every man shall eat in safety,
	Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
	The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
	God shall be truly known; and those about her
	From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
	And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
	Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
	The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
	Her ashes new create another heir,
	As great in admiration as herself;
	So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
	When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
	Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
	Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
	And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
	That were the servants to this chosen infant,
	Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him:
	Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
	His honour and the greatness of his name
	Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
	And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
	To all the plains about him: our children's children
	Shall see this, and bless heaven.

KING HENRY VIII	Thou speakest wonders.

CRANMER	She shall be, to the happiness of England,
	An aged princess; many days shall see her,
	And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
	Would I had known no more! but she must die,
	She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
	A most unspotted lily shall she pass
	To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

KING HENRY VIII	O lord archbishop,
	Thou hast made me now a man! never, before
	This happy child, did I get any thing:
	This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
	That when I am in heaven I shall desire
	To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
	I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
	And your good brethren, I am much beholding;
	I have received much honour by your presence,
	And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords:
	Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
	She will be sick else. This day, no man think
	Has business at his house; for all shall stay:
	This little one shall make it holiday.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY VIII

	EPILOGUE


	'Tis ten to one this play can never please
	All that are here: some come to take their ease,
	And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
	We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
	They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
	Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'
	Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
	All the expected good we're like to hear
	For this play at this time, is only in
	The merciful construction of good women;
	For such a one we show'd 'em: if they smile,
	And say 'twill do, I know, within a while
	All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
	If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.
	KING JOHN
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING JOHN:

PRINCE HENRY	son to the king.

ARTHUR	Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king.

The Earl of
PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

The Earl of ESSEX	(ESSEX:)

The Earl of
SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

The Lord BIGOT	(BIGOT:)

HUBERT DE BURGH	(HUBERT:)

ROBERT
FAULCONBRIDGE	Son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. (ROBERT:)

PHILIP the BASTARD	his half-brother. (BASTARD:)

JAMES GURNEY	servant to Lady Faulconbridge. (GURNEY:)

PETER Of Pomfret	a prophet. (PETER:)

PHILIP	King of France. (KING PHILIP:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin.

LYMOGES	Duke of AUSTRIA. (AUSTRIA:)

CARDINAL PANDULPH	the Pope's legate.

MELUN	a French Lord.

CHATILLON	ambassador from France to King John.

QUEEN ELINOR	mother to King John.

CONSTANCE	mother to Arthur.

BLANCH of Spain	niece to King John. (BLANCH:)

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE:

	Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
	Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
	(First Citizen:)
	(French Herald:)
	(English Herald:)
	(First Executioner:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	KING JOHN


ACT I



SCENE I	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX,
	SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON]

KING JOHN	Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON	Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
	In my behavior to the majesty,
	The borrow'd majesty, of England here.

QUEEN ELINOR	A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!'

KING JOHN	Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON	Philip of France, in right and true behalf
	Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
	Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
	To this fair island and the territories,
	To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
	Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
	And put these same into young Arthur's hand,
	Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN	What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON	The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
	To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN	Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
	Controlment for controlment: so answer France.

CHATILLON	Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
	The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN	Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
	Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
	For ere thou canst report I will be there,
	The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
	So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
	And sullen presage of your own decay.
	An honourable conduct let him have:
	Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

	[Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE]

QUEEN ELINOR	What now, my son! have I not ever said
	How that ambitious Constance would not cease
	Till she had kindled France and all the world,
	Upon the right and party of her son?
	This might have been prevented and made whole
	With very easy arguments of love,
	Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
	With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN	Our strong possession and our right for us.

QUEEN ELINOR	Your strong possession much more than your right,
	Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
	So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
	Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

	[Enter a Sheriff]

ESSEX	My liege, here is the strangest controversy
	Come from country to be judged by you,
	That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN	Let them approach.
	Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
	This expedition's charge.

	[Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD]

		    What men are you?

BASTARD	Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
	Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son,
	As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
	A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
	Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN	What art thou?

ROBERT	The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

KING JOHN	Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
	You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD	Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
	That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
	But for the certain knowledge of that truth
	I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:
	Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

QUEEN ELINOR	Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother
	And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD	I, madam? no, I have no reason for it;
	That is my brother's plea and none of mine;
	The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
	At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
	Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN	A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
	Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD	I know not why, except to get the land.
	But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
	But whether I be as true begot or no,
	That still I lay upon my mother's head,
	But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
	Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
	Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
	If old sir Robert did beget us both
	And were our father and this son like him,
	O old sir Robert, father, on my knee
	I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN	Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

QUEEN ELINOR	He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
	The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
	Do you not read some tokens of my son
	In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN	Mine eye hath well examined his parts
	And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
	What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD	Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
	With half that face would he have all my land:
	A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!

ROBERT	My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
	Your brother did employ my father much,--

BASTARD	Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
	Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT	And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
	To Germany, there with the emperor
	To treat of high affairs touching that time.
	The advantage of his absence took the king
	And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
	Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
	But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
	Between my father and my mother lay,
	As I have heard my father speak himself,
	When this same lusty gentleman was got.
	Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
	His lands to me, and took it on his death
	That this my mother's son was none of his;
	And if he were, he came into the world
	Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
	Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
	My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN	Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
	Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
	And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
	Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
	That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
	Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
	Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
	In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
	This calf bred from his cow from all the world;
	In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's,
	My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
	Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
	My mother's son did get your father's heir;
	Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT	Shall then my father's will be of no force
	To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD	Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
	Than was his will to get me, as I think.

QUEEN ELINOR	Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge
	And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
	Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
	Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD	Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
	And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him;
	And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
	My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
	That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
	Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!'
	And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
	Would I might never stir from off this place,
	I would give it every foot to have this face;
	I would not be sir Nob in any case.

QUEEN ELINOR	I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
	Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
	I am a soldier and now bound to France.

BASTARD	Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
	Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
	Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
	Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

QUEEN ELINOR	Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD	Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN	What is thy name?

BASTARD	Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
	Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN	From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
	Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
	Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD	Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
	My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
	Now blessed by the hour, by night or day,
	When I was got, sir Robert was away!

QUEEN ELINOR	The very spirit of Plantagenet!
	I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.

BASTARD	Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
	Something about, a little from the right,
	In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
	Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
	And have is have, however men do catch:
	Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
	And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN	Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire;
	A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
	Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
	For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD	Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee!
	For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.

	[Exeunt all but BASTARD]

	A foot of honour better than I was;
	But many a many foot of land the worse.
	Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
	'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'--
	And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
	For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
	'Tis too respective and too sociable
	For your conversion. Now your traveller,
	He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
	And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
	Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
	My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
	Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
	'I shall beseech you'--that is question now;
	And then comes answer like an Absey book:
	'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command;
	At your employment; at your service, sir;'
	'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:'
	And so, ere answer knows what question would,
	Saving in dialogue of compliment,
	And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
	The Pyrenean and the river Po,
	It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
	But this is worshipful society
	And fits the mounting spirit like myself,
	For he is but a bastard to the time
	That doth not smack of observation;
	And so am I, whether I smack or no;
	And not alone in habit and device,
	Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
	But from the inward motion to deliver
	Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth:
	Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
	Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
	For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
	But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
	What woman-post is this? hath she no husband
	That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

	[Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY]

	O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady!
	What brings you here to court so hastily?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he,
	That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

BASTARD	My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
	Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
	Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
	Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?
	He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou.

BASTARD	James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY	Good leave, good Philip.

BASTARD	Philip! sparrow: James,
	There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more.

	[Exit GURNEY]

	Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son:
	Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
	Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast:
	Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess,
	Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:
	We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother,
	To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
	Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
	That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
	What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

BASTARD	Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
	What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder.
	But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son;
	I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land;
	Legitimation, name and all is gone:
	Then, good my mother, let me know my father;
	Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

BASTARD	As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father:
	By long and vehement suit I was seduced
	To make room for him in my husband's bed:
	Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
	Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
	Which was so strongly urged past my defence.

BASTARD	Now, by this light, were I to get again,
	Madam, I would not wish a better father.
	Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
	And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
	Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
	Subjected tribute to commanding love,
	Against whose fury and unmatched force
	The aweless lion could not wage the fight,
	Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
	He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
	May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
	With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
	Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
	When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
	Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;
	And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
	If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
	Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT II



SCENE I	France. Before Angiers.


	[Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side:
	on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS,
	ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants]

LEWIS	Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
	Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
	Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
	And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
	By this brave duke came early to his grave:
	And for amends to his posterity,
	At our importance hither is he come,
	To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf,
	And to rebuke the usurpation
	Of thy unnatural uncle, English John:
	Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

ARTHUR	God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
	The rather that you give his offspring life,
	Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
	I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
	But with a heart full of unstained love:
	Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

LEWIS	A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

AUSTRIA	Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
	As seal to this indenture of my love,
	That to my home I will no more return,
	Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
	Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
	Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides
	And coops from other lands her islanders,
	Even till that England, hedged in with the main,
	That water-walled bulwark, still secure
	And confident from foreign purposes,
	Even till that utmost corner of the west
	Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
	Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

CONSTANCE	O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
	Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
	To make a more requital to your love!

AUSTRIA	The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
	In such a just and charitable war.

KING PHILIP	Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent
	Against the brows of this resisting town.
	Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
	To cull the plots of best advantages:
	We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
	Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
	But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE	Stay for an answer to your embassy,
	Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood:
	My Lord Chatillon may from England bring,
	That right in peace which here we urge in war,
	And then we shall repent each drop of blood
	That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

	[Enter CHATILLON]

KING PHILIP	A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish,
	Our messenger Chatillon is arrived!
	What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
	We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON	Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
	And stir them up against a mightier task.
	England, impatient of your just demands,
	Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
	Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
	To land his legions all as soon as I;
	His marches are expedient to this town,
	His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
	With him along is come the mother-queen,
	An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
	With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
	With them a bastard of the king's deceased,
	And all the unsettled humours of the land,
	Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
	With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,
	Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
	Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
	To make hazard of new fortunes here:
	In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
	Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
	Did nearer float upon the swelling tide,
	To do offence and scath in Christendom.

	[Drum beats]

	The interruption of their churlish drums
	Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand,
	To parley or to fight; therefore prepare.

KING PHILIP	How much unlook'd for is this expedition!

AUSTRIA	By how much unexpected, by so much
	We must awake endavour for defence;
	For courage mounteth with occasion:
	Let them be welcome then: we are prepared.

	[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
	Lords, and forces]

KING JOHN	Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
	Our just and lineal entrance to our own;
	If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
	Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
	Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven.

KING PHILIP	Peace be to England, if that war return
	From France to England, there to live in peace.
	England we love; and for that England's sake
	With burden of our armour here we sweat.
	This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
	But thou from loving England art so far,
	That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king
	Cut off the sequence of posterity,
	Out-faced infant state and done a rape
	Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
	Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
	These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
	This little abstract doth contain that large
	Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time
	Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
	That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
	And this his son; England was Geffrey's right
	And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God
	How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,
	When living blood doth in these temples beat,
	Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest?

KING JOHN	From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
	To draw my answer from thy articles?

KING PHILIP	From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts
	In any breast of strong authority,
	To look into the blots and stains of right:
	That judge hath made me guardian to this boy:
	Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong
	And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

KING JOHN	Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

KING PHILIP	Excuse; it is to beat usurping down.

QUEEN ELINOR	Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?

CONSTANCE	Let me make answer; thy usurping son.

QUEEN ELINOR	Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king,
	That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world!

CONSTANCE	My bed was ever to thy son as true
	As thine was to thy husband; and this boy
	Liker in feature to his father Geffrey
	Than thou and John in manners; being as like
	As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
	My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
	His father never was so true begot:
	It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.

QUEEN ELINOR	There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.

CONSTANCE	There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

AUSTRIA	Peace!

BASTARD	     Hear the crier.

AUSTRIA	What the devil art thou?

BASTARD	One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
	An a' may catch your hide and you alone:
	You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
	Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
	I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right;
	Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith.

BLANCH	O, well did he become that lion's robe
	That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

BASTARD	It lies as sightly on the back of him
	As great Alcides' shows upon an ass:
	But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back,
	Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

AUSTRIA	What craker is this same that deafs our ears
	With this abundance of superfluous breath?

KING PHILIP	Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.

LEWIS	Women and fools, break off your conference.
	King John, this is the very sum of all;
	England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	In right of Arthur do I claim of thee:
	Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?

KING JOHN	My life as soon: I do defy thee, France.
	Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand;
	And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
	Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
	Submit thee, boy.

QUEEN ELINOR	                  Come to thy grandam, child.

CONSTANCE	Do, child, go to it grandam, child:
	Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
	Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig:
	There's a good grandam.

ARTHUR	Good my mother, peace!
	I would that I were low laid in my grave:
	I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

QUEEN ELINOR	His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

CONSTANCE	Now shame upon you, whether she does or no!
	His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
	Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
	Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;
	Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed
	To do him justice and revenge on you.

QUEEN ELINOR	Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

CONSTANCE	Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!
	Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp
	The dominations, royalties and rights
	Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son,
	Infortunate in nothing but in thee:
	Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
	The canon of the law is laid on him,
	Being but the second generation
	Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.

KING JOHN	Bedlam, have done.

CONSTANCE	                  I have but this to say,
	That he is not only plagued for her sin,
	But God hath made her sin and her the plague
	On this removed issue, plague for her
	And with her plague; her sin his injury,
	Her injury the beadle to her sin,
	All punish'd in the person of this child,
	And all for her; a plague upon her!

QUEEN ELINOR	Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
	A will that bars the title of thy son.

CONSTANCE	Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will:
	A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will!

KING PHILIP	Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate:
	It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
	To these ill-tuned repetitions.
	Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
	These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak
	Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

	[Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls]

First Citizen	Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?

KING PHILIP	'Tis France, for England.

KING JOHN	England, for itself.
	You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects--

KING PHILIP	You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
	Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle--

KING JOHN	For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
	These flags of France, that are advanced here
	Before the eye and prospect of your town,
	Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
	The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
	And ready mounted are they to spit forth
	Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
	All preparation for a bloody siege
	All merciless proceeding by these French
	Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
	And but for our approach those sleeping stones,
	That as a waist doth girdle you about,
	By the compulsion of their ordinance
	By this time from their fixed beds of lime
	Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
	For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
	But on the sight of us your lawful king,
	Who painfully with much expedient march
	Have brought a countercheque before your gates,
	To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks,
	Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle;
	And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
	To make a shaking fever in your walls,
	They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
	To make a faithless error in your ears:
	Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
	And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits,
	Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
	Crave harbourage within your city walls.

KING PHILIP	When I have said, make answer to us both.
	Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
	Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
	Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
	Son to the elder brother of this man,
	And king o'er him and all that he enjoys:
	For this down-trodden equity, we tread
	In warlike march these greens before your town,
	Being no further enemy to you
	Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
	In the relief of this oppressed child
	Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
	To pay that duty which you truly owe
	To that owes it, namely this young prince:
	And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
	Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;
	Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
	Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
	And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
	With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised,
	We will bear home that lusty blood again
	Which here we came to spout against your town,
	And leave your children, wives and you in peace.
	But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
	'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
	Can hide you from our messengers of war,
	Though all these English and their discipline
	Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
	Then tell us, shall your city call us lord,
	In that behalf which we have challenged it?
	Or shall we give the signal to our rage
	And stalk in blood to our possession?

First Citizen	In brief, we are the king of England's subjects:
	For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

KING JOHN	Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

First Citizen	That can we not; but he that proves the king,
	To him will we prove loyal: till that time
	Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

KING JOHN	Doth not the crown of England prove the king?
	And if not that, I bring you witnesses,
	Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,--

BASTARD	Bastards, and else.

KING JOHN	To verify our title with their lives.

KING PHILIP	As many and as well-born bloods as those,--

BASTARD	Some bastards too.

KING PHILIP	Stand in his face to contradict his claim.

First Citizen	Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
	We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

KING JOHN	Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
	That to their everlasting residence,
	Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
	In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

KING PHILIP	Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms!

BASTARD	Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
	Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
	Teach us some fence!

	[To AUSTRIA]

		Sirrah, were I at home,
	At your den, sirrah, with your lioness
	I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
	And make a monster of you.

AUSTRIA	Peace! no more.

BASTARD	O tremble, for you hear the lion roar.

KING JOHN	Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth
	In best appointment all our regiments.

BASTARD	Speed then, to take advantage of the field.

KING PHILIP	It shall be so; and at the other hill
	Command the rest to stand. God and our right!

	[Exeunt]

	[Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France,
	with trumpets, to the gates]

French Herald	You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
	And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
	Who by the hand of France this day hath made
	Much work for tears in many an English mother,
	Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;
	Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
	Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
	And victory, with little loss, doth play
	Upon the dancing banners of the French,
	Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
	To enter conquerors and to proclaim
	Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours.

	[Enter English Herald, with trumpet]

English Herald	Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
	King John, your king and England's doth approach,
	Commander of this hot malicious day:
	Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
	Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
	There stuck no plume in any English crest
	That is removed by a staff of France;
	Our colours do return in those same hands
	That did display them when we first march'd forth;
	And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come
	Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
	Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:
	Open your gates and gives the victors way.

First Citizen	Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
	From first to last, the onset and retire
	Of both your armies; whose equality
	By our best eyes cannot be censured:
	Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows;
	Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:
	Both are alike; and both alike we like.
	One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
	We hold our town for neither, yet for both.

	[Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their
	powers, severally]

KING JOHN	France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
	Say, shall the current of our right run on?
	Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
	Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell
	With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
	Unless thou let his silver water keep
	A peaceful progress to the ocean.

KING PHILIP	England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood,
	In this hot trial, more than we of France;
	Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,
	That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
	Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
	We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
	Or add a royal number to the dead,
	Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss
	With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

BASTARD	Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,
	When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
	O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
	The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
	And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
	In undetermined differences of kings.
	Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
	Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,
	You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!
	Then let confusion of one part confirm
	The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death!

KING JOHN	Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

KING PHILIP	Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?

First Citizen	The king of England; when we know the king.

KING PHILIP	Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

KING JOHN	In us, that are our own great deputy
	And bear possession of our person here,
	Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

First Citizen	A greater power then we denies all this;
	And till it be undoubted, we do lock
	Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
	King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved,
	Be by some certain king purged and deposed.

BASTARD	By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
	And stand securely on their battlements,
	As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
	At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
	Your royal presences be ruled by me:
	Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
	Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
	Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
	By east and west let France and England mount
	Their battering cannon charged to the mouths,
	Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
	The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
	I'ld play incessantly upon these jades,
	Even till unfenced desolation
	Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
	That done, dissever your united strengths,
	And part your mingled colours once again;
	Turn face to face and bloody point to point;
	Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth
	Out of one side her happy minion,
	To whom in favour she shall give the day,
	And kiss him with a glorious victory.
	How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
	Smacks it not something of the policy?

KING JOHN	Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
	I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers
	And lay this Angiers even to the ground;
	Then after fight who shall be king of it?

BASTARD	An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
	Being wronged as we are by this peevish town,
	Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
	As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
	And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
	Why then defy each other and pell-mell
	Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.

KING PHILIP	Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?

KING JOHN	We from the west will send destruction
	Into this city's bosom.

AUSTRIA	I from the north.

KING PHILIP	                  Our thunder from the south
	Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

BASTARD	O prudent discipline! From north to south:
	Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:
	I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away!

First Citizen	Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
	And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league;
	Win you this city without stroke or wound;
	Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
	That here come sacrifices for the field:
	Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

KING JOHN	Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.

First Citizen	That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
	Is niece to England: look upon the years
	Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid:
	If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
	Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
	If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
	Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
	If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
	Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
	Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
	Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
	If not complete of, say he is not she;
	And she again wants nothing, to name want,
	If want it be not that she is not he:
	He is the half part of a blessed man,
	Left to be finished by such as she;
	And she a fair divided excellence,
	Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
	O, two such silver currents, when they join,
	Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
	And two such shores to two such streams made one,
	Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
	To these two princes, if you marry them.
	This union shall do more than battery can
	To our fast-closed gates; for at this match,
	With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
	The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
	And give you entrance: but without this match,
	The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
	Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
	More free from motion, no, not Death himself
	In moral fury half so peremptory,
	As we to keep this city.

BASTARD	Here's a stay
	That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
	Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
	That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas,
	Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
	As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
	What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
	He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce;
	He gives the bastinado with his tongue:
	Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
	But buffets better than a fist of France:
	Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
	Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

QUEEN ELINOR	Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
	Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
	For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
	Thy now unsured assurance to the crown,
	That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
	The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
	I see a yielding in the looks of France;
	Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls
	Are capable of this ambition,
	Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
	Of soft petitions, pity and remorse,
	Cool and congeal again to what it was.

First Citizen	Why answer not the double majesties
	This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

KING PHILIP	Speak England first, that hath been forward first
	To speak unto this city: what say you?

KING JOHN	If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
	Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
	Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen:
	For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
	And all that we upon this side the sea,
	Except this city now by us besieged,
	Find liable to our crown and dignity,
	Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
	In titles, honours and promotions,
	As she in beauty, education, blood,
	Holds hand with any princess of the world.

KING PHILIP	What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

LEWIS	I do, my lord; and in her eye I find
	A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
	The shadow of myself form'd in her eye:
	Which being but the shadow of your son,
	Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow:
	I do protest I never loved myself
	Till now infixed I beheld myself
	Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

	[Whispers with BLANCH]

BASTARD	Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!
	Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!
	And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy
	Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,
	That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be
	In such a love so vile a lout as he.

BLANCH	My uncle's will in this respect is mine:
	If he see aught in you that makes him like,
	That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
	I can with ease translate it to my will;
	Or if you will, to speak more properly,
	I will enforce it easily to my love.
	Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
	That all I see in you is worthy love,
	Than this; that nothing do I see in you,
	Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,
	That I can find should merit any hate.

KING JOHN	What say these young ones? What say you my niece?

BLANCH	That she is bound in honour still to do
	What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

KING JOHN	Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

LEWIS	Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
	For I do love her most unfeignedly.

KING JOHN	Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
	Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces,
	With her to thee; and this addition more,
	Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
	Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal,
	Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

KING PHILIP	It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.

AUSTRIA	And your lips too; for I am well assured
	That I did so when I was first assured.

KING PHILIP	Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
	Let in that amity which you have made;
	For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
	The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.
	Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
	I know she is not, for this match made up
	Her presence would have interrupted much:
	Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

LEWIS	She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.

KING PHILIP	And, by my faith, this league that we have made
	Will give her sadness very little cure.
	Brother of England, how may we content
	This widow lady? In her right we came;
	Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
	To our own vantage.

KING JOHN	We will heal up all;
	For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne
	And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
	We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
	Some speedy messenger bid her repair
	To our solemnity: I trust we shall,
	If not fill up the measure of her will,
	Yet in some measure satisfy her so
	That we shall stop her exclamation.
	Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
	To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp.

	[Exeunt all but the BASTARD]

BASTARD	Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
	John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
	Hath willingly departed with a part,
	And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
	Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
	As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
	With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
	That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith,
	That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
	Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
	Who, having no external thing to lose
	But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that,
	That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
	Commodity, the bias of the world,
	The world, who of itself is peised well,
	Made to run even upon even ground,
	Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
	This sway of motion, this Commodity,
	Makes it take head from all indifferency,
	From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
	And this same bias, this Commodity,
	This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
	Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
	Hath drawn him from his own determined aid,
	From a resolved and honourable war,
	To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
	And why rail I on this Commodity?
	But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
	Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
	When his fair angels would salute my palm;
	But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
	Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
	Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
	And say there is no sin but to be rich;
	And being rich, my virtue then shall be
	To say there is no vice but beggary.
	Since kings break faith upon commodity,
	Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

	[Exit]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE I	The French King's pavilion.


	[Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY]

CONSTANCE	Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!
	False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
	Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?
	It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard:
	Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again:
	It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so:
	I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
	Is but the vain breath of a common man:
	Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
	I have a king's oath to the contrary.
	Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
	For I am sick and capable of fears,
	Oppress'd with wrongs and therefore full of fears,
	A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
	A woman, naturally born to fears;
	And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
	With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
	But they will quake and tremble all this day.
	What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
	Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
	What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
	Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
	Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
	Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
	Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
	But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

SALISBURY	As true as I believe you think them false
	That give you cause to prove my saying true.

CONSTANCE	O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
	Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die,
	And let belief and life encounter so
	As doth the fury of two desperate men
	Which in the very meeting fall and die.
	Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
	France friend with England, what becomes of me?
	Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight:
	This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

SALISBURY	What other harm have I, good lady, done,
	But spoke the harm that is by others done?

CONSTANCE	Which harm within itself so heinous is
	As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

ARTHUR	I do beseech you, madam, be content.

CONSTANCE	If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
	Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's womb,
	Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
	Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
	Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
	I would not care, I then would be content,
	For then I should not love thee, no, nor thou
	Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown.
	But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,
	Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:
	Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
	And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,
	She is corrupted, changed and won from thee;
	She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,
	And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
	To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
	And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
	France is a bawd to Fortune and King John,
	That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!
	Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
	Envenom him with words, or get thee gone
	And leave those woes alone which I alone
	Am bound to under-bear.

SALISBURY	Pardon me, madam,
	I may not go without you to the kings.

CONSTANCE	Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee:
	I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
	For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
	To me and to the state of my great grief
	Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great
	That no supporter but the huge firm earth
	Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;
	Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

	[Seats herself on the ground]

	[Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILLIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,
	QUEEN ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and Attendants]

KING PHILIP	'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
	Ever in France shall be kept festival:
	To solemnize this day the glorious sun
	Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
	Turning with splendor of his precious eye
	The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
	The yearly course that brings this day about
	Shall never see it but a holiday.

CONSTANCE	A wicked day, and not a holy day!

	[Rising]

	What hath this day deserved? what hath it done,
	That it in golden letters should be set
	Among the high tides in the calendar?
	Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
	This day of shame, oppression, perjury.
	Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
	Pray that their burthens may not fall this day,
	Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
	But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
	No bargains break that are not this day made:
	This day, all things begun come to ill end,
	Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

KING PHILIP	By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
	To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
	Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

CONSTANCE	You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
	Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
	Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn;
	You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
	But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
	The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
	Is cold in amity and painted peace,
	And our oppression hath made up this league.
	Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings!
	A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
	Let not the hours of this ungodly day
	Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
	Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
	Hear me, O, hear me!

AUSTRIA	Lady Constance, peace!

CONSTANCE	War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war
	O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
	That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
	Thou little valiant, great in villany!
	Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
	Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
	But when her humorous ladyship is by
	To teach thee safety! thou art perjured too,
	And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou,
	A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear
	Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
	Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
	Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
	Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength,
	And dost thou now fall over to my fores?
	Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	O, that a man should speak those words to me!

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life.

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

KING JOHN	We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

	[Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

KING PHILIP	Here comes the holy legate of the pope.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
	To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
	I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
	And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
	Do in his name religiously demand
	Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
	So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce
	Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
	Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
	This, in our foresaid holy father's name,
	Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

KING JOHN	What earthy name to interrogatories
	Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
	Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
	So slight, unworthy and ridiculous,
	To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
	Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England
	Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
	Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
	But as we, under heaven, are supreme head,
	So under Him that great supremacy,
	Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
	Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
	So tell the pope, all reverence set apart
	To him and his usurp'd authority.

KING PHILIP	Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.

KING JOHN	Though you and all the kings of Christendom
	Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
	Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
	And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
	Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
	Who in that sale sells pardon from himself,
	Though you and all the rest so grossly led
	This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish,
	Yet I alone, alone do me oppose
	Against the pope and count his friends my foes.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Then, by the lawful power that I have,
	Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate.
	And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
	From his allegiance to an heretic;
	And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
	Canonized and worshipped as a saint,
	That takes away by any secret course
	Thy hateful life.

CONSTANCE	                  O, lawful let it be
	That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
	Good father cardinal, cry thou amen
	To my keen curses; for without my wrong
	There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.

CONSTANCE	And for mine too: when law can do no right,
	Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
	Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,
	For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;
	Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
	How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
	Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
	And raise the power of France upon his head,
	Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

QUEEN ELINOR	Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.

CONSTANCE	Look to that, devil; lest that France repent,
	And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.

AUSTRIA	King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because--

BASTARD	        Your breeches best may carry them.

KING JOHN	Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

CONSTANCE	What should he say, but as the cardinal?

LEWIS	Bethink you, father; for the difference
	Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
	Or the light loss of England for a friend:
	Forego the easier.

BLANCH	                  That's the curse of Rome.

CONSTANCE	O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee here
	In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.

BLANCH	The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
	But from her need.

CONSTANCE	                  O, if thou grant my need,
	Which only lives but by the death of faith,
	That need must needs infer this principle,
	That faith would live again by death of need.
	O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up;
	Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!

KING JOHN	The king is moved, and answers not to this.

CONSTANCE	O, be removed from him, and answer well!

AUSTRIA	Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

BASTARD	Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP	I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
	If thou stand excommunicate and cursed?

KING PHILIP	Good reverend father, make my person yours,
	And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
	This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
	And the conjunction of our inward souls
	Married in league, coupled and linked together
	With all religious strength of sacred vows;
	The latest breath that gave the sound of words
	Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love
	Between our kingdoms and our royal selves,
	And even before this truce, but new before,
	No longer than we well could wash our hands
	To clap this royal bargain up of peace,
	Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-stain'd
	With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
	The fearful difference of incensed kings:
	And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
	So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
	Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
	Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,
	Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
	As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
	Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed
	Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
	And make a riot on the gentle brow
	Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
	My reverend father, let it not be so!
	Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
	Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest
	To do your pleasure and continue friends.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	All form is formless, order orderless,
	Save what is opposite to England's love.
	Therefore to arms! be champion of our church,
	Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
	A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
	France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
	A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
	A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
	Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP	I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	So makest thou faith an enemy to faith;
	And like a civil war set'st oath to oath,
	Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
	First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
	That is, to be the champion of our church!
	What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself
	And may not be performed by thyself,
	For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
	Is not amiss when it is truly done,
	And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
	The truth is then most done not doing it:
	The better act of purposes mistook
	Is to mistake again; though indirect,
	Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
	And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
	Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
	It is religion that doth make vows kept;
	But thou hast sworn against religion,
	By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,
	And makest an oath the surety for thy truth
	Against an oath: the truth thou art unsure
	To swear, swears only not to be forsworn;
	Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
	But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
	And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
	Therefore thy later vows against thy first
	Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
	And better conquest never canst thou make
	Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
	Against these giddy loose suggestions:
	Upon which better part our prayers come in,
	If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
	The peril of our curses light on thee
	So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
	But in despair die under their black weight.

AUSTRIA	Rebellion, flat rebellion!

BASTARD	Will't not be?
	Will not a calfs-skin stop that mouth of thine?

LEWIS	Father, to arms!

BLANCH	                  Upon thy wedding-day?
	Against the blood that thou hast married?
	What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
	Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
	Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
	O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
	Is husband in my mouth! even for that name,
	Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
	Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
	Against mine uncle.

CONSTANCE	O, upon my knee,
	Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
	Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
	Forethought by heaven!

BLANCH	Now shall I see thy love: what motive may
	Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

CONSTANCE	That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
	His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!

LEWIS	I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
	When such profound respects do pull you on.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	I will denounce a curse upon his head.

KING PHILIP	Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.

CONSTANCE	O fair return of banish'd majesty!

QUEEN ELINOR	O foul revolt of French inconstancy!

KING JOHN	France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.

BASTARD	Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
	Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.

BLANCH	The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!
	Which is the side that I must go withal?
	I am with both: each army hath a hand;
	And in their rage, I having hold of both,
	They swirl asunder and dismember me.
	Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
	Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
	Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
	Grandam, I will not wish thy fortunes thrive:
	Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose
	Assured loss before the match be play'd.

LEWIS	Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.

BLANCH	There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.

KING JOHN	Cousin, go draw our puissance together.

	[Exit BASTARD]

	France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath;
	A rage whose heat hath this condition,
	That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
	The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France.

KING PHILIP	Thy rage sham burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
	To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
	Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

KING JOHN	No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE II	The same. Plains near Angiers.


	[Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD, with
	AUSTRIA'S head]

BASTARD	Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;
	Some airy devil hovers in the sky
	And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,
	While Philip breathes.

	[Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT]

KING JOHN	Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:
	My mother is assailed in our tent,
	And ta'en, I fear.

BASTARD	                  My lord, I rescued her;
	Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
	But on, my liege; for very little pains
	Will bring this labour to an happy end.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE III	The same.


	[Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN,
	QUEEN ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD, HUBERT,
	and Lords]

KING JOHN	[To QUEEN ELINOR]  So shall it be; your grace shall
	stay behind
	So strongly guarded.

	[To ARTHUR]

		Cousin, look not sad:
	Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
	As dear be to thee as thy father was.

ARTHUR	O, this will make my mother die with grief!

KING JOHN	[To the BASTARD]  Cousin, away for England!
	haste before:
	And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
	Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels
	Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
	Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
	Use our commission in his utmost force.

BASTARD	Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
	When gold and silver becks me to come on.
	I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray,
	If ever I remember to be holy,
	For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.

ELINOR	Farewell, gentle cousin.

KING JOHN	Coz, farewell.

	[Exit the BASTARD]

QUEEN ELINOR	Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

KING JOHN	Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
	We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh
	There is a soul counts thee her creditor
	And with advantage means to pay thy love:
	And my good friend, thy voluntary oath
	Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
	Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,
	But I will fit it with some better time.
	By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
	To say what good respect I have of thee.

HUBERT	I am much bounden to your majesty.

KING JOHN	Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,
	But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
	Yet it shall come from me to do thee good.
	I had a thing to say, but let it go:
	The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
	Attended with the pleasures of the world,
	Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
	To give me audience: if the midnight bell
	Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
	Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
	If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
	And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,
	Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
	Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
	Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
	Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes
	And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
	A passion hateful to my purposes,
	Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
	Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
	Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
	Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of words;
	Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
	I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
	But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well;
	And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well.

HUBERT	So well, that what you bid me undertake,
	Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
	By heaven, I would do it.

KING JOHN	Do not I know thou wouldst?
	Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
	On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
	He is a very serpent in my way;
	And whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread,
	He lies before me: dost thou understand me?
	Thou art his keeper.

HUBERT	And I'll keep him so,
	That he shall not offend your majesty.

KING JOHN	Death.

HUBERT	My lord?

KING JOHN	       A grave.

HUBERT	                  He shall not live.

KING JOHN	Enough.
	I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
	Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
	Remember. Madam, fare you well:
	I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

ELINOR	My blessing go with thee!

KING JOHN	For England, cousin, go:
	Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
	With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE IV	The same. KING PHILIP'S tent.


	[Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, CARDINAL PANDULPH,
	and Attendants]

KING PHILIP	So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
	A whole armado of convicted sail
	Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.

KING PHILIP	What can go well, when we have run so ill?
	Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
	Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
	And bloody England into England gone,
	O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

LEWIS	What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
	So hot a speed with such advice disposed,
	Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
	Doth want example: who hath read or heard
	Of any kindred action like to this?

KING PHILIP	Well could I bear that England had this praise,
	So we could find some pattern of our shame.

	[Enter CONSTANCE]

	Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
	Holding the eternal spirit against her will,
	In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
	I prithee, lady, go away with me.

CONSTANCE	Lo, now I now see the issue of your peace.

KING PHILIP	Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!

CONSTANCE	No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
	But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
	Death, death; O amiable lovely death!
	Thou odouriferous stench! sound rottenness!
	Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
	Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
	And I will kiss thy detestable bones
	And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows
	And ring these fingers with thy household worms
	And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust
	And be a carrion monster like thyself:
	Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest
	And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
	O, come to me!

KING PHILIP	                  O fair affliction, peace!

CONSTANCE	No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:
	O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
	Then with a passion would I shake the world;
	And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy
	Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
	Which scorns a modern invocation.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

CONSTANCE	Thou art not holy to belie me so;
	I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
	My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
	Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
	I am not mad: I would to heaven I were!
	For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
	O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
	Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
	And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;
	For being not mad but sensible of grief,
	My reasonable part produces reason
	How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
	And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
	If I were mad, I should forget my son,
	Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
	I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
	The different plague of each calamity.

KING PHILIP	Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
	In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
	Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
	Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
	Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
	Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
	Sticking together in calamity.

CONSTANCE	To England, if you will.

KING PHILIP	Bind up your hairs.

CONSTANCE	Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
	I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud
	'O that these hands could so redeem my son,
	As they have given these hairs their liberty!'
	But now I envy at their liberty,
	And will again commit them to their bonds,
	Because my poor child is a prisoner.
	And, father cardinal, I have heard you say
	That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
	If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
	For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
	To him that did but yesterday suspire,
	There was not such a gracious creature born.
	But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud
	And chase the native beauty from his cheek
	And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
	As dim and meagre as an ague's fit,
	And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
	When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
	I shall not know him: therefore never, never
	Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE	He talks to me that never had a son.

KING PHILIP	You are as fond of grief as of your child.

CONSTANCE	Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
	Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
	Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
	Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
	Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
	Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
	Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
	I could give better comfort than you do.
	I will not keep this form upon my head,
	When there is such disorder in my wit.
	O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
	My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
	My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

	[Exit]

KING PHILIP	I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

	[Exit]

LEWIS	There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
	Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
	Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
	And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste
	That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Before the curing of a strong disease,
	Even in the instant of repair and health,
	The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,
	On their departure most of all show evil:
	What have you lost by losing of this day?

LEWIS	All days of glory, joy and happiness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	If you had won it, certainly you had.
	No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
	She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
	'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
	In this which he accounts so clearly won:
	Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?

LEWIS	As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
	Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
	For even the breath of what I mean to speak
	Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
	Out of the path which shall directly lead
	Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
	John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be
	That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
	The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
	One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
	A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
	Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd;
	And he that stands upon a slippery place
	Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
	That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
	So be it, for it cannot be but so.

LEWIS	But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
	May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

LEWIS	And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	How green you are and fresh in this old world!
	John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
	For he that steeps his safety in true blood
	Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
	This act so evilly born shall cool the hearts
	Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
	That none so small advantage shall step forth
	To cheque his reign, but they will cherish it;
	No natural exhalation in the sky,
	No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
	No common wind, no customed event,
	But they will pluck away his natural cause
	And call them meteors, prodigies and signs,
	Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven,
	Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

LEWIS	May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
	But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
	If that young Arthur be not gone already,
	Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
	Of all his people shall revolt from him
	And kiss the lips of unacquainted change
	And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
	Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
	Methinks I see this hurly all on foot:
	And, O, what better matter breeds for you
	Than I have named! The bastard Faulconbridge
	Is now in England, ransacking the church,
	Offending charity: if but a dozen French
	Were there in arms, they would be as a call
	To train ten thousand English to their side,
	Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
	Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
	Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful
	What may be wrought out of their discontent,
	Now that their souls are topful of offence.
	For England go: I will whet on the king.

LEWIS	Strong reasons make strong actions: let us go:
	If you say ay, the king will not say no.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE I	A room in a castle.


	[Enter HUBERT and Executioners]

HUBERT	Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
	Within the arras: when I strike my foot
	Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
	And bind the boy which you shall find with me
	Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Executioner	I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

HUBERT	Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to't.

	[Exeunt Executioners]

	Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

	[Enter ARTHUR]

ARTHUR	Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT	Good morrow, little prince.

ARTHUR	As little prince, having so great a title
	To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.

HUBERT	Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTHUR	Mercy on me!
	Methinks no body should be sad but I:
	Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
	Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
	Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
	So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
	I should be as merry as the day is long;
	And so I would be here, but that I doubt
	My uncle practises more harm to me:
	He is afraid of me and I of him:
	Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
	No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
	I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUBERT	[Aside]  If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
	He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
	Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

ARTHUR	Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
	In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
	That I might sit all night and watch with you:
	I warrant I love you more than you do me.

HUBERT	[Aside]  His words do take possession of my bosom.
	Read here, young Arthur.

	[Showing a paper]

	[Aside]

		   How now, foolish rheum!
	Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
	I must be brief, lest resolution drop
	Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
	Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?

ARTHUR	Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
	Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUBERT	Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR	                  And will you?

HUBERT	And I will.

ARTHUR	Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
	I knit my handercher about your brows,
	The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
	And I did never ask it you again;
	And with my hand at midnight held your head,
	And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
	Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
	Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
	Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
	Many a poor man's son would have lien still
	And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
	But you at your sick service had a prince.
	Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
	And call it cunning: do, an if you will:
	If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
	Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?
	These eyes that never did nor never shall
	So much as frown on you.

HUBERT	I have sworn to do it;
	And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR	Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
	The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
	Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears
	And quench his fiery indignation
	Even in the matter of mine innocence;
	Nay, after that, consume away in rust
	But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
	Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
	An if an angel should have come to me
	And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
	I would not have believed him,--no tongue but Hubert's.

HUBERT	Come forth.

	[Stamps]

	[Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, &c]

	Do as I bid you do.

ARTHUR	O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
	Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUBERT	Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTHUR	Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
	I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
	For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
	Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
	And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
	I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
	Nor look upon the iron angerly:
	Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
	Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUBERT	Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

First Executioner	I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

	[Exeunt Executioners]

ARTHUR	Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
	He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:
	Let him come back, that his compassion may
	Give life to yours.

HUBERT	Come, boy, prepare yourself.

ARTHUR	Is there no remedy?

HUBERT	None, but to lose your eyes.

ARTHUR	O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
	A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
	Any annoyance in that precious sense!
	Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
	Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUBERT	Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

ARTHUR	Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
	Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
	Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
	Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
	So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes.
	Though to no use but still to look on you!
	Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold
	And would not harm me.

HUBERT	I can heat it, boy.

ARTHUR	No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief,
	Being create for comfort, to be used
	In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
	There is no malice in this burning coal;
	The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out
	And strew'd repentent ashes on his head.

HUBERT	But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTHUR	An if you do, you will but make it blush
	And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
	Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
	And like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
	Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
	All things that you should use to do me wrong
	Deny their office: only you do lack
	That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
	Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT	Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
	For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
	Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy,
	With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTHUR	O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
	You were disguised.

HUBERT	Peace; no more. Adieu.
	Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
	I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
	And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
	That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
	Will not offend thee.

ARTHUR	O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUBERT	Silence; no more: go closely in with me:
	Much danger do I undergo for thee.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE II	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords]

KING JOHN	Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
	And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

PEMBROKE	This 'once again,' but that your highness pleased,
	Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
	And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,
	The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
	Fresh expectation troubled not the land
	With any long'd-for change or better state.

SALISBURY	Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
	To guard a title that was rich before,
	To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
	To throw a perfume on the violet,
	To smooth the ice, or add another hue
	Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
	To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
	Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

PEMBROKE	But that your royal pleasure must be done,
	This act is as an ancient tale new told,
	And in the last repeating troublesome,
	Being urged at a time unseasonable.

SALISBURY	In this the antique and well noted face
	Of plain old form is much disfigured;
	And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
	It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,
	Startles and frights consideration,
	Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected,
	For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

PEMBROKE	When workmen strive to do better than well,
	They do confound their skill in covetousness;
	And oftentimes excusing of a fault
	Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,
	As patches set upon a little breach
	Discredit more in hiding of the fault
	Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

SALISBURY	To this effect, before you were new crown'd,
	We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness
	To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,
	Since all and every part of what we would
	Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

KING JOHN	Some reasons of this double coronation
	I have possess'd you with and think them strong;
	And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear,
	I shall indue you with: meantime but ask
	What you would have reform'd that is not well,
	And well shall you perceive how willingly
	I will both hear and grant you your requests.

PEMBROKE	Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,
	To sound the purpose of all their hearts,
	Both for myself and them, but, chief of all,
	Your safety, for the which myself and them
	Bend their best studies, heartily request
	The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
	Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
	To break into this dangerous argument,--
	If what in rest you have in right you hold,
	Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend
	The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up
	Your tender kinsman and to choke his days
	With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth
	The rich advantage of good exercise?
	That the time's enemies may not have this
	To grace occasions, let it be our suit
	That you have bid us ask his liberty;
	Which for our goods we do no further ask
	Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
	Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

	[Enter HUBERT]

KING JOHN	Let it be so: I do commit his youth
	To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?

	[Taking him apart]

PEMBROKE	This is the man should do the bloody deed;
	He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
	The image of a wicked heinous fault
	Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
	Does show the mood of a much troubled breast;
	And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
	What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

SALISBURY	The colour of the king doth come and go
	Between his purpose and his conscience,
	Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
	His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.

PEMBROKE	And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
	The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

KING JOHN	We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:
	Good lords, although my will to give is living,
	The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
	He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night.

SALISBURY	Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure.

PEMBROKE	Indeed we heard how near his death he was
	Before the child himself felt he was sick:
	This must be answer'd either here or hence.

KING JOHN	Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
	Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
	Have I commandment on the pulse of life?

SALISBURY	It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame
	That greatness should so grossly offer it:
	So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.

PEMBROKE	Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee,
	And find the inheritance of this poor child,
	His little kingdom of a forced grave.
	That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,
	Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while!
	This must not be thus borne: this will break out
	To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.

	[Exeunt Lords]

KING JOHN	They burn in indignation. I repent:
	There is no sure foundation set on blood,
	No certain life achieved by others' death.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood
	That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
	So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
	Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?

Messenger	From France to England. Never such a power
	For any foreign preparation
	Was levied in the body of a land.
	The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
	For when you should be told they do prepare,
	The tidings come that they are all arrived.

KING JOHN	O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
	Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
	That such an army could be drawn in France,
	And she not hear of it?

Messenger	My liege, her ear
	Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April died
	Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord,
	The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
	Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
	I idly heard; if true or false I know not.

KING JOHN	Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
	O, make a league with me, till I have pleased
	My discontented peers! What! mother dead!
	How wildly then walks my estate in France!
	Under whose conduct came those powers of France
	That thou for truth givest out are landed here?

Messenger	Under the Dauphin.

KING JOHN	                  Thou hast made me giddy
	With these ill tidings.

	[Enter the BASTARD and PETER of Pomfret]

		  Now, what says the world
	To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
	My head with more ill news, for it is full.

BASTARD	But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
	Then let the worst unheard fall on your bead.

KING JOHN	Bear with me cousin, for I was amazed
	Under the tide: but now I breathe again
	Aloft the flood, and can give audience
	To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

BASTARD	How I have sped among the clergymen,
	The sums I have collected shall express.
	But as I travell'd hither through the land,
	I find the people strangely fantasied;
	Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams,
	Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:
	And here a prophet, that I brought with me
	From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
	With many hundreds treading on his heels;
	To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
	That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
	Your highness should deliver up your crown.

KING JOHN	Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?

PETER	Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

KING JOHN	Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
	And on that day at noon whereon he says
	I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
	Deliver him to safety; and return,
	For I must use thee.

	[Exeunt HUBERT with PETER]

		O my gentle cousin,
	Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived?

BASTARD	The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it:
	Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
	With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
	And others more, going to seek the grave
	Of Arthur, who they say is kill'd to-night
	On your suggestion.

KING JOHN	Gentle kinsman, go,
	And thrust thyself into their companies:
	I have a way to win their loves again;
	Bring them before me.

BASTARD	I will seek them out.

KING JOHN	Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
	O, let me have no subject enemies,
	When adverse foreigners affright my towns
	With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
	Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
	And fly like thought from them to me again.

BASTARD	The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.
	Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
	Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
	And be thou he.

Messenger	                  With all my heart, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	My mother dead!

	[Re-enter HUBERT]

HUBERT	My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
	Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
	The other four in wondrous motion.

KING JOHN	Five moons!

HUBERT	Old men and beldams in the streets
	Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
	Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
	And when they talk of him, they shake their heads
	And whisper one another in the ear;
	And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
	Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
	With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
	I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
	The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
	With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
	Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
	Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
	Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
	Told of a many thousand warlike French
	That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent:
	Another lean unwash'd artificer
	Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.

KING JOHN	Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
	Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
	Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause
	To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

HUBERT	No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?

KING JOHN	It is the curse of kings to be attended
	By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
	To break within the bloody house of life,
	And on the winking of authority
	To understand a law, to know the meaning
	Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
	More upon humour than advised respect.

HUBERT	Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

KING JOHN	O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
	Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
	Witness against us to damnation!
	How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
	Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
	A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
	Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
	This murder had not come into my mind:
	But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
	Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
	Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
	I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
	And thou, to be endeared to a king,
	Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

HUBERT	My lord--

KING JOHN	Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause
	When I spake darkly what I purposed,
	Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
	As bid me tell my tale in express words,
	Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
	And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:
	But thou didst understand me by my signs
	And didst in signs again parley with sin;
	Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
	And consequently thy rude hand to act
	The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.
	Out of my sight, and never see me more!
	My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
	Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
	Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
	This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
	Hostility and civil tumult reigns
	Between my conscience and my cousin's death.

HUBERT	Arm you against your other enemies,
	I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
	Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
	Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
	Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
	Within this bosom never enter'd yet
	The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
	And you have slander'd nature in my form,
	Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
	Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
	Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

KING JOHN	Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
	Throw this report on their incensed rage,
	And make them tame to their obedience!
	Forgive the comment that my passion made
	Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
	And foul imaginary eyes of blood
	Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
	O, answer not, but to my closet bring
	The angry lords with all expedient haste.
	I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE III	Before the castle.


	[Enter ARTHUR, on the walls]

ARTHUR	The wall is high, and yet will I leap down:
	Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!
	There's few or none do know me: if they did,
	This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite.
	I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
	If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
	I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
	As good to die and go, as die and stay.

	[Leaps down]

	O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:
	Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

	[Dies]

	[Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY	Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury:
	It is our safety, and we must embrace
	This gentle offer of the perilous time.

PEMBROKE	Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

SALISBURY	The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
	Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
	Is much more general than these lines import.

BIGOT	To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

SALISBURY	Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be
	Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
	The king by me requests your presence straight.

SALISBURY	The king hath dispossess'd himself of us:
	We will not line his thin bestained cloak
	With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
	That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
	Return and tell him so: we know the worst.

BASTARD	Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.

SALISBURY	Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

BASTARD	But there is little reason in your grief;
	Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.

PEMBROKE	Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.

BASTARD	'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else.

SALISBURY	This is the prison. What is he lies here?

	[Seeing ARTHUR]

PEMBROKE	O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
	The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

SALISBURY	Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
	Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

BIGOT	Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
	Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

SALISBURY	Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,
	Or have you read or heard? or could you think?
	Or do you almost think, although you see,
	That you do see? could thought, without this object,
	Form such another? This is the very top,
	The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
	Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
	The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
	That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
	Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

PEMBROKE	All murders past do stand excused in this:
	And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
	Shall give a holiness, a purity,
	To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
	And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
	Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

BASTARD	It is a damned and a bloody work;
	The graceless action of a heavy hand,
	If that it be the work of any hand.

SALISBURY	If that it be the work of any hand!
	We had a kind of light what would ensue:
	It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
	The practise and the purpose of the king:
	From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
	Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
	And breathing to his breathless excellence
	The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
	Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
	Never to be infected with delight,
	Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
	Till I have set a glory to this hand,
	By giving it the worship of revenge.


PEMBROKE	|
	|  Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
BIGOT	|


	[Enter HUBERT]

HUBERT	Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
	Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

SALISBURY	O, he is old and blushes not at death.
	Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

HUBERT	I am no villain.

SALISBURY	                  Must I rob the law?

	[Drawing his sword]

BASTARD	Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.

SALISBURY	Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.

HUBERT	Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
	By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours:
	I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
	Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
	Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
	Your worth, your greatness and nobility.

BIGOT	Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a nobleman?

HUBERT	Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
	My innocent life against an emperor.

SALISBURY	Thou art a murderer.

HUBERT	Do not prove me so;
	Yet I am none: whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
	Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

PEMBROKE	Cut him to pieces.

BASTARD	                  Keep the peace, I say.

SALISBURY	Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

BASTARD	Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
	If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
	Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
	I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
	Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
	That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

BIGOT	What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
	Second a villain and a murderer?

HUBERT	Lord Bigot, I am none.

BIGOT	Who kill'd this prince?

HUBERT	'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
	I honour'd him, I loved him, and will weep
	My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.

SALISBURY	Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
	For villany is not without such rheum;
	And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
	Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
	Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
	The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
	For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

BIGOT	Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

PEMBROKE	There tell the king he may inquire us out.

	[Exeunt Lords]

BASTARD	Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
	Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
	Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
	Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

HUBERT	Do but hear me, sir.

BASTARD	Ha! I'll tell thee what;
	Thou'rt damn'd as black--nay, nothing is so black;
	Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer:
	There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
	As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

HUBERT	Upon my soul--

BASTARD	                  If thou didst but consent
	To this most cruel act, do but despair;
	And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
	That ever spider twisted from her womb
	Will serve to strangle thee, a rush will be a beam
	To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
	Put but a little water in a spoon,
	And it shall be as all the ocean,
	Enough to stifle such a villain up.
	I do suspect thee very grievously.

HUBERT	If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
	Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
	Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
	Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
	I left him well.

BASTARD	                  Go, bear him in thine arms.
	I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
	Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
	How easy dost thou take all England up!
	From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
	The life, the right and truth of all this realm
	Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
	To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
	The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
	Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
	Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
	And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
	Now powers from home and discontents at home
	Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
	As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
	The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
	Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
	Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
	And follow me with speed: I'll to the king:
	A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
	And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

	[Exeunt]



	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE I	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, CARDINAL PANDULPH, and Attendants]

KING JOHN	Thus have I yielded up into your hand
	The circle of my glory.

	[Giving the crown]

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Take again
	From this my hand, as holding of the pope
	Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN	Now keep your holy word: go meet the French,
	And from his holiness use all your power
	To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed.
	Our discontented counties do revolt;
	Our people quarrel with obedience,
	Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
	To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
	This inundation of mistemper'd humour
	Rests by you only to be qualified:
	Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
	That present medicine must be minister'd,
	Or overthrow incurable ensues.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
	Upon your stubborn usage of the pope;
	But since you are a gentle convertite,
	My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
	And make fair weather in your blustering land.
	On this Ascension-day, remember well,
	Upon your oath of service to the pope,
	Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
	Say that before Ascension-day at noon
	My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
	I did suppose it should be on constraint:
	But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
	But Dover castle: London hath received,
	Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
	Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
	To offer service to your enemy,
	And wild amazement hurries up and down
	The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN	Would not my lords return to me again,
	After they heard young Arthur was alive?

BASTARD	They found him dead and cast into the streets,
	An empty casket, where the jewel of life
	By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

KING JOHN	That villain Hubert told me he did live.

BASTARD	So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
	But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
	Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
	Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
	Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
	Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
	Threaten the threatener and outface the brow
	Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
	That borrow their behaviors from the great,
	Grow great by your example and put on
	The dauntless spirit of resolution.
	Away, and glister like the god of war,
	When he intendeth to become the field:
	Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
	What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
	And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
	O, let it not be said: forage, and run
	To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
	And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh.

KING JOHN	The legate of the pope hath been with me,
	And I have made a happy peace with him;
	And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
	Led by the Dauphin.

BASTARD	O inglorious league!
	Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
	Send fair-play orders and make compromise,
	Insinuation, parley and base truce
	To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
	A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
	And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
	Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
	And find no cheque? Let us, my liege, to arms:
	Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
	Or if he do, let it at least be said
	They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN	Have thou the ordering of this present time.

BASTARD	Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know,
	Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE II	LEWIS's camp at St. Edmundsbury.


	[Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE,
	BIGOT, and Soldiers]

LEWIS	My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
	And keep it safe for our remembrance:
	Return the precedent to these lords again;
	That, having our fair order written down,
	Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
	May know wherefore we took the sacrament
	And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

SALISBURY	Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
	And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
	A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith
	To your proceedings; yet believe me, prince,
	I am not glad that such a sore of time
	Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
	And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
	By making many. O, it grieves my soul,
	That I must draw this metal from my side
	To be a widow-maker! O, and there
	Where honourable rescue and defence
	Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
	But such is the infection of the time,
	That, for the health and physic of our right,
	We cannot deal but with the very hand
	Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
	And is't not pity, O my grieved friends,
	That we, the sons and children of this isle,
	Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
	Wherein we step after a stranger march
	Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
	Her enemies' ranks,--I must withdraw and weep
	Upon the spot of this enforced cause,--
	To grace the gentry of a land remote,
	And follow unacquainted colours here?
	What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!
	That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
	Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
	And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;
	Where these two Christian armies might combine
	The blood of malice in a vein of league,
	And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LEWIS	A noble temper dost thou show in this;
	And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
	Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
	O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
	Between compulsion and a brave respect!
	Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
	That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
	My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
	Being an ordinary inundation;
	But this effusion of such manly drops,
	This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
	Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed
	Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
	Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.
	Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
	And with a great heart heave away the storm:
	Commend these waters to those baby eyes
	That never saw the giant world enraged;
	Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
	Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
	Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
	Into the purse of rich prosperity
	As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all,
	That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
	And even there, methinks, an angel spake:

	[Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

	Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
	To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
	And on our actions set the name of right
	With holy breath.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	                  Hail, noble prince of France!
	The next is this, King John hath reconciled
	Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
	That so stood out against the holy church,
	The great metropolis and see of Rome:
	Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up;
	And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
	That like a lion foster'd up at hand,
	It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
	And be no further harmful than in show.

LEWIS	Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
	I am too high-born to be propertied,
	To be a secondary at control,
	Or useful serving-man and instrument,
	To any sovereign state throughout the world.
	Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
	Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
	And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
	And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
	With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
	You taught me how to know the face of right,
	Acquainted me with interest to this land,
	Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
	And come ye now to tell me John hath made
	His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
	I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
	After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
	And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
	Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
	Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
	What men provided, what munition sent,
	To underprop this action? Is't not I
	That undergo this charge? who else but I,
	And such as to my claim are liable,
	Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
	Have I not heard these islanders shout out
	'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
	Have I not here the best cards for the game,
	To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
	And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
	No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You look but on the outside of this work.

LEWIS	Outside or inside, I will not return
	Till my attempt so much be glorified
	As to my ample hope was promised
	Before I drew this gallant head of war,
	And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
	To outlook conquest and to win renown
	Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

	[Trumpet sounds]

	What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

	[Enter the BASTARD, attended]

BASTARD	According to the fair play of the world,
	Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:
	My holy lord of Milan, from the king
	I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
	And, as you answer, I do know the scope
	And warrant limited unto my tongue.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
	And will not temporize with my entreaties;
	He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD	By all the blood that ever fury breathed,
	The youth says well. Now hear our English king;
	For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
	He is prepared, and reason too he should:
	This apish and unmannerly approach,
	This harness'd masque and unadvised revel,
	This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
	The king doth smile at; and is well prepared
	To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
	From out the circle of his territories.
	That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
	To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,
	To dive like buckets in concealed wells,
	To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
	To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,
	To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
	In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
	Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
	Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;
	Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
	That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
	No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
	And like an eagle o'er his aery towers,
	To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
	And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
	You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
	Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
	For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
	Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
	Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
	Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
	To fierce and bloody inclination.

LEWIS	There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
	We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
	We hold our time too precious to be spent
	With such a brabbler.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD	No, I will speak.

LEWIS	                  We will attend to neither.
	Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
	Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD	Indeed your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
	And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
	An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
	And even at hand a drum is ready braced
	That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
	Sound but another, and another shall
	As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear
	And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,
	Not trusting to this halting legate here,
	Whom he hath used rather for sport than need
	Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
	A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
	To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LEWIS	Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

BASTARD	And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE III	The field of battle.


	[Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT]

KING JOHN	How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT	Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN	This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
	Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
	Desires your majesty to leave the field
	And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN	Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

Messenger	Be of good comfort; for the great supply
	That was expected by the Dauphin here,
	Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
	This news was brought to Richard but even now:
	The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN	Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
	And will not let me welcome this good news.
	Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
	Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY	I did not think the king so stored with friends.

PEMBROKE	Up once again; put spirit in the French:
	If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

SALISBURY	That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
	In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

PEMBROKE	They say King John sore sick hath left the field.

	[Enter MELUN, wounded]

MELUN	Lead me to the revolts of England here.

SALISBURY	When we were happy we had other names.

PEMBROKE	It is the Count Melun.

SALISBURY	Wounded to death.

MELUN	Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
	Unthread the rude eye of rebellion
	And welcome home again discarded faith.
	Seek out King John and fall before his feet;
	For if the French be lords of this loud day,
	He means to recompense the pains you take
	By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn
	And I with him, and many moe with me,
	Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
	Even on that altar where we swore to you
	Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY	May this be possible? may this be true?

MELUN	Have I not hideous death within my view,
	Retaining but a quantity of life,
	Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
	Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
	What in the world should make me now deceive,
	Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
	Why should I then be false, since it is true
	That I must die here and live hence by truth?
	I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
	He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
	Behold another day break in the east:
	But even this night, whose black contagious breath
	Already smokes about the burning crest
	Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun,
	Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
	Paying the fine of rated treachery
	Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
	If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
	Commend me to one Hubert with your king:
	The love of him, and this respect besides,
	For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
	Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
	In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
	From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
	Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
	In peace, and part this body and my soul
	With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY	We do believe thee: and beshrew my soul
	But I do love the favour and the form
	Of this most fair occasion, by the which
	We will untread the steps of damned flight,
	And like a bated and retired flood,
	Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
	Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd
	And cabby run on in obedience
	Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
	My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
	For I do see the cruel pangs of death
	Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;
	And happy newness, that intends old right.

	[Exeunt, leading off MELUN]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE V	The French camp.


	[Enter LEWIS and his train]

LEWIS	The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,
	But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
	When English measure backward their own ground
	In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
	When with a volley of our needless shot,
	After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
	And wound our tattering colours clearly up,
	Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LEWIS	Here: what news?

Messenger	The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
	By his persuasion are again fall'n off,
	And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
	Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LEWIS	Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!
	I did not think to be so sad to-night
	As this hath made me. Who was he that said
	King John did fly an hour or two before
	The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Messenger	Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LEWIS	Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:
	The day shall not be up so soon as I,
	To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VI	An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.


	[Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally]

HUBERT	Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD	A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT	Of the part of England.

BASTARD	Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT	What's that to thee? why may not I demand
	Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD	Hubert, I think?

HUBERT	                  Thou hast a perfect thought:
	I will upon all hazards well believe
	Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
	Who art thou?

BASTARD	                  Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
	Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
	I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT	Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
	Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,
	That any accent breaking from thy tongue
	Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD	Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT	Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
	To find you out.

BASTARD	                  Brief, then; and what's the news?

HUBERT	O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
	Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

BASTARD	Show me the very wound of this ill news:
	I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

HUBERT	The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
	I left him almost speechless; and broke out
	To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
	The better arm you to the sudden time,
	Than if you had at leisure known of this.

BASTARD	How did he take it? who did taste to him?

HUBERT	A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
	Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
	Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.

BASTARD	Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?

HUBERT	Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
	And brought Prince Henry in their company;
	At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
	And they are all about his majesty.

BASTARD	Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
	And tempt us not to bear above our power!
	I'll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
	Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
	These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
	Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
	Away before: conduct me to the king;
	I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VII	The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

PRINCE HENRY	It is too late: the life of all his blood
	Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,
	Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
	Doth by the idle comments that it makes
	Foretell the ending of mortality.

	[Enter PEMBROKE]

PEMBROKE	His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
	That, being brought into the open air,
	It would allay the burning quality
	Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

PRINCE HENRY	Let him be brought into the orchard here.
	Doth he still rage?

	[Exit BIGOT]

PEMBROKE	He is more patient
	Than when you left him; even now he sung.

PRINCE HENRY	O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
	In their continuance will not feel themselves.
	Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
	Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
	Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
	With many legions of strange fantasies,
	Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
	Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death
	should sing.
	I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
	Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
	And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
	His soul and body to their lasting rest.

SALISBURY	Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
	To set a form upon that indigest
	Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

	[Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair]

KING JOHN	Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
	It would not out at windows nor at doors.
	There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
	That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
	I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
	Upon a parchment, and against this fire
	Do I shrink up.

PRINCE HENRY	                  How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN	Poison'd,--ill fare--dead, forsook, cast off:
	And none of you will bid the winter come
	To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
	Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
	Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north
	To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
	And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
	I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait
	And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

PRINCE HENRY	O that there were some virtue in my tears,
	That might relieve you!

KING JOHN	The salt in them is hot.
	Within me is a hell; and there the poison
	Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize
	On unreprievable condemned blood.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
	And spleen of speed to see your majesty!

KING JOHN	O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
	The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd,
	And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
	Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
	My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
	Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
	And then all this thou seest is but a clod
	And module of confounded royalty.

BASTARD	The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
	Where heaven He knows how we shall answer him;
	For in a night the best part of my power,
	As I upon advantage did remove,
	Were in the Washes all unwarily
	Devoured by the unexpected flood.

	[KING JOHN dies]

SALISBURY	You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
	My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus.

PRINCE HENRY	Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
	What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
	When this was now a king, and now is clay?

BASTARD	Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
	To do the office for thee of revenge,
	And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
	As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
	Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,
	Where be your powers? show now your mended faiths,
	And instantly return with me again,
	To push destruction and perpetual shame
	Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
	Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
	The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

SALISBURY	It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
	The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
	Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
	And brings from him such offers of our peace
	As we with honour and respect may take,
	With purpose presently to leave this war.

BASTARD	He will the rather do it when he sees
	Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

SALISBURY	Nay, it is in a manner done already;
	For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
	To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
	To the disposing of the cardinal:
	With whom yourself, myself and other lords,
	If you think meet, this afternoon will post
	To consummate this business happily.

BASTARD	Let it be so: and you, my noble prince,
	With other princes that may best be spared,
	Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

PRINCE HENRY	At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
	For so he will'd it.

BASTARD	Thither shall it then:
	And happily may your sweet self put on
	The lineal state and glory of the land!
	To whom with all submission, on my knee
	I do bequeath my faithful services
	And true subjection everlastingly.

SALISBURY	And the like tender of our love we make,
	To rest without a spot for evermore.

PRINCE HENRY	I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
	And knows not how to do it but with tears.

BASTARD	O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
	Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
	This England never did, nor never shall,
	Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
	But when it first did help to wound itself.
	Now these her princes are come home again,
	Come the three corners of the world in arms,
	And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
	If England to itself do rest but true.

	[Exeunt]
	KING RICHARD II


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING RICHARD	the Second. (KING RICHARD II:)


JOHN OF GAUNT	Duke of Lancaster		|
			|  uncles to the King.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY	Duke of York  (DUKE OF YORK:)	|


HENRY, surnamed
BOLINGBROKE	(HENRY BOLINGBROKE:)  Duke of Hereford,
	son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	son to the Duke of York.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Duke of Norfolk.

DUKE OF SURREY:

EARL OF SALISBURY:

LORD BERKELEY:


BUSHY	|
	|
BAGOT	|  servants to King Richard.
	|
GREEN	|


EARL
OF NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY,
surnamed HOTSPUR	his son. (HENRY PERCY:)

LORD ROSS:

LORD WILLOUGHBY:

LORD FITZWATER:

BISHOP OF CARLISLE:

Abbot Of
Westminster	(Abbot:)

LORD MARSHAL	(Lord Marshal:)

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:

SIR
PIERCE OF EXTON	(EXTON:)

	Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:)

QUEEN
to King Richard	(QUEEN:)

DUCHESS OF YORK	(DUCHESS OF YORK:)

DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER	(DUCHESS:)

	Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:)

	Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
	Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(First Herald:)
	(Second Herald:)
	(Gardener:)
	(Keeper:)
	(Groom:)
	(Servant:)


SCENE	England and Wales.




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE I	London. KING RICHARD II's palace.


	[Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other
	Nobles and Attendants]

KING RICHARD II	Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
	Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
	Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
	Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
	Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

JOHN OF GAUNT	I have, my liege.

KING RICHARD II	Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
	If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
	Or worthily, as a good subject should,
	On some known ground of treachery in him?

JOHN OF GAUNT	As near as I could sift him on that argument,
	On some apparent danger seen in him
	Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

KING RICHARD II	Then call them to our presence; face to face,
	And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
	The accuser and the accused freely speak:
	High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
	In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Many years of happy days befal
	My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Each day still better other's happiness;
	Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
	Add an immortal title to your crown!

KING RICHARD II	We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
	As well appeareth by the cause you come;
	Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
	Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	First, heaven be the record to my speech!
	In the devotion of a subject's love,
	Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
	And free from other misbegotten hate,
	Come I appellant to this princely presence.
	Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
	And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
	My body shall make good upon this earth,
	Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
	Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
	Too good to be so and too bad to live,
	Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
	The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
	Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
	With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
	And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
	What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
	'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
	The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
	Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
	The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
	Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
	As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
	First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
	From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
	Which else would post until it had return'd
	These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
	Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
	And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
	I do defy him, and I spit at him;
	Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
	Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
	And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
	Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
	Or any other ground inhabitable,
	Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
	Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
	By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
	Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
	And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
	Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
	If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
	As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
	By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
	Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
	What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	I take it up; and by that sword I swear
	Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
	I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
	Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
	And when I mount, alive may I not light,
	If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

KING RICHARD II	What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
	It must be great that can inherit us
	So much as of a thought of ill in him.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
	That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
	In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
	The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
	Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
	Besides I say and will in battle prove,
	Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
	That ever was survey'd by English eye,
	That all the treasons for these eighteen years
	Complotted and contrived in this land
	Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
	Further I say and further will maintain
	Upon his bad life to make all this good,
	That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
	Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
	And consequently, like a traitor coward,
	Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
	Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
	Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
	To me for justice and rough chastisement;
	And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
	This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD II	How high a pitch his resolution soars!
	Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

THOMAS MOWBRAY	O, let my sovereign turn away his face
	And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
	Till I have told this slander of his blood,
	How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD II	Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
	Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
	As he is but my father's brother's son,
	Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
	Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
	Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
	The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
	He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
	Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
	Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
	Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
	Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
	The other part reserved I by consent,
	For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
	Upon remainder of a dear account,
	Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
	Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
	I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
	Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
	For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
	The honourable father to my foe
	Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
	A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
	But ere I last received the sacrament
	I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
	Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
	This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
	It issues from the rancour of a villain,
	A recreant and most degenerate traitor
	Which in myself I boldly will defend;
	And interchangeably hurl down my gage
	Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
	To prove myself a loyal gentleman
	Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
	In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
	Your highness to assign our trial day.

KING RICHARD II	Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
	Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
	This we prescribe, though no physician;
	Deep malice makes too deep incision;
	Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
	Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
	Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
	We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

JOHN OF GAUNT	To be a make-peace shall become my age:
	Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

KING RICHARD II	And, Norfolk, throw down his.

JOHN OF GAUNT	When, Harry, when?
	Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD II	Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
	My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
	The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
	Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
	To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
	I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
	Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
	The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
	Which breathed this poison.

KING RICHARD II	Rage must be withstood:
	Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
	And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
	The purest treasure mortal times afford
	Is spotless reputation: that away,
	Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
	A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
	Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
	Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
	Take honour from me, and my life is done:
	Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
	In that I live and for that will I die.

KING RICHARD II	Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
	Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
	Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
	Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
	Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
	Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
	The slavish motive of recanting fear,
	And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
	Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

	[Exit JOHN OF GAUNT]

KING RICHARD II	We were not born to sue, but to command;
	Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
	Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
	At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:
	There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
	The swelling difference of your settled hate:
	Since we can not atone you, we shall see
	Justice design the victor's chivalry.
	Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
	Be ready to direct these home alarms.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE II	The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace.


	[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS]

JOHN OF GAUNT	Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
	Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
	To stir against the butchers of his life!
	But since correction lieth in those hands
	Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
	Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
	Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
	Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

DUCHESS	Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
	Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
	Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
	Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
	Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
	Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
	Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
	But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
	One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
	One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
	Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
	Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
	By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
	Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,
	That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
	Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
	Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
	In some large measure to thy father's death,
	In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
	Who was the model of thy father's life.
	Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
	In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
	Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
	Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
	That which in mean men we intitle patience
	Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
	What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
	The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.

JOHN OF GAUNT	God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
	His deputy anointed in His sight,
	Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
	Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
	An angry arm against His minister.

DUCHESS	Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

JOHN OF GAUNT	To God, the widow's champion and defence.

DUCHESS	Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
	Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
	Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
	O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
	That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
	Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
	Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
	They may break his foaming courser's back,
	And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
	A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
	Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife
	With her companion grief must end her life.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
	As much good stay with thee as go with me!

DUCHESS	Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,
	Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
	I take my leave before I have begun,
	For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
	Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
	Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;
	Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
	I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?--
	With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
	Alack, and what shall good old York there see
	But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
	Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
	And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
	Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
	To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
	Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
	The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE III	The lists at Coventry.


	[Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Lord Marshal	My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Lord Marshal	The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
	Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay
	For nothing but his majesty's approach.

	[The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with
	his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and
	others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in
	arms, defendant, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II	Marshal, demand of yonder champion
	The cause of his arrival here in arms:
	Ask him his name and orderly proceed
	To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal	In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
	And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
	Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
	Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;
	As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
	Who hither come engaged by my oath--
	Which God defend a knight should violate!--
	Both to defend my loyalty and truth
	To God, my king and my succeeding issue,
	Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me
	And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
	To prove him, in defending of myself,
	A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
	And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

	[The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	appellant, in armour, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II	Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
	Both who he is and why he cometh hither
	Thus plated in habiliments of war,
	And formally, according to our law,
	Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal	What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,
	Before King Richard in his royal lists?
	Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
	Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
	Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,
	To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,
	In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
	That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
	To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
	And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Lord Marshal	On pain of death, no person be so bold
	Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
	Except the marshal and such officers
	Appointed to direct these fair designs.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
	And bow my knee before his majesty:
	For Mowbray and myself are like two men
	That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
	Then let us take a ceremonious leave
	And loving farewell of our several friends.

Lord Marshal	The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
	And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

KING RICHARD II	We will descend and fold him in our arms.
	Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
	So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
	Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
	Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O let no noble eye profane a tear
	For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear:
	As confident as is the falcon's flight
	Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
	My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
	Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
	Not sick, although I have to do with death,
	But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
	Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
	The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
	O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
	Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
	Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
	To reach at victory above my head,
	Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
	And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
	That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
	And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
	Even in the lusty havior of his son.

JOHN OF GAUNT	God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
	Be swift like lightning in the execution;
	And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
	Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
	Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
	Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	However God or fortune cast my lot,
	There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
	A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
	Never did captive with a freer heart
	Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
	His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
	More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
	This feast of battle with mine adversary.
	Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
	Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
	As gentle and as jocund as to jest
	Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD II	Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
	Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
	Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Lord Marshal	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
	Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

Lord Marshal	Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

First Herald	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
	Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
	On pain to be found false and recreant,
	To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
	A traitor to his God, his king and him;
	And dares him to set forward to the fight.

Second Herald	Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
	On pain to be found false and recreant,
	Both to defend himself and to approve
	Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
	To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
	Courageously and with a free desire
	Attending but the signal to begin.

Lord Marshal	Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

	[A charge sounded]

	Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD II	Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
	And both return back to their chairs again:
	Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
	While we return these dukes what we decree.

	[A long flourish]

	Draw near,
	And list what with our council we have done.
	For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
	With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
	And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
	Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;
	And for we think the eagle-winged pride
	Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
	With rival-hating envy, set on you
	To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
	Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
	Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,
	With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
	And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
	Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
	And make us wade even in our kindred's blood,
	Therefore, we banish you our territories:
	You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
	Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields
	Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
	But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
	Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
	And those his golden beams to you here lent
	Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

KING RICHARD II	Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
	Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
	The sly slow hours shall not determinate
	The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
	The hopeless word of 'never to return'
	Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
	And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
	A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
	As to be cast forth in the common air,
	Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
	The language I have learn'd these forty years,
	My native English, now I must forego:
	And now my tongue's use is to me no more
	Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
	Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
	Or, being open, put into his hands
	That knows no touch to tune the harmony:
	Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
	Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
	And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
	Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
	I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
	Too far in years to be a pupil now:
	What is thy sentence then but speechless death,
	Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

KING RICHARD II	It boots thee not to be compassionate:
	After our sentence plaining comes too late.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
	To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

KING RICHARD II	Return again, and take an oath with thee.
	Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
	Swear by the duty that you owe to God--
	Our part therein we banish with yourselves--
	To keep the oath that we administer:
	You never shall, so help you truth and God!
	Embrace each other's love in banishment;
	Nor never look upon each other's face;
	Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
	This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
	Nor never by advised purpose meet
	To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
	'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I swear.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	And I, to keep all this.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--
	By this time, had the king permitted us,
	One of our souls had wander'd in the air.
	Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
	As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
	Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
	Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
	The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
	My name be blotted from the book of life,
	And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
	But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
	And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
	Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
	Save back to England, all the world's my way.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD II	Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
	I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
	Hath from the number of his banish'd years
	Pluck'd four away.

	[To HENRY BOLINGBROKE]

	Six frozen winter spent,
	Return with welcome home from banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	How long a time lies in one little word!
	Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
	End in a word: such is the breath of kings.

JOHN OF GAUNT	I thank my liege, that in regard of me
	He shortens four years of my son's exile:
	But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
	For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
	Can change their moons and bring their times about
	My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
	Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
	My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
	And blindfold death not let me see my son.

KING RICHARD II	Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.

JOHN OF GAUNT	But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
	Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
	And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
	Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
	But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
	Thy word is current with him for my death,
	But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

KING RICHARD II	Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
	Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:
	Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

JOHN OF GAUNT	Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
	You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
	You would have bid me argue like a father.
	O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
	To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:
	A partial slander sought I to avoid,
	And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
	Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
	I was too strict to make mine own away;
	But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
	Against my will to do myself this wrong.

KING RICHARD II	Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
	Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

	[Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
	From where you do remain let paper show.

Lord Marshal	My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
	As far as land will let me, by your side.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
	That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I have too few to take my leave of you,
	When the tongue's office should be prodigal
	To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

JOHN OF GAUNT	What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
	Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

JOHN OF GAUNT	The sullen passage of thy weary steps
	Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
	The precious jewel of thy home return.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
	Will but remember me what a deal of world
	I wander from the jewels that I love.
	Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
	To foreign passages, and in the end,
	Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
	But that I was a journeyman to grief?

JOHN OF GAUNT	All places that the eye of heaven visits
	Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
	Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
	There is no virtue like necessity.
	Think not the king did banish thee,
	But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
	Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
	Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
	And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
	Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
	And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
	Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
	To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
	Suppose the singing birds musicians,
	The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
	The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
	Than a delightful measure or a dance;
	For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
	The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O, who can hold a fire in his hand
	By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
	Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
	By bare imagination of a feast?
	Or wallow naked in December snow
	By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
	O, no! the apprehension of the good
	Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
	Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
	Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
	Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
	My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
	Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
	Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE IV	The court.


	[Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one
	door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another]

KING RICHARD II	We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
	How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
	But to the next highway, and there I left him.

KING RICHARD II	And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
	Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
	Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
	Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

KING RICHARD II	What said our cousin when you parted with him?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	'Farewell:'
	And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
	Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
	To counterfeit oppression of such grief
	That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
	Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
	And added years to his short banishment,
	He should have had a volume of farewells;
	But since it would not, he had none of me.

KING RICHARD II	He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
	When time shall call him home from banishment,
	Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
	Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
	Observed his courtship to the common people;
	How he did seem to dive into their hearts
	With humble and familiar courtesy,
	What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
	Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
	And patient underbearing of his fortune,
	As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
	Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
	A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
	And had the tribute of his supple knee,
	With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;'
	As were our England in reversion his,
	And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

GREEN	Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
	Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
	Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
	Ere further leisure yield them further means
	For their advantage and your highness' loss.

KING RICHARD II	We will ourself in person to this war:
	And, for our coffers, with too great a court
	And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
	We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
	The revenue whereof shall furnish us
	For our affairs in hand: if that come short,
	Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
	Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
	They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold
	And send them after to supply our wants;
	For we will make for Ireland presently.

	[Enter BUSHY]

	Bushy, what news?

BUSHY	Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
	Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
	To entreat your majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD II	Where lies he?

BUSHY	At Ely House.

KING RICHARD II	Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
	To help him to his grave immediately!
	The lining of his coffers shall make coats
	To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
	Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
	Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!

All	Amen.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE I	Ely House.


	[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK,
	&c]

JOHN OF GAUNT	Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
	In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

DUKE OF YORK	Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
	For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, but they say the tongues of dying men
	Enforce attention like deep harmony:
	Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
	For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
	He that no more must say is listen'd more
	Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
	More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
	The setting sun, and music at the close,
	As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
	Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
	Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
	My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

DUKE OF YORK	No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
	As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,
	Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
	The open ear of youth doth always listen;
	Report of fashions in proud Italy,
	Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
	Limps after in base imitation.
	Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity--
	So it be new, there's no respect how vile--
	That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
	Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
	Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
	Direct not him whose way himself will choose:
	'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
	And thus expiring do foretell of him:
	His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
	For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
	Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
	He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
	With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
	Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
	Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
	This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
	This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
	This other Eden, demi-paradise,
	This fortress built by Nature for herself
	Against infection and the hand of war,
	This happy breed of men, this little world,
	This precious stone set in the silver sea,
	Which serves it in the office of a wall,
	Or as a moat defensive to a house,
	Against the envy of less happier lands,
	This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
	This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
	Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
	Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
	For Christian service and true chivalry,
	As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
	Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
	This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
	Dear for her reputation through the world,
	Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
	Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
	England, bound in with the triumphant sea
	Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
	Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
	With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
	That England, that was wont to conquer others,
	Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
	Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
	How happy then were my ensuing death!

	[Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE,
	BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD
	WILLOUGHBY]

DUKE OF YORK	The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;
	For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.

QUEEN	How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

KING RICHARD II	What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?

JOHN OF GAUNT	O how that name befits my composition!
	Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
	Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
	And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
	For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
	Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
	The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
	Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks;
	And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
	Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
	Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

KING RICHARD II	Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

JOHN OF GAUNT	No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
	Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
	I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

KING RICHARD II	Should dying men flatter with those that live?

JOHN OF GAUNT	No, no, men living flatter those that die.

KING RICHARD II	Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

KING RICHARD II	I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;
	Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
	Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
	Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
	And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
	Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
	Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
	A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
	Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
	And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
	The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
	O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
	Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
	From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
	Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
	Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
	Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
	It were a shame to let this land by lease;
	But for thy world enjoying but this land,
	Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
	Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
	Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou--

KING RICHARD II	         A lunatic lean-witted fool,
	Presuming on an ague's privilege,
	Darest with thy frozen admonition
	Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
	With fury from his native residence.
	Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
	Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
	This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
	Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
	For that I was his father Edward's son;
	That blood already, like the pelican,
	Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused:
	My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
	Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!
	May be a precedent and witness good
	That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
	Join with the present sickness that I have;
	And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
	To crop at once a too long wither'd flower.
	Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
	These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
	Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
	Love they to live that love and honour have.

	[Exit, borne off by his Attendants]

KING RICHARD II	And let them die that age and sullens have;
	For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

DUKE OF YORK	I do beseech your majesty, impute his words
	To wayward sickliness and age in him:
	He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
	As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

KING RICHARD II	Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
	As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

NORTHUMBERLAND	My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

KING RICHARD II	What says he?

NORTHUMBERLAND	                  Nay, nothing; all is said
	His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
	Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

DUKE OF YORK	Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
	Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

KING RICHARD II	The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
	His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
	So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
	We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
	Which live like venom where no venom else
	But only they have privilege to live.
	And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
	Towards our assistance we do seize to us
	The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,
	Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

DUKE OF YORK	How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
	Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
	Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment
	Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
	Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
	About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
	Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
	Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
	I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
	Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
	In war was never lion raged more fierce,
	In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
	Than was that young and princely gentleman.
	His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
	Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
	But when he frown'd, it was against the French
	And not against his friends; his noble hand
	Did will what he did spend and spent not that
	Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
	His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
	But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
	O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
	Or else he never would compare between.

KING RICHARD II	Why, uncle, what's the matter?

DUKE OF YORK	O my liege,
	Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
	Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
	Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
	The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
	Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
	Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?
	Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
	Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
	Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time
	His charters and his customary rights;
	Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
	Be not thyself; for how art thou a king
	But by fair sequence and succession?
	Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!--
	If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
	Call in the letters patent that he hath
	By his attorneys-general to sue
	His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
	You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
	You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts
	And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts
	Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

KING RICHARD II	Think what you will, we seize into our hands
	His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.

DUKE OF YORK	I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
	What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
	But by bad courses may be understood
	That their events can never fall out good.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD II	Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
	Bid him repair to us to Ely House
	To see this business. To-morrow next
	We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
	And we create, in absence of ourself,
	Our uncle York lord governor of England;
	For he is just and always loved us well.
	Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
	Be merry, for our time of stay is short

	[Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF
	AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

LORD ROSS	And living too; for now his son is duke.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Barely in title, not in revenue.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Richly in both, if justice had her right.

LORD ROSS	My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
	Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
	That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?
	If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
	Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

LORD ROSS	No good at all that I can do for him;
	Unless you call it good to pity him,
	Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne
	In him, a royal prince, and many moe
	Of noble blood in this declining land.
	The king is not himself, but basely led
	By flatterers; and what they will inform,
	Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
	That will the king severely prosecute
	'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

LORD ROSS	The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
	And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
	For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	And daily new exactions are devised,
	As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
	But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
	But basely yielded upon compromise
	That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows:
	More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

LORD ROSS	The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

LORD ROSS	He hath not money for these Irish wars,
	His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
	But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND	His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
	But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
	Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm;
	We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
	And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

LORD ROSS	We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
	And unavoided is the danger now,
	For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
	I spy life peering; but I dare not say
	How near the tidings of our comfort is.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

LORD ROSS	Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
	We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
	Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay
	In Brittany, received intelligence
	That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
	[                                               ]
	That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
	His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
	Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
	Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,
	All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
	With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
	Are making hither with all due expedience
	And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
	Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
	The first departing of the king for Ireland.
	If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
	Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
	Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
	Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt
	And make high majesty look like itself,
	Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
	But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
	Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

LORD ROSS	To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE II	The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT]

BUSHY	Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
	You promised, when you parted with the king,
	To lay aside life-harming heaviness
	And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN	To please the king I did; to please myself
	I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
	Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
	Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
	As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
	Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
	Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
	With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,
	More than with parting from my lord the king.

BUSHY	Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
	Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
	For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
	Divides one thing entire to many objects;
	Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
	Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
	Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
	Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
	Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
	Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
	Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
	More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen;
	Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
	Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

QUEEN	It may be so; but yet my inward soul
	Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
	I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
	As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
	Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

BUSHY	'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

QUEEN	'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
	From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
	For nothing had begot my something grief;
	Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
	'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
	But what it is, that is not yet known; what
	I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

	[Enter GREEN]

GREEN	God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
	I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

QUEEN	Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
	For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
	Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

GREEN	That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
	And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
	Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
	The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
	And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
	At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN	                  Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN	Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,
	The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
	The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
	With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY	Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
	And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN	We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
	Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
	And all the household servants fled with him
	To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN	So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
	And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
	Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
	And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
	Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

BUSHY	Despair not, madam.

QUEEN	Who shall hinder me?
	I will despair, and be at enmity
	With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
	A parasite, a keeper back of death,
	Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
	Which false hope lingers in extremity.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK]

GREEN	Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN	With signs of war about his aged neck:
	O, full of careful business are his looks!
	Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

DUKE OF YORK	Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
	Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
	Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.
	Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
	Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
	Here am I left to underprop his land,
	Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
	Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
	Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	My lord, your son was gone before I came.

DUKE OF YORK	He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
	The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,
	And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
	Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
	Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
	Hold, take my ring.

Servant	My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
	To-day, as I came by, I called there;
	But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

DUKE OF YORK	What is't, knave?

Servant	An hour before I came, the duchess died.

DUKE OF YORK	God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
	Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
	I know not what to do: I would to God,
	So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
	The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
	What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
	How shall we do for money for these wars?
	Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.
	Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
	And bring away the armour that is there.

	[Exit Servant]

	Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
	If I know how or which way to order these affairs
	Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
	Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
	The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
	And duty bids defend; the other again
	Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
	Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
	Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
	Dispose of you.
	Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
	And meet me presently at Berkeley.
	I should to Plashy too;
	But time will not permit: all is uneven,
	And every thing is left at six and seven.

	[Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN]

BUSHY	The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
	But none returns. For us to levy power
	Proportionable to the enemy
	Is all unpossible.

GREEN	Besides, our nearness to the king in love
	Is near the hate of those love not the king.

BAGOT	And that's the wavering commons: for their love
	Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
	By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY	Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.

BAGOT	If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
	Because we ever have been near the king.

GREEN	Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
	The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY	Thither will I with you; for little office
	The hateful commons will perform for us,
	Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
	Will you go along with us?

BAGOT	No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
	Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
	We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.

BUSHY	That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN	Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
	Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
	Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
	Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY	Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT	I fear me, never.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE III	Wilds in Gloucestershire.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Believe me, noble lord,
	I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:
	These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
	Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
	And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
	Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
	But I bethink me what a weary way
	From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found
	In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
	Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
	The tediousness and process of my travel:
	But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
	The present benefit which I possess;
	And hope to joy is little less in joy
	Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
	Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
	By sight of what I have, your noble company.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Of much less value is my company
	Than your good words. But who comes here?

	[Enter HENRY PERCY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my son, young Harry Percy,
	Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
	Harry, how fares your uncle?

HENRY PERCY	I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, is he not with the queen?

HENRY PERCY	No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,
	Broken his staff of office and dispersed
	The household of the king.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What was his reason?
	He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

HENRY PERCY	Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
	But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
	To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
	And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
	What power the Duke of York had levied there;
	Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

HENRY PERCY	No, my good lord, for that is not forgot
	Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
	I never in my life did look on him.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.

HENRY PERCY	My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
	Such as it is, being tender, raw and young:
	Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
	To more approved service and desert.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
	I count myself in nothing else so happy
	As in a soul remembering my good friends;
	And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
	It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
	My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

NORTHUMBERLAND	How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
	Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

HENRY PERCY	There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
	Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
	And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour;
	None else of name and noble estimate.

	[Enter LORD ROSS and LORD WILLOUGHBY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
	Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
	A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
	Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
	Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

LORD ROSS	Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
	Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
	Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

	[Enter LORD BERKELEY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

LORD BERKELEY	My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
	And I am come to seek that name in England;
	And I must find that title in your tongue,
	Before I make reply to aught you say.

LORD BERKELEY	Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
	To raze one title of your honour out:
	To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
	From the most gracious regent of this land,
	The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
	To take advantage of the absent time
	And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK attended]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I shall not need transport my words by you;
	Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!

	[Kneels]

DUKE OF YORK	Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
	Whose duty is deceiveable and false.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle--

DUKE OF YORK	Tut, tut!
	Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
	I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.'
	In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
	Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
	Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
	But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march
	So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
	Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
	And ostentation of despised arms?
	Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
	Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
	And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
	Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
	As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
	Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
	From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
	O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.
	Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
	And minister correction to thy fault!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
	On what condition stands it and wherein?

DUKE OF YORK	Even in condition of the worst degree,
	In gross rebellion and detested treason:
	Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
	Before the expiration of thy time,
	In braving arms against thy sovereign.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
	But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
	And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
	Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
	You are my father, for methinks in you
	I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,
	Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
	A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
	Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
	To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
	If that my cousin king be King of England,
	It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
	You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;
	Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
	He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
	To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
	I am denied to sue my livery here,
	And yet my letters-patents give me leave:
	My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold,
	And these and all are all amiss employ'd.
	What would you have me do? I am a subject,
	And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me;
	And therefore, personally I lay my claim
	To my inheritance of free descent.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble duke hath been too much abused.

LORD ROSS	It stands your grace upon to do him right.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Base men by his endowments are made great.

DUKE OF YORK	My lords of England, let me tell you this:
	I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
	And laboured all I could to do him right;
	But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
	Be his own carver and cut out his way,
	To find out right with wrong, it may not be;
	And you that do abet him in this kind
	Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble duke hath sworn his coming is
	But for his own; and for the right of that
	We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
	And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath!

DUKE OF YORK	Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:
	I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
	Because my power is weak and all ill left:
	But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
	I would attach you all and make you stoop
	Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
	But since I cannot, be it known to you
	I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;
	Unless you please to enter in the castle
	And there repose you for this night.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	An offer, uncle, that we will accept:
	But we must win your grace to go with us
	To Bristol castle, which they say is held
	By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
	The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
	Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

DUKE OF YORK	It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause;
	For I am loath to break our country's laws.
	Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:
	Things past redress are now with me past care.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE IV	A camp in Wales.


	[Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a Welsh Captain]

Captain	My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,
	And hardly kept our countrymen together,
	And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
	Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.

EARL OF SALISBURY	Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:
	The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.

Captain	'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.
	The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
	And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
	The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
	And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
	Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,
	The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
	The other to enjoy by rage and war:
	These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
	Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
	As well assured Richard their king is dead.

	[Exit]

EARL OF SALISBURY	Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind
	I see thy glory like a shooting star
	Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
	Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
	Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:
	Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
	And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE I	Bristol. Before the castle.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
	NORTHUMBERLAND, LORD ROSS, HENRY PERCY, LORD
	WILLOUGHBY, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Bring forth these men.
	Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls--
	Since presently your souls must part your bodies--
	With too much urging your pernicious lives,
	For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
	From off my hands, here in the view of men
	I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
	You have misled a prince, a royal king,
	A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
	By you unhappied and disfigured clean:
	You have in manner with your sinful hours
	Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,
	Broke the possession of a royal bed
	And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
	With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
	Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
	Near to the king in blood, and near in love
	Till you did make him misinterpret me,
	Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
	And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
	Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
	Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
	Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
	From my own windows torn my household coat,
	Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,
	Save men's opinions and my living blood,
	To show the world I am a gentleman.
	This and much more, much more than twice all this,
	Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over
	To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY	More welcome is the stroke of death to me
	Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

GREEN	My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
	And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.

	[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with the
	prisoners]

	Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
	For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
	Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
	Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.

DUKE OF YORK	A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
	With letters of your love to her at large.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away.
	To fight with Glendower and his complices:
	Awhile to work, and after holiday.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE II	The coast of Wales. A castle in view.


	[Drums; flourish and colours. Enter KING RICHARD
	II, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, and Soldiers]

KING RICHARD II	Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air,
	After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD II	Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
	To stand upon my kingdom once again.
	Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
	Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
	As a long-parted mother with her child
	Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
	So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
	And do thee favours with my royal hands.
	Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
	Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
	But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
	And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
	Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
	Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
	Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
	And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
	Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
	Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
	Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
	Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
	This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
	Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
	Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
	Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
	The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
	And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
	And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
	The proffer'd means of succor and redress.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
	Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
	Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

KING RICHARD II	Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
	That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
	Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
	Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
	In murders and in outrage, boldly here;
	But when from under this terrestrial ball
	He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
	And darts his light through every guilty hole,
	Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
	The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
	Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
	So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
	Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
	Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,
	Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
	His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
	Not able to endure the sight of day,
	But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
	Not all the water in the rough rude sea
	Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
	The breath of worldly men cannot depose
	The deputy elected by the Lord:
	For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
	To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
	God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
	A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
	Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

	[Enter EARL OF SALISBURY]

	Welcome, my lord	how far off lies your power?

EARL OF SALISBURY	Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
	Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue
	And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
	One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
	Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
	O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
	And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
	To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
	O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state:
	For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
	Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?

KING RICHARD II	But now the blood of twenty thousand men
	Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
	And, till so much blood thither come again,
	Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
	All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
	For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.

KING RICHARD II	I had forgot myself; am I not king?
	Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
	Is not the king's name twenty thousand names?
	Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
	At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
	Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?
	High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York
	Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

	[Enter SIR STEPHEN SCROOP]

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	More health and happiness betide my liege
	Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!

KING RICHARD II	Mine ear is open and my heart prepared;
	The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
	Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care
	And what loss is it to be rid of care?
	Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
	Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
	We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
	Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
	They break their faith to God as well as us:
	Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay:
	The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
	To bear the tidings of calamity.
	Like an unseasonable stormy day,
	Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
	As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
	So high above his limits swells the rage
	Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
	With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
	White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
	Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
	Strive to speak big and clap their female joints
	In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
	The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
	Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
	Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
	Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
	And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

KING RICHARD II	Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
	Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
	What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
	That they have let the dangerous enemy
	Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
	If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
	I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD II	O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
	Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
	Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
	Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
	Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
	Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
	Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
	Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
	With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
	Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
	And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Where is the duke my father with his power?

KING RICHARD II	No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
	Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
	Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
	Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
	Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
	And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
	Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
	Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
	And nothing can we call our own but death
	And that small model of the barren earth
	Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
	For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
	And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
	How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
	Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
	Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;
	All murder'd: for within the hollow crown
	That rounds the mortal temples of a king
	Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
	Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
	Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
	To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,
	Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
	As if this flesh which walls about our life,
	Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
	Comes at the last and with a little pin
	Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
	Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
	With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
	Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
	For you have but mistook me all this while:
	I live with bread like you, feel want,
	Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
	How can you say to me, I am a king?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,
	But presently prevent the ways to wail.
	To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
	Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
	And so your follies fight against yourself.
	Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight:
	And fight and die is death destroying death;
	Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My father hath a power; inquire of him
	And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD II	Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come
	To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
	This ague fit of fear is over-blown;
	An easy task it is to win our own.
	Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
	Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Men judge by the complexion of the sky
	The state and inclination of the day:
	So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
	My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
	I play the torturer, by small and small
	To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
	Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
	And all your northern castles yielded up,
	And all your southern gentlemen in arms
	Upon his party.

KING RICHARD II	                  Thou hast said enough.
	Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

	[To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

	Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
	What say you now? what comfort have we now?
	By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
	That bids me be of comfort any more.
	Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away;
	A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
	That power I have, discharge; and let them go
	To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
	For I have none: let no man speak again
	To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD II	He does me double wrong
	That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
	Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
	From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE III	Wales. Before Flint castle.


	[Enter, with drum and colours, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	DUKE OF YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Attendants, and forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	So that by this intelligence we learn
	The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
	Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
	With some few private friends upon this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The news is very fair and good, my lord:
	Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

DUKE OF YORK	It would beseem the Lord Northumberland
	To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day
	When such a sacred king should hide his head.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Your grace mistakes; only to be brief
	Left I his title out.

DUKE OF YORK	The time hath been,
	Would you have been so brief with him, he would
	Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
	For taking so the head, your whole head's length.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

DUKE OF YORK	Take not, good cousin, further than you should.
	Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself
	Against their will. But who comes here?

	[Enter HENRY PERCY]

	Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?

HENRY PERCY	The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
	Against thy entrance.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Royally!
	Why, it contains no king?

HENRY PERCY	Yes, my good lord,
	It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
	Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
	And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
	Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
	Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.

NORTHUMBERLAND	O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Noble lords,
	Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
	Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
	Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
	Henry Bolingbroke
	On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand
	And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
	To his most royal person, hither come
	Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
	Provided that my banishment repeal'd
	And lands restored again be freely granted:
	If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
	And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
	Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
	The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
	It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
	The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
	My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
	Go, signify as much, while here we march
	Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
	Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,
	That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
	Our fair appointments may be well perused.
	Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
	With no less terror than the elements
	Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
	At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
	Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
	The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
	My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
	March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

	[Parle without, and answer within. Then a flourish.
	Enter on the walls, KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF
	CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, SIR STEPHEN SCROOP, and
	EARL OF SALISBURY]

	See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
	As doth the blushing discontented sun
	From out the fiery portal of the east,
	When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
	To dim his glory and to stain the track
	Of his bright passage to the occident.

DUKE OF YORK	Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,
	As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
	Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
	That any harm should stain so fair a show!

KING RICHARD II	We are amazed; and thus long have we stood
	To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,

	[To NORTHUMBERLAND]

	Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
	And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
	To pay their awful duty to our presence?
	If we be not, show us the hand of God
	That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
	For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
	Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
	Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
	And though you think that all, as you have done,
	Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
	And we are barren and bereft of friends;
	Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
	Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
	Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
	Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
	That lift your vassal hands against my head
	And threat the glory of my precious crown.
	Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands--
	That every stride he makes upon my land
	Is dangerous treason: he is come to open
	The purple testament of bleeding war;
	But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
	Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
	Shall ill become the flower of England's face,
	Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
	To scarlet indignation and bedew
	Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The king of heaven forbid our lord the king
	Should so with civil and uncivil arms
	Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin
	Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand;
	And by the honourable tomb he swears,
	That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,
	And by the royalties of both your bloods,
	Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
	And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
	And by the worth and honour of himself,
	Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
	His coming hither hath no further scope
	Than for his lineal royalties and to beg
	Enfranchisement immediate on his knees:
	Which on thy royal party granted once,
	His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
	His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
	To faithful service of your majesty.
	This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
	And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.

KING RICHARD II	Northumberland, say thus the king returns:
	His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
	And all the number of his fair demands
	Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction:
	With all the gracious utterance thou hast
	Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
	We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,

	[To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

	To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
	Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
	Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words
	Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.

KING RICHARD II	O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
	That laid the sentence of dread banishment
	On yon proud man, should take it off again
	With words of sooth! O that I were as great
	As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
	Or that I could forget what I have been,
	Or not remember what I must be now!
	Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,
	Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II	What must the king do now? must he submit?
	The king shall do it: must he be deposed?
	The king shall be contented: must he lose
	The name of king? o' God's name, let it go:
	I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
	My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
	My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
	My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
	My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
	My subjects for a pair of carved saints
	And my large kingdom for a little grave,
	A little little grave, an obscure grave;
	Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,
	Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
	May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;
	For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;
	And buried once, why not upon my head?
	Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!
	We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
	Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,
	And make a dearth in this revolting land.
	Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
	And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
	As thus, to drop them still upon one place,
	Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
	Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies
	Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.
	Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
	I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
	Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
	What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
	Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
	You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, in the base court he doth attend
	To speak with you; may it please you to come down.

KING RICHARD II	Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,
	Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
	In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
	To come at traitors' calls and do them grace.
	In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
	down, king!
	For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
	should sing.

	[Exeunt from above]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What says his majesty?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Sorrow and grief of heart
	Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man
	Yet he is come.

	[Enter KING RICHARD and his attendants below]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Stand all apart,
	And show fair duty to his majesty.

	[He kneels down]

	My gracious lord,--

KING RICHARD II	Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee
	To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
	Me rather had my heart might feel your love
	Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
	Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
	Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

KING RICHARD II	Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
	As my true service shall deserve your love.

KING RICHARD II	Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,
	That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
	Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;
	Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
	Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
	Though you are old enough to be my heir.
	What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
	For do we must what force will have us do.
	Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Yea, my good lord.

KING RICHARD II	Then I must not say no.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE IV	LANGLEY. The DUKE OF YORK's garden.


	[Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies]

QUEEN	What sport shall we devise here in this garden,
	To drive away the heavy thought of care?

Lady	Madam, we'll play at bowls.

QUEEN	'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
	And that my fortune rubs against the bias.

Lady	Madam, we'll dance.

QUEEN	My legs can keep no measure in delight,
	When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
	Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

Lady	Madam, we'll tell tales.

QUEEN	Of sorrow or of joy?

Lady	Of either, madam.

QUEEN	Of neither, girl:
	For of joy, being altogether wanting,
	It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
	Or if of grief, being altogether had,
	It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
	For what I have I need not to repeat;
	And what I want it boots not to complain.

Lady	Madam, I'll sing.

QUEEN	'Tis well that thou hast cause
	But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.

Lady	I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

QUEEN	And I could sing, would weeping do me good,
	And never borrow any tear of thee.

	[Enter a Gardener, and two Servants]

	But stay, here come the gardeners:
	Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
	My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
	They'll talk of state; for every one doth so
	Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.

	[QUEEN and Ladies retire]

Gardener	Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,
	Which, like unruly children, make their sire
	Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
	Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
	Go thou, and like an executioner,
	Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,
	That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
	All must be even in our government.
	You thus employ'd, I will go root away
	The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
	The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

Servant	Why should we in the compass of a pale
	Keep law and form and due proportion,
	Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,
	When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
	Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
	Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd,
	Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs
	Swarming with caterpillars?

Gardener	Hold thy peace:
	He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
	Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
	The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
	That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
	Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,
	I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

Servant	What, are they dead?

Gardener	They are; and Bolingbroke
	Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it
	That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
	As we this garden! We at time of year
	Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
	Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
	With too much riches it confound itself:
	Had he done so to great and growing men,
	They might have lived to bear and he to taste
	Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
	We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
	Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
	Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

Servant	What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

Gardener	Depress'd he is already, and deposed
	'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night
	To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
	That tell black tidings.

QUEEN	O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!

	[Coming forward]

	Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
	How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
	What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
	To make a second fall of cursed man?
	Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
	Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
	Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
	Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gardener	Pardon me, madam: little joy have I
	To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
	King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
	Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd:
	In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
	And some few vanities that make him light;
	But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
	Besides himself, are all the English peers,
	And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
	Post you to London, and you will find it so;
	I speak no more than every one doth know.

QUEEN	Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
	Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
	And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
	To serve me last, that I may longest keep
	Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
	To meet at London London's king in woe.
	What, was I born to this, that my sad look
	Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
	Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
	Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.

	[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

GARDENER	Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
	I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
	Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
	I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
	Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
	In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT IV



SCENE I	Westminster Hall.


	[Enter, as to the Parliament, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	DUKE OF AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, HENRY PERCY, LORD
	FITZWATER, DUKE OF SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
	the Abbot Of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald,
	Officers, and BAGOT]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Call forth Bagot.
	Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
	What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,
	Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
	The bloody office of his timeless end.

BAGOT	Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

BAGOT	My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
	Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
	In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,
	I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length,
	That reacheth from the restful English court
	As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?'
	Amongst much other talk, that very time,
	I heard you say that you had rather refuse
	The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
	Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
	Adding withal how blest this land would be
	In this your cousin's death.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Princes and noble lords,
	What answer shall I make to this base man?
	Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
	On equal terms to give him chastisement?
	Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
	With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
	There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
	That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
	And will maintain what thou hast said is false
	In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
	To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Excepting one, I would he were the best
	In all this presence that hath moved me so.

LORD FITZWATER	If that thy valour stand on sympathy,
	There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
	By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,
	I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it
	That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.
	If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest;
	And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
	Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.

LORD FITZWATER	Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

HENRY PERCY	Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true
	In this appeal as thou art all unjust;
	And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
	To prove it on thee to the extremest point
	Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	An if I do not, may my hands rot off
	And never brandish more revengeful steel
	Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Lord	I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;
	And spur thee on with full as many lies
	As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear
	From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
	Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:
	I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
	To answer twenty thousand such as you.

DUKE OF SURREY	My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
	The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

LORD FITZWATER	'Tis very true: you were in presence then;
	And you can witness with me this is true.

DUKE OF SURREY	As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

LORD FITZWATER	Surrey, thou liest.

DUKE OF SURREY	Dishonourable boy!
	That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
	That it shall render vengeance and revenge
	Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
	In earth as quiet as thy father's skull:
	In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
	Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

LORD FITZWATER	How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
	If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
	I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
	And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
	And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
	To tie thee to my strong correction.
	As I intend to thrive in this new world,
	Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
	Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say
	That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
	To execute the noble duke at Calais.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Some honest Christian trust me with a gage
	That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
	If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	These differences shall all rest under gage
	Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
	And, though mine enemy, restored again
	To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd,
	Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.
	Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
	For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
	Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
	Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
	And toil'd with works of war, retired himself
	To Italy; and there at Venice gave
	His body to that pleasant country's earth,
	And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
	Under whose colours he had fought so long.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	As surely as I live, my lord.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom
	Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,
	Your differences shall all rest under gage
	Till we assign you to your days of trial.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK, attended]

DUKE OF YORK	Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
	From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul
	Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
	To the possession of thy royal hand:
	Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
	And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Marry. God forbid!
	Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
	Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
	Would God that any in this noble presence
	Were enough noble to be upright judge
	Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would
	Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
	What subject can give sentence on his king?
	And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
	Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,
	Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
	And shall the figure of God's majesty,
	His captain, steward, deputy-elect,
	Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
	Be judged by subject and inferior breath,
	And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,
	That in a Christian climate souls refined
	Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
	I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
	Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king:
	My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
	Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
	And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
	The blood of English shall manure the ground,
	And future ages groan for this foul act;
	Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
	And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
	Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
	Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
	Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
	The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
	O, if you raise this house against this house,
	It will the woefullest division prove
	That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
	Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
	Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe!

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,
	Of capital treason we arrest you here.
	My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge
	To keep him safely till his day of trial.
	May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
	He may surrender; so we shall proceed
	Without suspicion.

DUKE OF YORK	                  I will be his conduct.

	[Exit]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Lords, you that here are under our arrest,
	Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
	Little are we beholding to your love,
	And little look'd for at your helping hands.

	[Re-enter DUKE OF YORK, with KING RICHARD II, and
	Officers bearing the regalia]

KING RICHARD II	Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
	Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
	Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
	To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:
	Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
	To this submission. Yet I well remember
	The favours of these men: were they not mine?
	Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me?
	So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,
	Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.
	God save the king! Will no man say amen?
	Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
	God save the king! although I be not he;
	And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
	To do what service am I sent for hither?

DUKE OF YORK	To do that office of thine own good will
	Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
	The resignation of thy state and crown
	To Henry Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II	Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown;
	Here cousin:
	On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
	Now is this golden crown like a deep well
	That owes two buckets, filling one another,
	The emptier ever dancing in the air,
	The other down, unseen and full of water:
	That bucket down and full of tears am I,
	Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I thought you had been willing to resign.

KING RICHARD II	My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:
	You may my glories and my state depose,
	But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

KING RICHARD II	Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.
	My care is loss of care, by old care done;
	Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
	The cares I give I have, though given away;
	They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Are you contented to resign the crown?

KING RICHARD II	Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;
	Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
	Now mark me, how I will undo myself;
	I give this heavy weight from off my head
	And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
	The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
	With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
	With mine own hands I give away my crown,
	With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
	With mine own breath release all duty's rites:
	All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
	My manors, rents, revenues I forego;
	My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny:
	God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
	God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee!
	Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,
	And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!
	Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
	And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
	God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says,
	And send him many years of sunshine days!
	What more remains?

NORTHUMBERLAND	                  No more, but that you read
	These accusations and these grievous crimes
	Committed by your person and your followers
	Against the state and profit of this land;
	That, by confessing them, the souls of men
	May deem that you are worthily deposed.

KING RICHARD II	Must I do so? and must I ravel out
	My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,
	If thy offences were upon record,
	Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop
	To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,
	There shouldst thou find one heinous article,
	Containing the deposing of a king
	And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
	Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:
	Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,
	Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
	Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands
	Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
	Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
	And water cannot wash away your sin.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.

KING RICHARD II	Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
	And yet salt water blinds them not so much
	But they can see a sort of traitors here.
	Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
	I find myself a traitor with the rest;
	For I have given here my soul's consent
	To undeck the pompous body of a king;
	Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,
	Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord,--

KING RICHARD II	No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
	Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,
	No, not that name was given me at the font,
	But 'tis usurp'd: alack the heavy day,
	That I have worn so many winters out,
	And know not now what name to call myself!
	O that I were a mockery king of snow,
	Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
	To melt myself away in water-drops!
	Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,
	An if my word be sterling yet in England,
	Let it command a mirror hither straight,
	That it may show me what a face I have,
	Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.

	[Exit an attendant]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.

KING RICHARD II	Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The commons will not then be satisfied.

KING RICHARD II	They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,
	When I do see the very book indeed
	Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.

	[Re-enter Attendant, with a glass]

	Give me the glass, and therein will I read.
	No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck
	So many blows upon this face of mine,
	And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass,
	Like to my followers in prosperity,
	Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
	That every day under his household roof
	Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face
	That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
	Was this the face that faced so many follies,
	And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?
	A brittle glory shineth in this face:
	As brittle as the glory is the face;

	[Dashes the glass against the ground]

	For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.
	Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,
	How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
	The shadow or your face.

KING RICHARD II	Say that again.
	The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see:
	'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
	And these external manners of laments
	Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
	That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
	There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
	For thy great bounty, that not only givest
	Me cause to wail but teachest me the way
	How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
	And then be gone and trouble you no more.
	Shall I obtain it?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	                  Name it, fair cousin.

KING RICHARD II	'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a king:
	For when I was a king, my flatterers
	Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
	I have a king here to my flatterer.
	Being so great, I have no need to beg.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Yet ask.

KING RICHARD II	And shall I have?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	You shall.

KING RICHARD II	Then give me leave to go.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Whither?

KING RICHARD II	Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.

KING RICHARD II	O, good! convey? conveyers are you all,
	That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

	[Exeunt KING RICHARD II, some Lords, and a Guard]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
	Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

	[Exeunt all except the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the Abbot
	of Westminster, and DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Abbot	A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	The woe's to come; the children yet unborn.
	Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	You holy clergymen, is there no plot
	To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot	My lord,
	Before I freely speak my mind herein,
	You shall not only take the sacrament
	To bury mine intents, but also to effect
	Whatever I shall happen to devise.
	I see your brows are full of discontent,
	Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears:
	Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay
	A plot shall show us all a merry day.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE I	London. A street leading to the Tower.


	[Enter QUEEN and Ladies]

QUEEN	This way the king will come; this is the way
	To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,
	To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
	Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
	Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
	Have any resting for her true king's queen.

	[Enter KING RICHARD II and Guard]

	But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
	My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,
	That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
	And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
	Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,
	Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
	And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
	Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee,
	When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

KING RICHARD II	Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
	To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
	To think our former state a happy dream;
	From which awaked, the truth of what we are
	Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
	To grim Necessity, and he and I
	Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France
	And cloister thee in some religious house:
	Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
	Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

QUEEN	What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
	Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed
	Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
	The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,
	And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
	To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
	Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
	And fawn on rage with base humility,
	Which art a lion and a king of beasts?

KING RICHARD II	A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
	I had been still a happy king of men.
	Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France:
	Think I am dead and that even here thou takest,
	As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
	In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
	With good old folks and let them tell thee tales
	Of woeful ages long ago betid;
	And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,
	Tell thou the lamentable tale of me
	And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
	For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
	The heavy accent of thy moving tongue
	And in compassion weep the fire out;
	And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
	For the deposing of a rightful king.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND and others]

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:
	You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
	And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
	With all swift speed you must away to France.

KING RICHARD II	Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
	The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
	The time shall not be many hours of age
	More than it is ere foul sin gathering head
	Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think,
	Though he divide the realm and give thee half,
	It is too little, helping him to all;
	And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way
	To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
	Being ne'er so little urged, another way
	To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
	The love of wicked men converts to fear;
	That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
	To worthy danger and deserved death.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
	Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith.

KING RICHARD II	Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
	A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
	And then betwixt me and my married wife.
	Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
	And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
	Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north,
	Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
	My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp,
	She came adorned hither like sweet May,
	Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.

QUEEN	And must we be divided? must we part?

KING RICHARD II	Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN	Banish us both and send the king with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND	That were some love but little policy.

QUEEN	Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

KING RICHARD II	So two, together weeping, make one woe.
	Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
	Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
	Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

QUEEN	So longest way shall have the longest moans.

KING RICHARD II	Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,
	And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
	Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
	Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief;
	One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
	Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

QUEEN	Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
	To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
	So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
	That I might strive to kill it with a groan.

KING RICHARD II	We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
	Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE II	The DUKE OF YORK's palace.


	[Enter DUKE OF YORK and DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK	My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
	When weeping made you break the story off,
	of our two cousins coming into London.

DUKE OF YORK	Where did I leave?

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  At that sad stop, my lord,
	Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
	Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

DUKE OF YORK	Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
	Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
	Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
	With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
	Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee,
	Bolingbroke!'
	You would have thought the very windows spake,
	So many greedy looks of young and old
	Through casements darted their desiring eyes
	Upon his visage, and that all the walls
	With painted imagery had said at once
	'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
	Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
	Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
	Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:'
	And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?

DUKE OF YORK	As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
	After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
	Are idly bent on him that enters next,
	Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
	Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
	Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
	No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
	But dust was thrown upon his sacred head:
	Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
	His face still combating with tears and smiles,
	The badges of his grief and patience,
	That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
	The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
	And barbarism itself have pitied him.
	But heaven hath a hand in these events,
	To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
	To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
	Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Here comes my son Aumerle.

DUKE OF YORK	Aumerle that was;
	But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
	And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
	I am in parliament pledge for his truth
	And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

	[Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
	That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
	God knows I had as lief be none as one.

DUKE OF YORK	Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
	Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
	What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	For aught I know, my lord, they do.

DUKE OF YORK	You will be there, I know.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	If God prevent not, I purpose so.

DUKE OF YORK	What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
	Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My lord, 'tis nothing.

DUKE OF YORK	No matter, then, who see it;
	I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
	It is a matter of small consequence,
	Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

DUKE OF YORK	Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
	I fear, I fear,--

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  What should you fear?
	'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
	For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

DUKE OF YORK	Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond
	That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
	Boy, let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

DUKE OF YORK	I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

	[He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it]

	Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK	Ho! who is within there?

	[Enter a Servant]

		    Saddle my horse.
	God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, what is it, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK	Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
	Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
	I will appeach the villain.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter?

DUKE OF YORK	Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Good mother, be content; it is no more
	Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Thy life answer!

DUKE OF YORK	Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

	[Re-enter Servant with boots]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
	Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

DUKE OF YORK	Give me my boots, I say.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, York, what wilt thou do?
	Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
	Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
	Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
	And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
	And rob me of a happy mother's name?
	Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

DUKE OF YORK	Thou fond mad woman,
	Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
	A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
	And interchangeably set down their hands,
	To kill the king at Oxford.

DUCHESS OF YORK	He shall be none;
	We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

DUKE OF YORK	Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
	I would appeach him.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Hadst thou groan'd for him
	As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
	But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
	That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
	And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
	Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
	He is as like thee as a man may be,
	Not like to me, or any of my kin,
	And yet I love him.

DUKE OF YORK	Make way, unruly woman!

	[Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK	After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
	Spur post, and get before him to the king,
	And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
	I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
	I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
	And never will I rise up from the ground
	Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone!

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE III	A royal palace.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, HENRY PERCY, and other Lords]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
	'Tis full three months since I did see him last;
	If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
	I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
	Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
	For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
	With unrestrained loose companions,
	Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
	And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
	Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
	Takes on the point of honour to support
	So dissolute a crew.

HENRY PERCY	My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
	And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	And what said the gallant?

HENRY PERCY	His answer was, he would unto the stews,
	And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
	And wear it as a favour; and with that
	He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
	I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
	May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

	[Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Where is the king?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What means our cousin, that he stares and looks
	So wildly?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
	To have some conference with your grace alone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

	[Exeunt HENRY PERCY and Lords]

	What is the matter with our cousin now?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
	My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
	Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Intended or committed was this fault?
	If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
	To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
	That no man enter till my tale be done.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Have thy desire.

DUKE OF YORK	[Within]  My liege, beware; look to thyself;
	Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Villain, I'll make thee safe.

	[Drawing]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.

DUKE OF YORK	[Within]  Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:
	Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
	Open the door, or I will break it open.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What is the matter, uncle? speak;
	Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
	That we may arm us to encounter it.

DUKE OF YORK	Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
	The treason that my haste forbids me show.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:
	I do repent me; read not my name there
	My heart is not confederate with my hand.

DUKE OF YORK	It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
	I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
	Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
	Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
	A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
	O loyal father of a treacherous son!
	Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,
	From when this stream through muddy passages
	Hath held his current and defiled himself!
	Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
	And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
	This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

DUKE OF YORK	So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
	And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
	As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
	Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
	Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies:
	Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
	The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

DUCHESS OF YORK	[Within]  What ho, my liege! for God's sake,
	let me in.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS OF YORK	A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.
	Speak with me, pity me, open the door.
	A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
	And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.'
	My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
	I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.

DUKE OF YORK	If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
	More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
	This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
	This let alone will all the rest confound.

	[Enter DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK	O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!
	Love loving not itself none other can.

DUKE OF YORK	Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
	Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.

	[Kneels]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Rise up, good aunt.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Not yet, I thee beseech:
	For ever will I walk upon my knees,
	And never see day that the happy sees,
	Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
	By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.

DUKE OF YORK	Against them both my true joints bended be.
	Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
	His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
	His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:
	He prays but faintly and would be denied;
	We pray with heart and soul and all beside:
	His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
	Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
	His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
	Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
	Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
	That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
	Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
	And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
	'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.
	I never long'd to hear a word till now;
	Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how:
	The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
	No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.

DUKE OF YORK	Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'

DUCHESS OF YORK	Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
	Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
	That set'st the word itself against the word!
	Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;
	The chopping French we do not understand.
	Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there;
	Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
	That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
	Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I do not sue to stand;
	Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
	Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
	Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,
	But makes one pardon strong.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	With all my heart
	I pardon him.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  A god on earth thou art.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,
	With all the rest of that consorted crew,
	Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
	Good uncle, help to order several powers
	To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
	They shall not live within this world, I swear,
	But I will have them, if I once know where.
	Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu:
	Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE IV	The same.


	[Enter EXTON and Servant]

EXTON	Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake,
	'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
	Was it not so?

Servant	                  These were his very words.

EXTON	'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice,
	And urged it twice together, did he not?

Servant	He did.

EXTON	And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
	And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man'
	That would divorce this terror from my heart;'
	Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go:
	I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE V	Pomfret castle.


	[Enter KING RICHARD]

KING RICHARD II	I have been studying how I may compare
	This prison where I live unto the world:
	And for because the world is populous
	And here is not a creature but myself,
	I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
	My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
	My soul the father; and these two beget
	A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
	And these same thoughts people this little world,
	In humours like the people of this world,
	For no thought is contented. The better sort,
	As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
	With scruples and do set the word itself
	Against the word:
	As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again,
	'It is as hard to come as for a camel
	To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
	Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
	Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
	May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
	Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
	And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
	Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
	That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
	Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
	Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,
	That many have and others must sit there;
	And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
	Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
	Of such as have before endured the like.
	Thus play I in one person many people,
	And none contented: sometimes am I king;
	Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
	And so I am: then crushing penury
	Persuades me I was better when a king;
	Then am I king'd again: and by and by
	Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
	And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be,
	Nor I nor any man that but man is
	With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
	With being nothing. Music do I hear?

	[Music]

	Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
	When time is broke and no proportion kept!
	So is it in the music of men's lives.
	And here have I the daintiness of ear
	To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;
	But for the concord of my state and time
	Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
	I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
	For now hath time made me his numbering clock:
	My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
	Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
	Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
	Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
	Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
	Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
	Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
	Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
	Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
	While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
	This music mads me; let it sound no more;
	For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
	In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
	Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
	For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
	Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

	[Enter a Groom of the Stable]

Groom	Hail, royal prince!

KING RICHARD II	Thanks, noble peer;
	The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
	What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
	Where no man never comes but that sad dog
	That brings me food to make misfortune live?

Groom	I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
	When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
	With much ado at length have gotten leave
	To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
	O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
	In London streets, that coronation-day,
	When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
	That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
	That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!

KING RICHARD II	Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
	How went he under him?

Groom	So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

KING RICHARD II	So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
	That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
	This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
	Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,
	Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
	Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
	Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
	Since thou, created to be awed by man,
	Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
	And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
	Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke.

	[Enter Keeper, with a dish]

Keeper	Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

KING RICHARD II	If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

Groom	What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

	[Exit]

Keeper	My lord, will't please you to fall to?

KING RICHARD II	Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keeper	My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who
	lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

KING RICHARD II	The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
	Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

	[Beats the keeper]

Keeper	Help, help, help!

	[Enter EXTON and Servants, armed]

KING RICHARD II	How now! what means death in this rude assault?
	Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

	[Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him]

	Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

	[He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down]

	That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
	That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
	Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
	Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
	Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

	[Dies]

EXTON	As full of valour as of royal blood:
	Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good!
	For now the devil, that told me I did well,
	Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
	This dead king to the living king I'll bear
	Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE VI	Windsor castle.


	[Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
	with other Lords, and Attendants]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
	Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
	Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;
	But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

	Welcome, my lord	what is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND	First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
	The next news is, I have to London sent
	The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:
	The manner of their taking may appear
	At large discoursed in this paper here.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
	And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

	[Enter LORD FITZWATER]

LORD FITZWATER	My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
	The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
	Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
	That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
	Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

	[Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE]

HENRY PERCY	The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
	With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
	Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
	But here is Carlisle living, to abide
	Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Carlisle, this is your doom:
	Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
	More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
	So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:
	For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
	High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

	[Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin]

EXTON	Great king, within this coffin I present
	Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
	The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
	Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
	A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
	Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON	From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	They love not poison that do poison need,
	Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
	I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
	The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
	But neither my good word nor princely favour:
	With Cain go wander through shades of night,
	And never show thy head by day nor light.
	Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
	That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:
	Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
	And put on sullen black incontinent:
	I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
	To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:
	March sadly after; grace my mournings here;
	In weeping after this untimely bier.

	[Exeunt]
	KING RICHARD III


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING EDWARD
The Fourth	(KING EDWARD IV:)


EDWARD	Prince of Wales, (PRINCE EDWARD:)	|
	afterwards King Edward V.,	|  sons to
			|  the King.
RICHARD	Duke of York, (YORK:)	|


GEORGE	Duke of Clarence, (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	Duke of Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)  	|  Brothers to
	afterwards King Richard III.,	|  the King.
	(KING RICHARD III:)		|


	A young son of Clarence. (Boy:)

HENRY	Earl of Richmond, (RICHMOND:)
	afterwards King Henry VII.

CARDINAL BOURCHIER	Archbishop of Canterbury. (CARDINAL:)

THOMAS ROTHERHAM	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

JOHN MORTON	Bishop of Ely. (BISHOP OF ELY:)

DUKE of BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE of NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

EARL of SURREY	His son. (SURREY:)

EARL RIVERS	Brother to Elizabeth. (RIVERS:)


MARQUIS OF DORSET	(DORSET:)	|
		|  Sons to Elizabeth.
LORD GREY	(GREY:)	|


EARL of OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STANLEY	(STANLEY:)  Called also EARL of DERBY. (DERBY:)

LORD LOVEL	(LOVEL:)

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN	(VAUGHAN:)

SIR RICHARD
RATCLIFF	(RATCLIFF:)

SIR WILLIAM
CATESBY	(CATESBY:)

SIR JAMES TYRREL	(TYRREL:)

SIR JAMES BLOUNT	(BLOUNT:)

SIR WALTER HERBERT	(HERBERT:)

SIR ROBERT
BRAKENBURY	Lieutenant of the Tower. (BRAKENBURY:)

CHRISTOPHER
URSWICK	A priest. (CHRISTOPHER:)

	Another Priest. (Priest:)


TRESSEL	|
	|  Gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne.
BERKELEY	|  (Gentleman:)


	Lord Mayor of London. (Lord Mayor:)

	Sheriff of Wiltshire. (Sheriff:)

ELIZABETH	Queen to King Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

MARGARET	Widow of King Henry VI. (QUEEN MARGARET:)

DUCHESS of YORK	Mother to King Edward IV.

LADY ANNE	Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.;
	afterwards married to Richard.

	A young Daughter of Clarence [MARGARET PLANTAGENET] (Girl:)

	Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III.,
	Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant
	Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers
	Soldiers, &c.
	(Ghost of Prince Edward:)
	(Ghost of King Henry VI:)
	(Ghost of CLARENCE:)
	(Ghost of RIVERS:)
	(Ghost of GREY:)
	(Ghost of VAUGHAN:)
	(Ghost of HASTING:)
	(Ghosts of young Princes:)
	(Ghost of LADY ANNE:)
	(Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:)
	(Pursuivant:)
	(Scrivener:)
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(Third Messenger:)
	(Fourth Messenger:)


SCENE	England.




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE I	London. A street.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, solus]

GLOUCESTER	Now is the winter of our discontent
	Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
	And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
	In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
	Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
	Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
	Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
	Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
	Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
	And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
	To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
	He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
	To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
	But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
	Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
	I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
	To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
	I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
	Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
	Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
	Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
	And that so lamely and unfashionable
	That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
	Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
	Have no delight to pass away the time,
	Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
	And descant on mine own deformity:
	And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
	To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
	I am determined to prove a villain
	And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
	Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
	By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
	To set my brother Clarence and the king
	In deadly hate the one against the other:
	And if King Edward be as true and just
	As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
	This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
	About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
	Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
	Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
	Clarence comes.

	[Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY]

	Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
	That waits upon your grace?

CLARENCE	His majesty
	Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
	This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

GLOUCESTER	Upon what cause?

CLARENCE	                  Because my name is George.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
	He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
	O, belike his majesty hath some intent
	That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.
	But what's the matter, Clarence?  may I know?

CLARENCE	Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
	As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
	He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
	And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.
	And says a wizard told him that by G
	His issue disinherited should be;
	And, for my name of George begins with G,
	It follows in his thought that I am he.
	These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
	Have moved his highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER	Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
	'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
	My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
	That tempers him to this extremity.
	Was it not she and that good man of worship,
	Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
	That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
	From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
	We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE	By heaven, I think there's no man is secure
	But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
	That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
	Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
	Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

GLOUCESTER	Humbly complaining to her deity
	Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
	I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
	If we will keep in favour with the king,
	To be her men and wear her livery:
	The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
	Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
	Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
	His majesty hath straitly given in charge
	That no man shall have private conference,
	Of what degree soever, with his brother.

GLOUCESTER	Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
	You may partake of any thing we say:
	We speak no treason, man: we say the king
	Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
	Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
	We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
	A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
	And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
	How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY	With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

GLOUCESTER	Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
	He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
	Were best he do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY	What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
	Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

CLARENCE	We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

GLOUCESTER	We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
	Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
	And whatsoever you will employ me in,
	Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
	I will perform it to enfranchise you.
	Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
	Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE	I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

GLOUCESTER	Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
	Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE	I must perforce. Farewell.

	[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard]

GLOUCESTER	Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
	Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
	That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
	If heaven will take the present at our hands.
	But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

	[Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

GLOUCESTER	As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
	Well are you welcome to the open air.
	How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

HASTINGS	With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
	But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
	That were the cause of my imprisonment.

GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
	For they that were your enemies are his,
	And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

HASTINGS	More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
	While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

GLOUCESTER	What news abroad?

HASTINGS	No news so bad abroad as this at home;
	The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
	And his physicians fear him mightily.

GLOUCESTER	Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
	O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
	And overmuch consumed his royal person:
	'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
	What, is he in his bed?

HASTINGS	He is.

GLOUCESTER	Go you before, and I will follow you.

	[Exit HASTINGS]

	He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
	Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
	I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
	With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
	And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
	Clarence hath not another day to live:
	Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
	And leave the world for me to bustle in!
	For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
	What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
	The readiest way to make the wench amends
	Is to become her husband and her father:
	The which will I; not all so much for love
	As for another secret close intent,
	By marrying her which I must reach unto.
	But yet I run before my horse to market:
	Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
	When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Another street.

	[Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen
	with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner]

LADY ANNE	Set down, set down your honourable load,
	If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
	Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
	The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
	Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
	Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
	Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
	Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
	To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
	Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
	Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!
	Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
	I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
	Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
	Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
	Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
	More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
	That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
	Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
	Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
	If ever he have child, abortive be it,
	Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
	Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
	May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
	And that be heir to his unhappiness!
	If ever he have wife, let her he made
	A miserable by the death of him
	As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
	Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
	Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
	And still, as you are weary of the weight,
	Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

LADY ANNE	What black magician conjures up this fiend,
	To stop devoted charitable deeds?

GLOUCESTER	Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
	I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gentleman	My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

GLOUCESTER	Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:
	Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
	Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
	And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

LADY ANNE	What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
	Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
	And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
	Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
	Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
	His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

GLOUCESTER	Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

LADY ANNE	Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;
	For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
	Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
	If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
	Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
	O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
	Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
	Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
	For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
	From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
	Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
	Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
	O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
	O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!
	Either heaven with lightning strike the
	murderer dead,
	Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
	As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood
	Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

GLOUCESTER	Lady, you know no rules of charity,
	Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

LADY ANNE	Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
	No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

GLOUCESTER	But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

LADY ANNE	O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

GLOUCESTER	More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
	Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
	Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,
	By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

LADY ANNE	Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
	For these known evils, but to give me leave,
	By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

GLOUCESTER	Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
	Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

LADY ANNE	Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
	No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

GLOUCESTER	By such despair, I should accuse myself.

LADY ANNE	And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;
	For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
	Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

GLOUCESTER	Say that I slew them not?

LADY ANNE	Why, then they are not dead:
	But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

GLOUCESTER	I did not kill your husband.

LADY ANNE	Why, then he is alive.

GLOUCESTER	Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

LADY ANNE	In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw
	Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
	The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
	But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

GLOUCESTER	I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
	which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

LADY ANNE	Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.
	Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
	Didst thou not kill this king?

GLOUCESTER	I grant ye.

LADY ANNE	Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too
	Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
	O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

GLOUCESTER	The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

LADY ANNE	He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

GLOUCESTER	Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
	For he was fitter for that place than earth.

LADY ANNE	And thou unfit for any place but hell.

GLOUCESTER	Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

LADY ANNE	Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER	                             Your bed-chamber.

LADY ANNE	I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

GLOUCESTER	So will it, madam till I lie with you.

LADY ANNE	I hope so.

GLOUCESTER	I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
	To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
	And fall somewhat into a slower method,
	Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
	Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
	As blameful as the executioner?

LADY ANNE	Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

GLOUCESTER	Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
	Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep
	To undertake the death of all the world,
	So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

LADY ANNE	If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
	These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

GLOUCESTER	These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck;
	You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
	As all the world is cheered by the sun,
	So I by that; it is my day, my life.

LADY ANNE	Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

GLOUCESTER	Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

LADY ANNE	I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

GLOUCESTER	It is a quarrel most unnatural,
	To be revenged on him that loveth you.

LADY ANNE	It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
	To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

GLOUCESTER	He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
	Did it to help thee to a better husband.

LADY ANNE	His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

GLOUCESTER	He lives that loves thee better than he could.

LADY ANNE	Name him.

GLOUCESTER	        Plantagenet.

LADY ANNE	Why, that was he.

GLOUCESTER	The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

LADY ANNE	Where is he?

GLOUCESTER	                 Here.

	[She spitteth at him]

	Why dost thou spit at me?

LADY ANNE	Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

GLOUCESTER	Never came poison from so sweet a place.

LADY ANNE	Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
	Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.

GLOUCESTER	Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

LADY ANNE	Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

GLOUCESTER	I would they were, that I might die at once;
	For now they kill me with a living death.
	Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
	Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
	These eyes that never shed remorseful tear,
	No, when my father York and Edward wept,
	To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
	When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
	Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
	Told the sad story of my father's death,
	And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
	That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
	Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
	My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
	And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
	Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
	I never sued to friend nor enemy;
	My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
	But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
	My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

	[She looks scornfully at him]

	Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made
	For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
	If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
	Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
	Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.
	And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
	I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
	And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

	[He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword]

	Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,
	But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
	Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,
	But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

	[Here she lets fall the sword]

	Take up the sword again, or take up me.

LADY ANNE	Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,
	I will not be the executioner.

GLOUCESTER	Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

LADY ANNE	I have already.

GLOUCESTER	                  Tush, that was in thy rage:
	Speak it again, and, even with the word,
	That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,
	Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
	To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.

LADY ANNE	I would I knew thy heart.

GLOUCESTER	'Tis figured in my tongue.

LADY ANNE	I fear me both are false.

GLOUCESTER	Then never man was true.

LADY ANNE	Well, well, put up your sword.

GLOUCESTER	Say, then, my peace is made.

LADY ANNE	That shall you know hereafter.

GLOUCESTER	But shall I live in hope?

LADY ANNE	All men, I hope, live so.

GLOUCESTER	Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

LADY ANNE	To take is not to give.

GLOUCESTER	Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.
	Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
	Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
	And if thy poor devoted suppliant may
	But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
	Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

LADY ANNE	What is it?

GLOUCESTER	That it would please thee leave these sad designs
	To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
	And presently repair to Crosby Place;
	Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
	At Chertsey monastery this noble king,
	And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
	I will with all expedient duty see you:
	For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you,
	Grant me this boon.

LADY ANNE	With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
	To see you are become so penitent.
	Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

GLOUCESTER	Bid me farewell.

LADY ANNE	'Tis more than you deserve;
	But since you teach me how to flatter you,
	Imagine I have said farewell already.

	[Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY]

GLOUCESTER	Sirs, take up the corse.

GENTLEMEN	Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

GLOUCESTER	No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

	Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
	Was ever woman in this humour won?
	I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
	What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
	To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
	With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
	The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
	Having God, her conscience, and these bars
	against me,
	And I nothing to back my suit at all,
	But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
	And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
	Ha!
	Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
	Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
	Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
	A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
	Framed in the prodigality of nature,
	Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
	The spacious world cannot again afford
	And will she yet debase her eyes on me,
	That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
	And made her widow to a woful bed?
	On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
	On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
	My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
	I do mistake my person all this while:
	Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
	Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
	I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
	And entertain some score or two of tailors,
	To study fashions to adorn my body:
	Since I am crept in favour with myself,
	Will maintain it with some little cost.
	But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
	And then return lamenting to my love.
	Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
	That I may see my shadow as I pass.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE III	The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY]

RIVERS	Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty
	Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

GREY	In that you brook it in, it makes him worse:
	Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
	And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	If he were dead, what would betide of me?

RIVERS	No other harm but loss of such a lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

GREY	The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,
	To be your comforter when he is gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Oh, he is young and his minority
	Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
	A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

RIVERS	Is it concluded that he shall be protector?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	It is determined, not concluded yet:
	But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY]

GREY	Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

BUCKINGHAM	Good time of day unto your royal grace!

DERBY	God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby.
	To your good prayers will scarcely say amen.
	Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife,
	And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
	I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

DERBY	I do beseech you, either not believe
	The envious slanders of her false accusers;
	Or, if she be accused in true report,
	Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds
	From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.

RIVERS	Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?

DERBY	But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
	Are come from visiting his majesty.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

BUCKINGHAM	Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

BUCKINGHAM	Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement
	Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
	And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain;
	And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Would all were well! but that will never be
	I fear our happiness is at the highest.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET]

GLOUCESTER	They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:
	Who are they that complain unto the king,
	That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
	By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
	That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
	Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
	Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog,
	Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
	I must be held a rancorous enemy.
	Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
	But thus his simple truth must be abused
	By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

RIVERS	To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

GLOUCESTER	To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
	When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong?
	Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
	A plague upon you all! His royal person,--
	Whom God preserve better than you would wish!--
	Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
	But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
	The king, of his own royal disposition,
	And not provoked by any suitor else;
	Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
	Which in your outward actions shows itself
	Against my kindred, brothers, and myself,
	Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
	The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

GLOUCESTER	I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,
	That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:
	Since every Jack became a gentleman
	There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Come, come, we know your meaning, brother
	Gloucester;
	You envy my advancement and my friends':
	God grant we never may have need of you!

GLOUCESTER	Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:
	Your brother is imprison'd by your means,
	Myself disgraced, and the nobility
	Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions
	Are daily given to ennoble those
	That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	By Him that raised me to this careful height
	From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
	I never did incense his majesty
	Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
	An earnest advocate to plead for him.
	My lord, you do me shameful injury,
	Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

GLOUCESTER	You may deny that you were not the cause
	Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

RIVERS	She may, my lord, for--

GLOUCESTER	She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so?
	She may do more, sir, than denying that:
	She may help you to many fair preferments,
	And then deny her aiding hand therein,
	And lay those honours on your high deserts.
	What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she--

RIVERS	What, marry, may she?

GLOUCESTER	What, marry, may she! marry with a king,
	A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
	I wis your grandam had a worser match.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
	Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs:
	By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
	With those gross taunts I often have endured.
	I had rather be a country servant-maid
	Than a great queen, with this condition,
	To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind]

	Small joy have I in being England's queen.

QUEEN MARGARET	And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee!
	Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.

GLOUCESTER	What! threat you me with telling of the king?
	Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said
	I will avouch in presence of the king:
	I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
	'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.

QUEEN MARGARET	Out, devil! I remember them too well:
	Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower,
	And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

GLOUCESTER	Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king,
	I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
	A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
	A liberal rewarder of his friends:
	To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.

QUEEN MARGARET	Yea, and much better blood than his or thine.

GLOUCESTER	In all which time you and your husband Grey
	Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
	And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
	In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?
	Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
	What you have been ere now, and what you are;
	Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

QUEEN MARGARET	A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

GLOUCESTER	Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick;
	Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!--

QUEEN MARGARET	Which God revenge!

GLOUCESTER	To fight on Edward's party for the crown;
	And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up.
	I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's;
	Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine
	I am too childish-foolish for this world.

QUEEN MARGARET	Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,
	Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.

RIVERS	My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
	Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
	We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king:
	So should we you, if you should be our king.

GLOUCESTER	If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar:
	Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
	You should enjoy, were you this country's king,
	As little joy may you suppose in me.
	That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

QUEEN MARGARET	A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
	For I am she, and altogether joyless.
	I can no longer hold me patient.

	[Advancing]

	Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
	In sharing that which you have pill'd from me!
	Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
	If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects,
	Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels?
	O gentle villain, do not turn away!

GLOUCESTER	Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?

QUEEN MARGARET	But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
	That will I make before I let thee go.

GLOUCESTER	Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

QUEEN MARGARET	I was; but I do find more pain in banishment
	Than death can yield me here by my abode.
	A husband and a son thou owest to me;
	And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance:
	The sorrow that I have, by right is yours,
	And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

GLOUCESTER	The curse my noble father laid on thee,
	When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
	And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
	And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout
	Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland--
	His curses, then from bitterness of soul
	Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee;
	And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	So just is God, to right the innocent.

HASTINGS	O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
	And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!

RIVERS	Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

DORSET	No man but prophesied revenge for it.

BUCKINGHAM	Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

QUEEN MARGARET	What were you snarling all before I came,
	Ready to catch each other by the throat,
	And turn you all your hatred now on me?
	Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven?
	That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
	Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
	Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
	Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
	Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
	If not by war, by surfeit die your king,
	As ours by murder, to make him a king!
	Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales,
	For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales,
	Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
	Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
	Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
	Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss;
	And see another, as I see thee now,
	Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
	Long die thy happy days before thy death;
	And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
	Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
	Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,
	And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
	Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,
	That none of you may live your natural age,
	But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

GLOUCESTER	Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag!

QUEEN MARGARET	And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
	If heaven have any grievous plague in store
	Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
	O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
	And then hurl down their indignation
	On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
	The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
	Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,
	And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
	No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
	Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream
	Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
	Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
	Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
	The slave of nature and the son of hell!
	Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
	Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
	Thou rag of honour! thou detested--

GLOUCESTER	Margaret.

QUEEN MARGARET	        Richard!

GLOUCESTER	                  Ha!

QUEEN MARGARET	                  I call thee not.

GLOUCESTER	I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought
	That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

QUEEN MARGARET	Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
	O, let me make the period to my curse!

GLOUCESTER	'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.'

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

QUEEN MARGARET	Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
	Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
	Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
	Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
	The time will come when thou shalt wish for me
	To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad.

HASTINGS	False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,
	Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

QUEEN MARGARET	Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine.

RIVERS	Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

QUEEN MARGARET	To serve me well, you all should do me duty,
	Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:
	O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

DORSET	Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

QUEEN MARGARET	Peace, master marquess, you are malapert:
	Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
	O, that your young nobility could judge
	What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
	They that stand high have many blasts to shake them;
	And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

GLOUCESTER	Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.

DORSET	It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.

GLOUCESTER	Yea, and much more: but I was born so high,
	Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,
	And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

QUEEN MARGARET	And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas!
	Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
	Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
	Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
	Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.
	O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!
	As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

BUCKINGHAM	Have done! for shame, if not for charity.

QUEEN MARGARET	Urge neither charity nor shame to me:
	Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
	And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
	My charity is outrage, life my shame
	And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage.

BUCKINGHAM	Have done, have done.

QUEEN MARGARET	O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand,
	In sign of league and amity with thee:
	Now fair befal thee and thy noble house!
	Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
	Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

BUCKINGHAM	Nor no one here; for curses never pass
	The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

QUEEN MARGARET	I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,
	And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
	O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
	Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
	His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
	Have not to do with him, beware of him;
	Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,
	And all their ministers attend on him.

GLOUCESTER	What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM	Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

QUEEN MARGARET	What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?
	And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?
	O, but remember this another day,
	When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,
	And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!
	Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
	And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

	[Exit]

HASTINGS	My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

RIVERS	And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty.

GLOUCESTER	I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother,
	She hath had too much wrong; and I repent
	My part thereof that I have done to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I never did her any, to my knowledge.

GLOUCESTER	But you have all the vantage of her wrong.
	I was too hot to do somebody good,
	That is too cold in thinking of it now.
	Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid,
	He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains
	God pardon them that are the cause of it!

RIVERS	A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
	To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

GLOUCESTER	So do I ever:

	[Aside]

	being well-advised.
	For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	Madam, his majesty doth call for you,
	And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us?

RIVERS	Madam, we will attend your grace.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
	The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
	I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
	Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,
	I do beweep to many simple gulls
	Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham;
	And say it is the queen and her allies
	That stir the king against the duke my brother.
	Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
	To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
	But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture,
	Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
	And thus I clothe my naked villany
	With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;
	And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

	[Enter two Murderers]

	But, soft! here come my executioners.
	How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
	Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

First Murderer	We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant
	That we may be admitted where he is.

GLOUCESTER	Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

	[Gives the warrant]

	When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
	But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
	Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
	For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
	May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

First Murderer	Tush!
	Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
	Talkers are no good doers: be assured
	We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

GLOUCESTER	Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears:
	I like you, lads; about your business straight;
	Go, go, dispatch.

First Murderer	                  We will, my noble lord.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE IV	London. The Tower.


	[Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY]

BRAKENBURY	Why looks your grace so heavily today?

CLARENCE	O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
	So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
	That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
	I would not spend another such a night,
	Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
	So full of dismal terror was the time!

BRAKENBURY	What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE	Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
	And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
	And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
	Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
	Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,
	And cited up a thousand fearful times,
	During the wars of York and Lancaster
	That had befall'n us. As we paced along
	Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
	Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,
	Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
	Into the tumbling billows of the main.
	Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
	What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
	What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
	Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
	Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
	Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
	Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
	All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea:
	Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
	Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
	As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
	Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
	And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

BRAKENBURY	Had you such leisure in the time of death
	To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE	Methought I had; and often did I strive
	To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
	Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
	To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;
	But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
	Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY	Awaked you not with this sore agony?

CLARENCE	O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
	O, then began the tempest to my soul,
	Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
	With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
	Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
	The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
	Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
	Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury
	Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
	And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
	A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
	Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud,
	'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
	That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
	Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!'
	With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
	Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears
	Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
	I trembling waked, and for a season after
	Could not believe but that I was in hell,
	Such terrible impression made the dream.

BRAKENBURY	No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you;
	I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE	O Brakenbury, I have done those things,
	Which now bear evidence against my soul,
	For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!
	O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
	But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
	Yet execute thy wrath in me alone,
	O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
	I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
	My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

BRAKENBURY	I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!

	[CLARENCE sleeps]

	Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
	Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
	Princes have but their tides for their glories,
	An outward honour for an inward toil;
	And, for unfelt imagination,
	They often feel a world of restless cares:
	So that, betwixt their tides and low names,
	There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

	[Enter the two Murderers]

First Murderer	Ho! who's here?

BRAKENBURY	In God's name what are you, and how came you hither?

First Murderer	I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY	Yea, are you so brief?

Second Murderer	O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show
	him our commission; talk no more.

	[BRAKENBURY reads it]

BRAKENBURY	I am, in this, commanded to deliver
	The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
	I will not reason what is meant hereby,
	Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
	Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep:
	I'll to the king; and signify to him
	That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.

First Murderer	Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.

	[Exit BRAKENBURY]

Second Murderer	What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

First Murderer	No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

Second Murderer	When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till
	the judgment-day.

First Murderer	Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.

Second Murderer	The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind
	of remorse in me.

First Murderer	What, art thou afraid?

Second Murderer	Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be
	damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.

First Murderer	I thought thou hadst been resolute.

Second Murderer	So I am, to let him live.

First Murderer	Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.

Second Murderer	I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour
	will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one
	would tell twenty.

First Murderer	How dost thou feel thyself now?

Second Murderer	'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet
	within me.

First Murderer	Remember our reward, when the deed is done.

Second Murderer	'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.

First Murderer	Where is thy conscience now?

Second Murderer	In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

First Murderer	So when he opens his purse to give us our reward,
	thy conscience flies out.

Second Murderer	Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

First Murderer	How if it come to thee again?

Second Murderer	I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it
	makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it
	accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him;
	he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it
	detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that
	mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of
	obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
	that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it
	is turned out of all towns and cities for a
	dangerous thing; and every man that means to live
	well endeavours to trust to himself and to live
	without it.

First Murderer	'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me
	not to kill the duke.

Second Murderer	Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he
	would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

First Murderer	Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me,
	I warrant thee.

Second Murderer	Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his
	reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?

First Murderer	Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy
	sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt
	in the next room.

Second Murderer	O excellent devise! make a sop of him.

First Murderer	Hark! he stirs: shall I strike?

Second Murderer	No, first let's reason with him.

CLARENCE	Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

Second murderer	You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

CLARENCE	In God's name, what art thou?

Second Murderer	A man, as you are.

CLARENCE	But not, as I am, royal.

Second Murderer	Nor you, as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE	Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

Second Murderer	My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

CLARENCE	How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
	Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
	Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Both	To, to, to--

CLARENCE	To murder me?

Both	Ay, ay.

CLARENCE	You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
	And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
	Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murderer	Offended us you have not, but the king.

CLARENCE	I shall be reconciled to him again.

Second Murderer	Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE	Are you call'd forth from out a world of men
	To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
	Where are the evidence that do accuse me?
	What lawful quest have given their verdict up
	Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced
	The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
	Before I be convict by course of law,
	To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
	I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
	By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
	That you depart and lay no hands on me
	The deed you undertake is damnable.

First Murderer	What we will do, we do upon command.

Second Murderer	And he that hath commanded is the king.

CLARENCE	Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings
	Hath in the tables of his law commanded
	That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then,
	Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?
	Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands,
	To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

Second Murderer	And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,
	For false forswearing and for murder too:
	Thou didst receive the holy sacrament,
	To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

First Murderer	And, like a traitor to the name of God,
	Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade
	Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

Second Murderer	Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murderer	How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
	When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?

CLARENCE	Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
	For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs,
	He sends ye not to murder me for this
	For in this sin he is as deep as I.
	If God will be revenged for this deed.
	O, know you yet, he doth it publicly,
	Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
	He needs no indirect nor lawless course
	To cut off those that have offended him.

First Murderer	Who made thee, then, a bloody minister,
	When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
	That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE	My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murderer	Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,
	Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE	Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me;
	I am his brother, and I love him well.
	If you be hired for meed, go back again,
	And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
	Who shall reward you better for my life
	Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

Second Murderer	You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.

CLARENCE	O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:
	Go you to him from me.

Both	Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE	Tell him, when that our princely father York
	Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
	And charged us from his soul to love each other,
	He little thought of this divided friendship:
	Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

First Murderer	Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep.

CLARENCE	O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

First Murderer	Right,
	As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself:
	'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE	It cannot be; for when I parted with him,
	He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
	That he would labour my delivery.

Second Murderer	Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee
	From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

First Murderer	Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

CLARENCE	Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
	To counsel me to make my peace with God,
	And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
	That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?
	Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
	To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

Second Murderer	What shall we do?

CLARENCE	                  Relent, and save your souls.

First Murderer	Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE	Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
	Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
	Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
	if two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
	Would not entreat for life?
	My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks:
	O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
	Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
	As you would beg, were you in my distress
	A begging prince what beggar pities not?

Second Murderer	Look behind you, my lord.

First Murderer	Take that, and that: if all this will not do,

	[Stabs him]

	I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

	[Exit, with the body]

Second Murderer	A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!
	How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
	Of this most grievous guilty murder done!

	[Re-enter First Murderer]

First Murderer	How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
	By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!

Second Murderer	I would he knew that I had saved his brother!
	Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
	For I repent me that the duke is slain.

	[Exit]

First Murderer	So do not I: go, coward as thou art.
	Now must I hide his body in some hole,
	Until the duke take order for his burial:
	And when I have my meed, I must away;
	For this will out, and here I must not stay.




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM,
	GREY, and others]

KING EDWARD IV	Why, so: now have I done a good day's work:
	You peers, continue this united league:
	I every day expect an embassage
	From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
	And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
	Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
	Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand;
	Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

RIVERS	By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate:
	And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

HASTINGS	So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

KING EDWARD IV	Take heed you dally not before your king;
	Lest he that is the supreme King of kings
	Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
	Either of you to be the other's end.

HASTINGS	So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

RIVERS	And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

KING EDWARD IV	Madam, yourself are not exempt in this,
	Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you;
	You have been factious one against the other,
	Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;
	And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Here, Hastings; I will never more remember
	Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

KING EDWARD IV	Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess.

DORSET	This interchange of love, I here protest,
	Upon my part shall be unviolable.

HASTINGS	And so swear I, my lord

	[They embrace]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
	With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
	And make me happy in your unity.

BUCKINGHAM	Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
	On you or yours,

	[To the Queen]

	but with all duteous love
	Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
	With hate in those where I expect most love!
	When I have most need to employ a friend,
	And most assured that he is a friend
	Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
	Be he unto me! this do I beg of God,
	When I am cold in zeal to yours.

KING EDWARD IV	A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
	is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
	There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here,
	To make the perfect period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM	And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen:
	And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD IV	Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
	Brother, we done deeds of charity;
	Made peace enmity, fair love of hate,
	Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOUCESTER	A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege:
	Amongst this princely heap, if any here,
	By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
	Hold me a foe;
	If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
	Have aught committed that is hardly borne
	By any in this presence, I desire
	To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
	'Tis death to me to be at enmity;
	I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
	First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
	Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
	Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
	If ever any grudge were lodged between us;
	Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you;
	That without desert have frown'd on me;
	Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
	I do not know that Englishman alive
	With whom my soul is any jot at odds
	More than the infant that is born to-night
	I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:
	I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
	My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty
	To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOUCESTER	Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this
	To be so bouted in this royal presence?
	Who knows not that the noble duke is dead?

	[They all start]

	You do him injury to scorn his corse.

RIVERS	Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	All seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM	Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET	Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence
	But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD IV	Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed.

GLOUCESTER	But he, poor soul, by your first order died,
	And that a winged Mercury did bear:
	Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
	That came too lag to see him buried.
	God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
	Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
	Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
	And yet go current from suspicion!

	[Enter DERBY]

DORSET	A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD IV	I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.

DORSET	I will not rise, unless your highness grant.

KING EDWARD IV	Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st.

DORSET	The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
	Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman
	Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD IV	Have a tongue to doom my brother's death,
	And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
	My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
	And yet his punishment was cruel death.
	Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,
	Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised
	Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
	Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
	The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
	Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury
	When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
	And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'?
	Who told me, when we both lay in the field
	Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
	Even in his own garments, and gave himself,
	All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
	All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
	Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
	Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
	But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
	Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
	The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
	You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
	And I unjustly too, must grant it you
	But for my brother not a man would speak,
	Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
	For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
	Have been beholding to him in his life;
	Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
	O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
	On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!
	Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
	Oh, poor Clarence!

	[Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET]

GLOUCESTER	This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not
	How that the guilty kindred of the queen
	Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?
	O, they did urge it still unto the king!
	God will revenge it. But come, let us in,
	To comfort Edward with our company.

BUCKINGHAM	We wait upon your grace.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE II	The palace.


	[Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE]

Boy	Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?

DUCHESS OF YORK	No, boy.

Boy	Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,
	And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'

Girl	Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
	And call us wretches, orphans, castaways
	If that our noble father be alive?

DUCHESS OF YORK	My pretty cousins, you mistake me much;
	I do lament the sickness of the king.
	As loath to lose him, not your father's death;
	It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

Boy	Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
	The king my uncle is to blame for this:
	God will revenge it; whom I will importune
	With daily prayers all to that effect.

Girl	And so will I.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:
	Incapable and shallow innocents,
	You cannot guess who caused your father's death.

Boy	Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester
	Told me, the king, provoked by the queen,
	Devised impeachments to imprison him :
	And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
	And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
	Bade me rely on him as on my father,
	And he would love me dearly as his child.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
	And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile!
	He is my son; yea, and therein my shame;
	Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Boy	Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Ay, boy.

Boy	I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?

	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her
	ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,
	To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
	I'll join with black despair against my soul,
	And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To make an act of tragic violence:
	Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead.
	Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd?
	Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone?
	If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
	That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's;
	Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
	To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow
	As I had title in thy noble husband!
	I have bewept a worthy husband's death,
	And lived by looking on his images:
	But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
	Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,
	And I for comfort have but one false glass,
	Which grieves me when I see my shame in him.
	Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,
	And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:
	But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms,
	And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs,
	Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I,
	Thine being but a moiety of my grief,
	To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries!

Boy	Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death;
	How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Girl	Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;
	Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Give me no help in lamentation;
	I am not barren to bring forth complaints
	All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
	That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,
	May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!
	Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!

Children	Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone.

Children	What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Was never widow had so dear a loss!

Children	Were never orphans had so dear a loss!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Was never mother had so dear a loss!
	Alas, I am the mother of these moans!
	Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general.
	She for an Edward weeps, and so do I;
	I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she:
	These babes for Clarence weep and so do I;
	I for an Edward weep, so do not they:
	Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd,
	Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,
	And I will pamper it with lamentations.

DORSET	Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased
	That you take with unthankfulness, his doing:
	In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful,
	With dull unwilligness to repay a debt
	Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
	Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
	For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS	Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,
	Of the young prince your son: send straight for him
	Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives:
	Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
	And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF]

GLOUCESTER	Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause
	To wail the dimming of our shining star;
	But none can cure their harms by wailing them.
	Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
	I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee
	I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS OF YORK	God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind,
	Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Amen; and make me die a good old man!
	That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing:
	I marvel why her grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM	You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,
	That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
	Now cheer each other in each other's love
	Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
	We are to reap the harvest of his son.
	The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
	But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,
	Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept:
	Me seemeth good, that, with some little train,
	Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd
	Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

RIVERS	Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM	Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude,
	The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,
	Which would be so much the more dangerous
	By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd:
	Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
	And may direct his course as please himself,
	As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
	In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOUCESTER	I hope the king made peace with all of us
	And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS	And so in me; and so, I think, in all:
	Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
	To no apparent likelihood of breach,
	Which haply by much company might be urged:
	Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,
	That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

HASTINGS	And so say I.

GLOUCESTER	Then be it so; and go we to determine
	Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
	Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
	To give your censures in this weighty business?


QUEEN ELIZABETH	|
	|  With all our harts.
DUCHESS OF YORK	|


	[Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER]

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,
	For God's sake, let not us two be behind;
	For, by the way, I'll sort occasion,
	As index to the story we late talk'd of,
	To part the queen's proud kindred from the king.

GLOUCESTER	My other self, my counsel's consistory,
	My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin,
	I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
	Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE III	London. A street.


	[Enter two Citizens meeting]

First Citizen	Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast?

Second Citizen	I promise you, I scarcely know myself:
	Hear you the news abroad?

First Citizen	Ay, that the king is dead.

Second Citizen	Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:
	I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world.

	[Enter another Citizen]

Third Citizen	Neighbours, God speed!

First Citizen	Give you good morrow, sir.

Third Citizen	Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death?

Second Citizen	Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!

Third Citizen	Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.

First Citizen	No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign.

Third Citizen	Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child!

Second Citizen	In him there is a hope of government,
	That in his nonage council under him,
	And in his full and ripen'd years himself,
	No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

First Citizen	So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
	Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

Third Citizen	Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;
	For then this land was famously enrich'd
	With politic grave counsel; then the king
	Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

First Citizen	Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother.

Third Citizen	Better it were they all came by the father,
	Or by the father there were none at all;
	For emulation now, who shall be nearest,
	Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
	O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!
	And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud:
	And were they to be ruled, and not to rule,
	This sickly land might solace as before.

First Citizen	Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.

Third Citizen	When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
	When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
	When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
	Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.
	All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
	'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

Second Citizen	Truly, the souls of men are full of dread:
	Ye cannot reason almost with a man
	That looks not heavily and full of fear.

Third Citizen	Before the times of change, still is it so:
	By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
	Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see
	The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
	But leave it all to God. whither away?

Second Citizen	Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

Third Citizen	And so was I: I'll bear you company.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, young YORK, QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;
	At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
	To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I long with all my heart to see the prince:
	I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But I hear, no; they say my son of York
	Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.

YORK	Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.

YORK	Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
	My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
	More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle
	Gloucester,
	'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:'
	And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
	Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
	In him that did object the same to thee;
	He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
	So long a-growing and so leisurely,
	That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

YORK	Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
	I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
	To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.

DUCHESS OF YORK	How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.

YORK	Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
	That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old
	'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
	Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?

YORK	Grandam, his nurse.

DUCHESS OF YORK	His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.

YORK	If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Pitchers have ears.

	[Enter a Messenger]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Here comes a messenger. What news?

Messenger	Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	How fares the prince?

Messenger	Well, madam, and in health.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is thy news then?

Messenger	Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,
	With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Who hath committed them?

Messenger	The mighty dukes
	Gloucester and Buckingham.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	For what offence?

Messenger	The sum of all I can, I have disclosed;
	Why or for what these nobles were committed
	Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ay me, I see the downfall of our house!
	The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;
	Insulting tyranny begins to jet
	Upon the innocent and aweless throne:
	Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!
	I see, as in a map, the end of all.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
	How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
	My husband lost his life to get the crown;
	And often up and down my sons were toss'd,
	For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:
	And being seated, and domestic broils
	Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
	Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,
	Self against self: O, preposterous
	And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;
	Or let me die, to look on death no more!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.
	Madam, farewell.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  I'll go along with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	You have no cause.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	                  My gracious lady, go;
	And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
	For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
	The seal I keep: and so betide to me
	As well I tender you and all of yours!
	Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE I	London. A street.


	[The trumpets sound. Enter the young PRINCE EDWARD,
	GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, CARDINAL, CATESBY, and others]

BUCKINGHAM	Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

GLOUCESTER	Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign
	The weary way hath made you melancholy.

PRINCE EDWARD	No, uncle; but our crosses on the way
	Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy
	I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLOUCESTER	Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
	Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit
	Nor more can you distinguish of a man
	Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
	Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
	Those uncles which you want were dangerous;
	Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,
	But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :
	God keep you from them, and from such false friends!

PRINCE EDWARD	God keep me from false friends! but they were none.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and his train]

Lord Mayor	God bless your grace with health and happy days!

PRINCE EDWARD	I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.
	I thought my mother, and my brother York,
	Would long ere this have met us on the way
	Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
	To tell us whether they will come or no!

	[Enter HASTINGS]

BUCKINGHAM	And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?

HASTINGS	On what occasion, God he knows, not I,
	The queen your mother, and your brother York,
	Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince
	Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,
	But by his mother was perforce withheld.

BUCKINGHAM	Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
	Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace
	Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York
	Unto his princely brother presently?
	If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,
	And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

CARDINAL	My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
	Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
	Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate
	To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
	We should infringe the holy privilege
	Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land
	Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

BUCKINGHAM	You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord,
	Too ceremonious and traditional
	Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
	You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
	The benefit thereof is always granted
	To those whose dealings have deserved the place,
	And those who have the wit to claim the place:
	This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it;
	And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
	Then, taking him from thence that is not there,
	You break no privilege nor charter there.
	Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
	But sanctuary children ne'er till now.

CARDINAL	My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.
	Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

HASTINGS	I go, my lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

	[Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS]

	Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,
	Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

GLOUCESTER	Where it seems best unto your royal self.
	If I may counsel you, some day or two
	Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:
	Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
	For your best health and recreation.

PRINCE EDWARD	I do not like the Tower, of any place.
	Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

BUCKINGHAM	He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;
	Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

PRINCE EDWARD	Is it upon record, or else reported
	Successively from age to age, he built it?

BUCKINGHAM	Upon record, my gracious lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
	Methinks the truth should live from age to age,
	As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
	Even to the general all-ending day.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  So wise so young, they say, do never
	live long.

PRINCE EDWARD	What say you, uncle?

GLOUCESTER	I say, without characters, fame lives long.

	[Aside]

	Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,
	I moralize two meanings in one word.

PRINCE EDWARD	That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
	With what his valour did enrich his wit,
	His wit set down to make his valour live
	Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
	For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
	I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,--

BUCKINGHAM	What, my gracious lord?

PRINCE EDWARD	An if I live until I be a man,
	I'll win our ancient right in France again,
	Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

	[Enter young YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL]

BUCKINGHAM	Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

PRINCE EDWARD	Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?

YORK	Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.

PRINCE EDWARD	Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
	Too late he died that might have kept that title,
	Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

GLOUCESTER	How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

YORK	I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,
	You said that idle weeds are fast in growth
	The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

GLOUCESTER	He hath, my lord.

YORK	                  And therefore is he idle?

GLOUCESTER	O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK	Then is he more beholding to you than I.

GLOUCESTER	He may command me as my sovereign;
	But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK	I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

GLOUCESTER	My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.

PRINCE EDWARD	A beggar, brother?

YORK	Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
	And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

GLOUCESTER	A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

YORK	A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it.

GLOUCESTER	A gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK	O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;
	In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

GLOUCESTER	It is too heavy for your grace to wear.

YORK	I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

GLOUCESTER	What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

YORK	I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

GLOUCESTER	How?

YORK	Little.

PRINCE EDWARD	My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:
	Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK	You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
	Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
	Because that I am little, like an ape,
	He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM	With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
	To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
	He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
	So cunning and so young is wonderful.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, will't please you pass along?
	Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
	Will to your mother, to entreat of her
	To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK	What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

PRINCE EDWARD	My lord protector needs will have it so.

YORK	I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

GLOUCESTER	Why, what should you fear?

YORK	Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
	My grandam told me he was murdered there.

PRINCE EDWARD	I fear no uncles dead.

GLOUCESTER	Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE EDWARD	An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
	But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
	Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

	[A Sennet. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM
	and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Think you, my lord, this little prating York
	Was not incensed by his subtle mother
	To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy;
	Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable
	He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.
	Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
	As closely to conceal what we impart:
	Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way;
	What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
	To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
	For the instalment of this noble duke
	In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY	He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
	That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM	What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he?

CATESBY	He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,
	And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings,
	How doth he stand affected to our purpose;
	And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
	To sit about the coronation.
	If thou dost find him tractable to us,
	Encourage him, and show him all our reasons:
	If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling,
	Be thou so too; and so break off your talk,
	And give us notice of his inclination:
	For we to-morrow hold divided councils,
	Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

GLOUCESTER	Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,
	His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
	To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;
	And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,
	Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM	Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

CATESBY	My good lords both, with all the heed I may.

GLOUCESTER	Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

CATESBY	You shall, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.

	[Exit CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive
	Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

GLOUCESTER	Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:
	And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
	The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
	Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.

BUCKINGHAM	I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.

GLOUCESTER	And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
	Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
	We may digest our complots in some form.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE II	Before Lord Hastings' house.


	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	What, ho! my lord!

HASTINGS	[Within]  Who knocks at the door?

Messenger	A messenger from the Lord Stanley.

	[Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	What is't o'clock?

Messenger	Upon the stroke of four.

HASTINGS	Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?

Messenger	So it should seem by that I have to say.
	First, he commends him to your noble lordship.

HASTINGS	And then?

Messenger	And then he sends you word
	He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:
	Besides, he says there are two councils held;
	And that may be determined at the one
	which may make you and him to rue at the other.
	Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,
	If presently you will take horse with him,
	And with all speed post with him toward the north,
	To shun the danger that his soul divines.

HASTINGS	Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
	Bid him not fear the separated councils
	His honour and myself are at the one,
	And at the other is my servant Catesby
	Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
	Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
	Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:
	And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
	To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers
	To fly the boar before the boar pursues,
	Were to incense the boar to follow us
	And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
	Go, bid thy master rise and come to me
	And we will both together to the Tower,
	Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Messenger	My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	Many good morrows to my noble lord!

HASTINGS	Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring
	What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

CATESBY	It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
	And I believe twill never stand upright
	Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm.

HASTINGS	How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?

CATESBY	Ay, my good lord.

HASTINGS	I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders
	Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.
	But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

CATESBY	Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward
	Upon his party for the gain thereof:
	And thereupon he sends you this good news,
	That this same very day your enemies,
	The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

HASTINGS	Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
	Because they have been still mine enemies:
	But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
	To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
	God knows I will not do it, to the death.

CATESBY	God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

HASTINGS	But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
	That they who brought me in my master's hate
	I live to look upon their tragedy.
	I tell thee, Catesby--

CATESBY	What, my lord?

HASTINGS	Ere a fortnight make me elder,
	I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.

CATESBY	'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
	When men are unprepared and look not for it.

HASTINGS	O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
	With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do
	With some men else, who think themselves as safe
	As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
	To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

CATESBY	The princes both make high account of you;

	[Aside]

	For they account his head upon the bridge.

HASTINGS	I know they do; and I have well deserved it.

	[Enter STANLEY]

	Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?
	Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

STANLEY	My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby:
	You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
	I do not like these several councils, I.

HASTINGS	My lord,
	I hold my life as dear as you do yours;
	And never in my life, I do protest,
	Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
	Think you, but that I know our state secure,
	I would be so triumphant as I am?

STANLEY	The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
	Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure,
	And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
	But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast.
	This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt:
	Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
	What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.

HASTINGS	Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord?
	To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.

LORD STANLEY	They, for their truth, might better wear their heads
	Than some that have accused them wear their hats.
	But come, my lord, let us away.

	[Enter a Pursuivant]

HASTINGS	Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.

	[Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY]

	How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?

Pursuivant	The better that your lordship please to ask.

HASTINGS	I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now
	Than when I met thee last where now we meet:
	Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
	By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
	But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--
	This day those enemies are put to death,
	And I in better state than e'er I was.

Pursuivant	God hold it, to your honour's good content!

HASTINGS	Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.

	[Throws him his purse]

Pursuivant	God save your lordship!

	[Exit]

	[Enter a Priest]

Priest	Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.

HASTINGS	I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
	I am in your debt for your last exercise;
	Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

	[He whispers in his ear]

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?
	Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
	Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.

HASTINGS	Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
	Those men you talk of came into my mind.
	What, go you toward the Tower?

BUCKINGHAM	I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay
	I shall return before your lordship thence.

HASTINGS	'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.

BUCKINGHAM	[Aside]  And supper too, although thou know'st it not.
	Come, will you go?

HASTINGS	I'll wait upon your lordship.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE III	Pomfret Castle.


	[Enter RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying RIVERS,
	GREY, and VAUGHAN to death]

RATCLIFF	Come, bring forth the prisoners.

RIVERS	Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
	To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
	For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

GREY	God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
	A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!

VAUGHAN	You live that shall cry woe for this after.

RATCLIFF	Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.

RIVERS	O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
	Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
	Within the guilty closure of thy walls
	Richard the second here was hack'd to death;
	And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
	We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.

GREY	Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
	For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

RIVERS	Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,
	Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God
	To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
	And for my sister and her princely sons,
	Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
	Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.

RATCLIFF	Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.

RIVERS	Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
	And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE IV	The Tower of London.


	[Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP OF
	ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, with others, and take their
	seats at a table]

HASTINGS	My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
	Is, to determine of the coronation.
	In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?

BUCKINGHAM	Are all things fitting for that royal time?

DERBY	It is, and wants but nomination.

BISHOP OF ELY	To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.

BUCKINGHAM	Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
	Who is most inward with the royal duke?

BISHOP OF ELY	Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.

BUCKINGHAM	Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces,
	But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine,
	Than I of yours;
	Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.
	Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

HASTINGS	I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;
	But, for his purpose in the coronation.
	I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
	His gracious pleasure any way therein:
	But you, my noble lords, may name the time;
	And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
	Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

BISHOP OF ELY	Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.

GLOUCESTER	My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
	I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,
	My absence doth neglect no great designs,
	Which by my presence might have been concluded.

BUCKINGHAM	Had not you come upon your cue, my lord
	William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,--
	I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.

GLOUCESTER	Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;
	His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.

HASTINGS	I thank your grace.

GLOUCESTER	My lord of Ely!

BISHOP OF ELY	My lord?

GLOUCESTER	When I was last in Holborn,
	I saw good strawberries in your garden there
	I do beseech you send for some of them.

BISHOP OF ELY	Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

	[Drawing him aside]

	Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
	And finds the testy gentleman so hot,
	As he will lose his head ere give consent
	His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it,
	Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

BUCKINGHAM	Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you.

	[Exit GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM following]

DERBY	We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
	To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;
	For I myself am not so well provided
	As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

	[Re-enter BISHOP OF ELY]

BISHOP OF ELY	Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these
	strawberries.

HASTINGS	His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day;
	There's some conceit or other likes him well,
	When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.
	I think there's never a man in Christendom
	That can less hide his love or hate than he;
	For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

DERBY	What of his heart perceive you in his face
	By any likelihood he show'd to-day?

HASTINGS	Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
	For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.

DERBY	I pray God he be not, I say.

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER	I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
	That do conspire my death with devilish plots
	Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
	Upon my body with their hellish charms?

HASTINGS	The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
	Makes me most forward in this noble presence
	To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be
	I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

GLOUCESTER	Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:
	See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
	Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
	And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
	Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,
	That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

HASTINGS	If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--

GLOUCESTER	If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--
	Tellest thou me of 'ifs'?  Thou art a traitor:
	Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,
	I will not dine until I see the same.
	Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:
	The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.

	[Exeunt all but HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and LOVEL]

HASTINGS	Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me;
	For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
	Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;
	But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly:
	Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
	And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
	As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
	O, now I want the priest that spake to me:
	I now repent I told the pursuivant
	As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies,
	How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
	And I myself secure in grace and favour.
	O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
	Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!

RATCLIFF	Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner:
	Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

HASTINGS	O momentary grace of mortal men,
	Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
	Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,
	Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
	Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
	Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

LOVEL	Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

HASTINGS	O bloody Richard! miserable England!
	I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee
	That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.
	Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.
	They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE V	The Tower-walls.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, in rotten armour,
	marvellous ill-favoured]

GLOUCESTER	Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour,
	Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,
	And then begin again, and stop again,
	As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?

BUCKINGHAM	Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
	Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
	Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
	Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks
	Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
	And both are ready in their offices,
	At any time, to grace my stratagems.
	But what, is Catesby gone?

GLOUCESTER	He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Lord mayor,--

GLOUCESTER	Look to the drawbridge there!

BUCKINGHAM	Hark! a drum.

GLOUCESTER	Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

BUCKINGHAM	Lord mayor, the reason we have sent--

GLOUCESTER	Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

BUCKINGHAM	God and our innocency defend and guard us!

GLOUCESTER	Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.

	[Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head]

LOVEL	Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
	The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

GLOUCESTER	So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.
	I took him for the plainest harmless creature
	That breathed upon this earth a Christian;
	Made him my book wherein my soul recorded
	The history of all her secret thoughts:
	So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue,
	That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
	I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,
	He lived from all attainder of suspect.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor
	That ever lived.
	Would you imagine, or almost believe,
	Were't not that, by great preservation,
	We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor
	This day had plotted, in the council-house
	To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?

Lord Mayor	What, had he so?

GLOUCESTER	What, think You we are Turks or infidels?
	Or that we would, against the form of law,
	Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death,
	But that the extreme peril of the case,
	The peace of England and our persons' safety,
	Enforced us to this execution?

Lord Mayor	Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death;
	And you my good lords, both have well proceeded,
	To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
	I never look'd for better at his hands,
	After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

GLOUCESTER	Yet had not we determined he should die,
	Until your lordship came to see his death;
	Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
	Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:
	Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
	The traitor speak, and timorously confess
	The manner and the purpose of his treason;
	That you might well have signified the same
	Unto the citizens, who haply may
	Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.

Lord Mayor	But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve,
	As well as I had seen and heard him speak
	And doubt you not, right noble princes both,
	But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
	With all your just proceedings in this cause.

GLOUCESTER	And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here,
	To avoid the carping censures of the world.

BUCKINGHAM	But since you come too late of our intents,
	Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
	And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.

	[Exit Lord Mayor]

GLOUCESTER	Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
	The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:
	There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
	Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:
	Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,
	Only for saying he would make his son
	Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,
	Which, by the sign thereof was termed so.
	Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
	And bestial appetite in change of lust;
	Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,
	Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,
	Without control, listed to make his prey.
	Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
	Tell them, when that my mother went with child
	Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York
	My princely father then had wars in France
	And, by just computation of the time,
	Found that the issue was not his begot;
	Which well appeared in his lineaments,
	Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
	But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off,
	Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.

BUCKINGHAM	Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator
	As if the golden fee for which I plead
	Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

GLOUCESTER	If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle;
	Where you shall find me well accompanied
	With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.

BUCKINGHAM	I go: and towards three or four o'clock
	Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

	[Exit BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER	Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;

	[To CATESBY]

	Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both
	Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

	Now will I in, to take some privy order,
	To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
	And to give notice, that no manner of person
	At any time have recourse unto the princes.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand]

Scrivener	This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
	Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
	That it may be this day read over in Paul's.
	And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
	Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
	For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
	The precedent was full as long a-doing:
	And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
	Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty
	Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross,
	That seeth not this palpable device?
	Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
	Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
	When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VII	Baynard's Castle.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors]

GLOUCESTER	How now, my lord, what say the citizens?

BUCKINGHAM	Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
	The citizens are mum and speak not a word.

GLOUCESTER	Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

BUCKINGHAM	I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
	And his contract by deputy in France;
	The insatiate greediness of his desires,
	And his enforcement of the city wives;
	His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
	As being got, your father then in France,
	His resemblance, being not like the duke;
	Withal I did infer your lineaments,
	Being the right idea of your father,
	Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
	Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
	Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace,
	Your bounty, virtue, fair humility:
	Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
	Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse
	And when mine oratory grew to an end
	I bid them that did love their country's good
	Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!'

GLOUCESTER	Ah! and did they so?

BUCKINGHAM	No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
	But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
	Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
	Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
	And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:
	His answer was, the people were not wont
	To be spoke to but by the recorder.
	Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
	'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;'
	But nothing spake in warrant from himself.
	When he had done, some followers of mine own,
	At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
	And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'
	And thus I took the vantage of those few,
	'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I;
	'This general applause and loving shout
	Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:'
	And even here brake off, and came away.

GLOUCESTER	What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak?

BUCKINGHAM	No, by my troth, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?

BUCKINGHAM	The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;
	Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
	And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
	And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;
	For on that ground I'll build a holy descant:
	And be not easily won to our request:
	Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.

GLOUCESTER	I go; and if you plead as well for them
	As I can say nay to thee for myself,
	No doubt well bring it to a happy issue.

BUCKINGHAM	Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.

	[Exit GLOUCESTER]

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and Citizens]

	Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here;
	I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

	[Enter CATESBY]

	Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,
	What says he?

CATESBY	             My lord: he doth entreat your grace;
	To visit him to-morrow or next day:
	He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
	Divinely bent to meditation;
	And no worldly suit would he be moved,
	To draw him from his holy exercise.

BUCKINGHAM	Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again;
	Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,
	In deep designs and matters of great moment,
	No less importing than our general good,
	Are come to have some conference with his grace.

CATESBY	I'll tell him what you say, my lord.

	[Exit]

BUCKINGHAM	Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
	He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
	But on his knees at meditation;
	Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
	But meditating with two deep divines;
	Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
	But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
	Happy were England, would this gracious prince
	Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
	But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

Lord Mayor	Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!

BUCKINGHAM	I fear he will.

	[Re-enter CATESBY]

	How now, Catesby, what says your lord?

CATESBY	My lord,
	He wonders to what end you have assembled
	Such troops of citizens to speak with him,
	His grace not being warn'd thereof before:
	My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.

BUCKINGHAM	Sorry I am my noble cousin should
	Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
	By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;
	And so once more return and tell his grace.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	When holy and devout religious men
	Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
	So sweet is zealous contemplation.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two Bishops.
	CATESBY returns]

Lord Mayor	See, where he stands between two clergymen!

BUCKINGHAM	Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
	To stay him from the fall of vanity:
	And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
	True ornaments to know a holy man.
	Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
	Lend favourable ears to our request;
	And pardon us the interruption
	Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, there needs no such apology:
	I rather do beseech you pardon me,
	Who, earnest in the service of my God,
	Neglect the visitation of my friends.
	But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM	Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
	And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

GLOUCESTER	I do suspect I have done some offence
	That seems disgracious in the city's eyes,
	And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

BUCKINGHAM	You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,
	At our entreaties, to amend that fault!

GLOUCESTER	Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

BUCKINGHAM	Then know, it is your fault that you resign
	The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
	The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
	Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
	The lineal glory of your royal house,
	To the corruption of a blemished stock:
	Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
	Which here we waken to our country's good,
	This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
	Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
	Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
	And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
	Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
	Which to recure, we heartily solicit
	Your gracious self to take on you the charge
	And kingly government of this your land,
	Not as protector, steward, substitute,
	Or lowly factor for another's gain;
	But as successively from blood to blood,
	Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
	For this, consorted with the citizens,
	Your very worshipful and loving friends,
	And by their vehement instigation,
	In this just suit come I to move your grace.

GLOUCESTER	I know not whether to depart in silence,
	Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
	Best fitteth my degree or your condition
	If not to answer, you might haply think
	Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
	To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
	Which fondly you would here impose on me;
	If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
	So season'd with your faithful love to me.
	Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends.
	Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,
	And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,
	Definitively thus I answer you.
	Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
	Unmeritable shuns your high request.
	First if all obstacles were cut away,
	And that my path were even to the crown,
	As my ripe revenue and due by birth
	Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
	So mighty and so many my defects,
	As I had rather hide me from my greatness,
	Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,
	Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
	And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
	But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me,
	And much I need to help you, if need were;
	The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
	Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
	Will well become the seat of majesty,
	And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
	On him I lay what you would lay on me,
	The right and fortune of his happy stars;
	Which God defend that I should wring from him!

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
	But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
	All circumstances well considered.
	You say that Edward is your brother's son:
	So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;
	For first he was contract to Lady Lucy--
	Your mother lives a witness to that vow--
	And afterward by substitute betroth'd
	To Bona, sister to the King of France.
	These both put by a poor petitioner,
	A care-crazed mother of a many children,
	A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
	Even in the afternoon of her best days,
	Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye,
	Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts
	To base declension and loathed bigamy
	By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
	This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.
	More bitterly could I expostulate,
	Save that, for reverence to some alive,
	I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
	Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
	This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
	If non to bless us and the land withal,
	Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
	From the corruption of abusing times,
	Unto a lineal true-derived course.

Lord Mayor	Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you.

BUCKINGHAM	Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

CATESBY	O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!

GLOUCESTER	Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
	I am unfit for state and majesty;
	I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
	I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

BUCKINGHAM	If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal,
	Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son;
	As well we know your tenderness of heart
	And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
	Which we have noted in you to your kin,
	And egally indeed to all estates,--
	Yet whether you accept our suit or no,
	Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
	But we will plant some other in the throne,
	To the disgrace and downfall of your house:
	And in this resolution here we leave you.--
	Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more.

GLOUCESTER	O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.

	[Exit BUCKINGHAM with the Citizens]

CATESBY	Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.

ANOTHER	Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.

GLOUCESTER	Would you enforce me to a world of care?
	Well, call them again. I am not made of stone,
	But penetrable to your. kind entreats,
	Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

	[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest]

	Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
	Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
	To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
	I must have patience to endure the load:
	But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
	Attend the sequel of your imposition,
	Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
	From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
	For God he knows, and you may partly see,
	How far I am from the desire thereof.

Lord Mayor	God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.

GLOUCESTER	In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

BUCKINGHAM	Then I salute you with this kingly title:
	Long live Richard, England's royal king!


Lord Mayor	|
	|  Amen.
Citizens	|


BUCKINGHAM	To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?

GLOUCESTER	Even when you please, since you will have it so.

BUCKINGHAM	To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
	And so most joyfully we take our leave.

GLOUCESTER	Come, let us to our holy task again.
	Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE I	Before the Tower.


	[Enter, on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF
	YORK, and DORSET; on the other, ANNE, Duchess of
	Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet,
	CLARENCE's young Daughter]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Who meets us here?  my niece Plantagenet
	Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
	Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
	On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes.
	Daughter, well met.

LADY ANNE	God give your graces both
	A happy and a joyful time of day!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	As much to you, good sister! Whither away?

LADY ANNE	No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
	Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
	To gratulate the gentle princes there.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together.

	[Enter BRAKENBURY]

	And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
	Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
	How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

BRAKENBURY	Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
	I may not suffer you to visit them;
	The king hath straitly charged the contrary.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The king! why, who's that?

BRAKENBURY	I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
	Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?
	I am their mother; who should keep me from them?

DUCHESS OF YORK	I am their fathers mother; I will see them.

LADY ANNE	Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
	Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame
	And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

BRAKENBURY	No, madam, no; I may not leave it so:
	I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.

	[Exit]

	[Enter LORD STANLEY]

LORD STANLEY	Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
	And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
	And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.

	[To LADY ANNE]

	Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
	There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart
	May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon
	With this dead-killing news!

LADY ANNE	Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

DORSET	Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!
	Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
	Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
	If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
	And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell
	Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
	Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
	And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
	Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

LORD STANLEY	Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
	Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
	You shall have letters from me to my son
	To meet you on the way, and welcome you.
	Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
	O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
	A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
	Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

LORD STANLEY	Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

LADY ANNE	And I in all unwillingness will go.
	I would to God that the inclusive verge
	Of golden metal that must round my brow
	Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
	Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
	And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory
	To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

LADY ANNE	No! why?  When he that is my husband now
	Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse,
	When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
	Which issued from my other angel husband
	And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
	O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
	This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed,
	For making me, so young, so old a widow!
	And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
	And be thy wife--if any be so mad--
	As miserable by the life of thee
	As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
	Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
	Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
	Grossly grew captive to his honey words
	And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,
	Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;
	For never yet one hour in his bed
	Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,
	But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
	Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
	And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.

LADY ANNE	No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

LADY ANNE	Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!

DUCHESS OF YORK	[To DORSET]

	Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!

	[To LADY ANNE]

	Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!

	[To QUEEN ELIZABETH]

	Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
	I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
	Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
	And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
	Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
	Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
	Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
	Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
	For tender princes, use my babies well!
	So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Sennet. Enter KING RICHARD III, in pomp, crowned;
	BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a page, and others]

KING RICHARD III	Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!

BUCKINGHAM	My gracious sovereign?

KING RICHARD III	Give me thy hand.

	[Here he ascendeth his throne]

	Thus high, by thy advice
	And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;
	But shall we wear these honours for a day?
	Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

BUCKINGHAM	Still live they and for ever may they last!

KING RICHARD III	O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
	To try if thou be current gold indeed
	Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.

BUCKINGHAM	Say on, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD III	Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,

BUCKINGHAM	Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.

KING RICHARD III	Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives.

BUCKINGHAM	True, noble prince.

KING RICHARD III	O bitter consequence,
	That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!'
	Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:
	Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
	And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
	What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.

BUCKINGHAM	Your grace may do your pleasure.

KING RICHARD III	Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:
	Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

BUCKINGHAM	Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
	Before I positively herein:
	I will resolve your grace immediately.

	[Exit]

CATESBY	[Aside to a stander by]

	The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.

KING RICHARD III	I will converse with iron-witted fools
	And unrespective boys: none are for me
	That look into me with considerate eyes:
	High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
	Boy!

Page	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold
	Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?

Page	My lord, I know a discontented gentleman,
	Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
	Gold were as good as twenty orators,
	And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

KING RICHARD III	What is his name?

Page	                His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

KING RICHARD III	I partly know the man: go, call him hither.

	[Exit Page]

	The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
	No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:
	Hath he so long held out with me untired,
	And stops he now for breath?

	[Enter STANLEY]

	How now! what news with you?

STANLEY	My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled
	To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
	Where he abides.

	[Stands apart]

KING RICHARD III	Catesby!

CATESBY	       My lord?

KING RICHARD III	                         Rumour it abroad
	That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
	I will take order for her keeping close.
	Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
	Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:
	The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
	Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
	That Anne my wife is sick and like to die:
	About it; for it stands me much upon,
	To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	I must be married to my brother's daughter,
	Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
	Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
	Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
	So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:
	Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

	[Re-enter Page, with TYRREL]

	Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL	James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

KING RICHARD III	Art thou, indeed?

TYRREL	           Prove me, my gracious sovereign.

KING RICHARD III	Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

TYRREL	Ay, my lord;
	But I had rather kill two enemies.

KING RICHARD III	Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,
	Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers
	Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
	Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

TYRREL	Let me have open means to come to them,
	And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

KING RICHARD III	Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel
	Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:

	[Whispers]

	There is no more but so: say it is done,
	And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.

TYRREL	'Tis done, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III	Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?

TYRREL	Ye shall, my Lord.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind
	The late demand that you did sound me in.

KING RICHARD III	Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM	I hear that news, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
	For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
	The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
	The which you promised I should possess.

KING RICHARD III	Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
	Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

BUCKINGHAM	What says your highness to my just demand?

KING RICHARD III	As I remember, Henry the Sixth
	Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
	When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
	A king, perhaps, perhaps,--

BUCKINGHAM	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	How chance the prophet could not at that time
	Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, your promise for the earldom,--

KING RICHARD III	Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
	The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
	And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started,
	Because a bard of Ireland told me once
	I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM	My Lord!

KING RICHARD III	       Ay, what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM	I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
	Of what you promised me.

KING RICHARD III	Well, but what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM	Upon the stroke of ten.

KING RICHARD III	Well, let it strike.

BUCKINGHAM	Why let it strike?

KING RICHARD III	Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke
	Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
	I am not in the giving vein to-day.

BUCKINGHAM	Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.

KING RICHARD III	Tut, tut,
	Thou troublest me; am not in the vein.

	[Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	Is it even so? rewards he my true service
	With such deep contempt made I him king for this?
	O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
	To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter TYRREL]

TYRREL	The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.
	The most arch of piteous massacre
	That ever yet this land was guilty of.
	Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
	To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
	Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
	Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
	Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
	'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:'
	'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another
	Within their innocent alabaster arms:
	Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
	Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
	A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
	Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind;
	But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd
	Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
	The most replenished sweet work of nature,
	That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
	Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
	They could not speak; and so I left them both,
	To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
	And here he comes.

	[Enter KING RICHARD III]

	All hail, my sovereign liege!

KING RICHARD III	Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

TYRREL	If to have done the thing you gave in charge
	Beget your happiness, be happy then,
	For it is done, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	But didst thou see them dead?

TYRREL	I did, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                 And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL	The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
	But how or in what place I do not know.

KING RICHARD III	Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
	And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
	Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
	And be inheritor of thy desire.
	Farewell till soon.

	[Exit TYRREL]

	The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
	His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
	The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
	And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
	Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
	At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
	And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
	To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

CATESBY	Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;
	And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
	Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

KING RICHARD III	Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
	Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
	Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
	Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
	Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary
	Then fiery expedition be my wing,
	Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
	Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
	We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Before the palace.


	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET]

QUEEN MARGARET	So, now prosperity begins to mellow
	And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
	Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
	To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
	A dire induction am I witness to,
	And will to France, hoping the consequence
	Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
	Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?

	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!
	My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
	If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
	And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
	Hover about me with your airy wings
	And hear your mother's lamentation!

QUEEN MARGARET	Hover about her; say, that right for right
	Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

DUCHESS OF YORK	So many miseries have crazed my voice,
	That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,
	Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET	Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
	Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
	And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
	When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

QUEEN MARGARET	When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,
	Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
	Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
	Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

	[Sitting down]

	Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave
	As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
	Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
	O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?

	[Sitting down by her]

QUEEN MARGARET	If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
	Give mine the benefit of seniory,
	And let my woes frown on the upper hand.
	If sorrow can admit society,

	[Sitting down with them]

	Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:
	I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
	I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him:
	Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
	Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;

DUCHESS OF YORK	I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
	I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.
	From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
	A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:
	That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
	To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
	That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
	That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
	That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
	Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
	O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
	How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
	Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
	And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

DUCHESS OF YORK	O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
	God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

QUEEN MARGARET	Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
	And now I cloy me with beholding it.
	Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward:
	Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
	Young York he is but boot, because both they
	Match not the high perfection of my loss:
	Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward;
	And the beholders of this tragic play,
	The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
	Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
	Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
	Only reserved their factor, to buy souls
	And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,
	Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
	Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
	To have him suddenly convey'd away.
	Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey,
	That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
	That I should wish for thee to help me curse
	That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!

QUEEN MARGARET	I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
	I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
	The presentation of but what I was;
	The flattering index of a direful pageant;
	One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below;
	A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
	A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
	A sign of dignity, a garish flag,
	To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
	A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
	Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
	Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?
	Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'?
	Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
	Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
	Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
	For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
	For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
	For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
	For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
	For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
	For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
	For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
	Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
	And left thee but a very prey to time;
	Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
	To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
	Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
	Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
	Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke;
	From which even here I slip my weary neck,
	And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
	Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
	These English woes will make me smile in France.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
	And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

QUEEN MARGARET	Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;
	Compare dead happiness with living woe;
	Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
	And he that slew them fouler than he is:
	Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:
	Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

QUEEN MARGARET	Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

	[Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why should calamity be full of words?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Windy attorneys to their client woes,
	Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
	Poor breathing orators of miseries!
	Let them have scope: though what they do impart
	Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.

DUCHESS OF YORK	If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
	And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
	My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
	I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.

	[Enter KING RICHARD III, marching, with drums and trumpets]

KING RICHARD III	Who intercepts my expedition?

DUCHESS OF YORK	O, she that might have intercepted thee,
	By strangling thee in her accursed womb
	From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
	Where should be graven, if that right were right,
	The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
	And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
	Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
	And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

KING RICHARD III	A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
	Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
	Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!

	[Flourish. Alarums]

	Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
	Or with the clamorous report of war
	Thus will I drown your exclamations.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou my son?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Then patiently hear my impatience.

KING RICHARD III	Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
	Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O, let me speak!

KING RICHARD III	                  Do then: but I'll not hear.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I will be mild and gentle in my speech.

KING RICHARD III	And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
	God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.

KING RICHARD III	And came I not at last to comfort you?

DUCHESS OF YORK	No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
	Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
	A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
	Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
	Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,
	Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,
	Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody,
	treacherous,
	More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
	What comfortable hour canst thou name,
	That ever graced me in thy company?

KING RICHARD III	Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
	your grace
	To breakfast once forth of my company.
	If I be so disgracious in your sight,
	Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
	Strike the drum.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  I prithee, hear me speak.

KING RICHARD III	You speak too bitterly.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Hear me a word;
	For I shall never speak to thee again.

KING RICHARD III	So.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
	Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
	Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
	And never look upon thy face again.
	Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;
	Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
	Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
	My prayers on the adverse party fight;
	And there the little souls of Edward's children
	Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
	And promise them success and victory.
	Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
	Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

	[Exit]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
	Abides in me; I say amen to all.

KING RICHARD III	Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I have no more sons of the royal blood
	For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,
	They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
	And therefore level not to hit their lives.

KING RICHARD III	You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
	Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And must she die for this? O, let her live,
	And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
	Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
	Throw over her the veil of infamy:
	So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
	I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

KING RICHARD III	Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

KING RICHARD III	Her life is only safest in her birth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And only in that safety died her brothers.

KING RICHARD III	Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

KING RICHARD III	All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
	My babes were destined to a fairer death,
	If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

KING RICHARD III	You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
	Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
	Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
	Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
	No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt
	Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
	To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
	But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
	My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
	Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
	And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
	Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
	Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

KING RICHARD III	Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
	And dangerous success of bloody wars,
	As I intend more good to you and yours,
	Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
	To be discover'd, that can do me good?

KING RICHARD III	The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

KING RICHARD III	No, to the dignity and height of honour
	The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
	Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
	Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

KING RICHARD III	Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,
	Will I withal endow a child of thine;
	So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
	Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
	Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
	Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

KING RICHARD III	Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

KING RICHARD III	What do you think?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:
	So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
	And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.

KING RICHARD III	Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
	I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
	And mean to make her queen of England.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

KING RICHARD III	Even he that makes her queen who should be else?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What, thou?

KING RICHARD III	I, even I: what think you of it, madam?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	How canst thou woo her?

KING RICHARD III	That would I learn of you,
	As one that are best acquainted with her humour.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And wilt thou learn of me?

KING RICHARD III	Madam, with all my heart.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
	A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave
	Edward and York; then haply she will weep:
	Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret
	Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,--
	A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
	The purple sap from her sweet brother's body
	And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
	If this inducement force her not to love,
	Send her a story of thy noble acts;
	Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
	Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,
	Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

KING RICHARD III	Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way
	To win our daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	There is no other way
	Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
	And not be Richard that hath done all this.

KING RICHARD III	Say that I did all this for love of her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
	Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

KING RICHARD III	Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
	Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
	Which after hours give leisure to repent.
	If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
	To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter.
	If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
	To quicken your increase, I will beget
	Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter
	A grandam's name is little less in love
	Than is the doting title of a mother;
	They are as children but one step below,
	Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
	Of an one pain, save for a night of groans
	Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
	Your children were vexation to your youth,
	But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
	The loss you have is but a son being king,
	And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
	I cannot make you what amends I would,
	Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
	Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
	Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
	This fair alliance quickly shall call home
	To high promotions and great dignity:
	The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife.
	Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
	Again shall you be mother to a king,
	And all the ruins of distressful times
	Repair'd with double riches of content.
	What! we have many goodly days to see:
	The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
	Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
	Advantaging their loan with interest
	Of ten times double gain of happiness.
	Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go
	Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
	Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale
	Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
	Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
	With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys
	And when this arm of mine hath chastised
	The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
	Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
	And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
	To whom I will retail my conquest won,
	And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What were I best to say? her father's brother
	Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
	Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
	Under what title shall I woo for thee,
	That God, the law, my honour and her love,
	Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

KING RICHARD III	Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

KING RICHARD III	Say that the king, which may command, entreats.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

KING RICHARD III	Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To wail the tide, as her mother doth.

KING RICHARD III	Say, I will love her everlastingly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long shall that title 'ever' last?

KING RICHARD III	Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?

KING RICHARD III	So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	So long as hell and Richard likes of it.

KING RICHARD III	Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

KING RICHARD III	Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

KING RICHARD III	Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

KING RICHARD III	Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;
	Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.

KING RICHARD III	Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

KING RICHARD III	Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

KING RICHARD III	I swear--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	        By nothing; for this is no oath:
	The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
	The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
	The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
	if something thou wilt swear to be believed,
	Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

KING RICHARD III	Now, by the world--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

KING RICHARD III	My father's death--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

KING RICHARD III	Then, by myself--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	                  Thyself thyself misusest.

KING RICHARD III	Why then, by God--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	                  God's wrong is most of all.
	If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
	The unity the king thy brother made
	Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
	If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
	The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
	Had graced the tender temples of my child,
	And both the princes had been breathing here,
	Which now, two tender playfellows to dust,
	Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
	What canst thou swear by now?

KING RICHARD III	The time to come.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
	For I myself have many tears to wash
	Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
	The children live, whose parents thou hast
	slaughter'd,
	Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
	The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
	Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age.
	Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
	Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast.

KING RICHARD III	As I intend to prosper and repent,
	So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
	Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
	Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
	Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
	Be opposite all planets of good luck
	To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love,
	Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
	I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
	In her consists my happiness and thine;
	Without her, follows to this land and me,
	To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,
	Death, desolation, ruin and decay:
	It cannot be avoided but by this;
	It will not be avoided but by this.
	Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so--
	Be the attorney of my love to her:
	Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
	Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
	Urge the necessity and state of times,
	And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I forget myself to be myself?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But thou didst kill my children.

KING RICHARD III	But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
	Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed
	Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

KING RICHARD III	And be a happy mother by the deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I go. Write to me very shortly.
	And you shall understand from me her mind.

KING RICHARD III	Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.

	[Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH]

	Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

	[Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following]

	How now! what news?

RATCLIFF	My gracious sovereign, on the western coast
	Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
	Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
	Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
	'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
	And there they hull, expecting but the aid
	Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

KING RICHARD III	Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:
	Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

CATESBY	Here, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Fly to the duke:

	[To RATCLIFF]

	Post thou to Salisbury
	When thou comest thither--

	[To CATESBY]

		     Dull, unmindful villain,
	Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?

CATESBY	First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
	What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

KING RICHARD III	O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
	The greatest strength and power he can make,
	And meet me presently at Salisbury.

CATESBY	I go.

	[Exit]

RATCLIFF	What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at
	Salisbury?

KING RICHARD III	Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

RATCLIFF	Your highness told me I should post before.

KING RICHARD III	My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.

	[Enter STANLEY]

	How now, what news with you?

STANLEY	None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing;
	Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.

KING RICHARD III	Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
	Why dost thou run so many mile about,
	When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?
	Once more, what news?

STANLEY	Richmond is on the seas.

KING RICHARD III	There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
	White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

STANLEY	I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

KING RICHARD III	Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?

STANLEY	Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely,
	He makes for England, there to claim the crown.

KING RICHARD III	Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd?
	Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?
	What heir of York is there alive but we?
	And who is England's king but great York's heir?
	Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?

STANLEY	Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

KING RICHARD III	Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
	You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
	Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

STANLEY	No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.

KING RICHARD III	Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
	Where are thy tenants and thy followers?
	Are they not now upon the western shore.
	Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!

STANLEY	No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

KING RICHARD III	Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north,
	When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

STANLEY	They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign:
	Please it your majesty to give me leave,
	I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
	Where and what time your majesty shall please.

KING RICHARD III	Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:
	I will not trust you, sir.

STANLEY	Most mighty sovereign,
	You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:
	I never was nor never will be false.

KING RICHARD III	Well,
	Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind
	Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.
	Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

STANLEY	So deal with him as I prove true to you.

	[Exit]

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
	As I by friends am well advertised,
	Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
	Bishop of Exeter, his brother there,
	With many more confederates, are in arms.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Second Messenger	My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;
	And every hour more competitors
	Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Third Messenger	My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--

KING RICHARD III	Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?

	[He striketh him]

	Take that, until thou bring me better news.

Third Messenger	The news I have to tell your majesty
	Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
	Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;
	And he himself wander'd away alone,
	No man knows whither.

KING RICHARD III	I cry thee mercy:
	There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
	Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
	Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Third Messenger	Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Fourth Messenger	Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
	'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
	Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
	The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
	Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat
	Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
	If they were his assistants, yea or no;
	Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham.
	Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
	Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.

KING RICHARD III	March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
	If not to fight with foreign enemies,
	Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

	[Re-enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken;
	That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond
	Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
	Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

KING RICHARD III	Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here,
	A royal battle might be won and lost
	Some one take order Buckingham be brought
	To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE V	Lord Derby's house.


	[Enter DERBY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK]

DERBY	Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
	That in the sty of this most bloody boar
	My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold:
	If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
	The fear of that withholds my present aid.
	But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

CHRISTOPHER	At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.

DERBY	What men of name resort to him?

CHRISTOPHER	Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
	Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;
	Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
	And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew;
	And many more of noble fame and worth:
	And towards London they do bend their course,
	If by the way they be not fought withal.

DERBY	Return unto thy lord; commend me to him:
	Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
	He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
	These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE I	Salisbury. An open place.


	[Enter the Sheriff, and BUCKINGHAM, with halberds,
	led to execution]

BUCKINGHAM	Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sheriff	No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

BUCKINGHAM	Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,
	Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
	Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
	By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
	If that your moody discontented souls
	Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
	Even for revenge mock my destruction!
	This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?

Sheriff	It is, my lord.

BUCKINGHAM	Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.
	This is the day that, in King Edward's time,
	I wish't might fall on me, when I was found
	False to his children or his wife's allies
	This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
	By the false faith of him I trusted most;
	This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
	Is the determined respite of my wrongs:
	That high All-Seer that I dallied with
	Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
	And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
	Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
	To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms:
	Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head;
	'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
	Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
	Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
	Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE II	The camp near Tamworth.


	[Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, HERBERT, and others,
	with drum and colours]

RICHMOND	Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
	Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
	Thus far into the bowels of the land
	Have we march'd on without impediment;
	And here receive we from our father Stanley
	Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
	The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
	That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
	Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
	In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
	Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
	Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn
	From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
	In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
	To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
	By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

OXFORD	Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
	To fight against that bloody homicide.

HERBERT	I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.

BLUNT	He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.
	Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.

RICHMOND	All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march:
	True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:
	Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE III	Bosworth Field.


	[Enter KING RICHARD III in arms, with NORFOLK,
	SURREY, and others]

KING RICHARD III	Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.
	My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY	My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

KING RICHARD III	My Lord of Norfolk,--

NORFOLK	Here, most gracious liege.


KING RICHARD III	Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?

NORFOLK	We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III	Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;
	But where to-morrow?  Well, all's one for that.
	Who hath descried the number of the foe?

NORFOLK	Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

KING RICHARD III	Why, our battalion trebles that account:
	Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
	Which they upon the adverse party want.
	Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen,
	Let us survey the vantage of the field
	Call for some men of sound direction
	Let's want no discipline, make no delay,
	For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,
	Sir William Brandon, OXFORD, and others. Some of
	the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND's tent]

RICHMOND	The weary sun hath made a golden set,
	And by the bright track of his fiery car,
	Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow.
	Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
	Give me some ink and paper in my tent
	I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
	Limit each leader to his several charge,
	And part in just proportion our small strength.
	My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon,
	And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.
	The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:
	Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him
	And by the second hour in the morning
	Desire the earl to see me in my tent:
	Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st,
	Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?

BLUNT	Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
	Which well I am assured I have not done,
	His regiment lies half a mile at least
	South from the mighty power of the king.

RICHMOND	If without peril it be possible,
	Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,
	And give him from me this most needful scroll.

BLUNT	Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it;
	And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

RICHMOND	Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen,
	Let us consult upon to-morrow's business
	In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.

	[They withdraw into the tent]

	[Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD III, NORFOLK,
	RATCLIFF, CATESBY, and others]

KING RICHARD III	What is't o'clock?

CATESBY	                  It's supper-time, my lord;
	It's nine o'clock.

KING RICHARD III	                  I will not sup to-night.
	Give me some ink and paper.
	What, is my beaver easier than it was?
	And all my armour laid into my tent?

CATESBY	If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

KING RICHARD III	Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
	Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

NORFOLK	I go, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK	I warrant you, my lord.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD III	Catesby!

CATESBY	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Send out a pursuivant at arms
	To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
	Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
	Into the blind cave of eternal night.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
	Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
	Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
	Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

RATCLIFF	Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
	Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
	Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

KING RICHARD III	So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:
	I have not that alacrity of spirit,
	Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.
	Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?

RATCLIFF	It is, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                  Bid my guard watch; leave me.
	Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent
	And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.

	[Exeunt RATCLIFF and the other Attendants]

	[Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent, Lords and
	others attending]

DERBY	Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

RICHMOND	All comfort that the dark night can afford
	Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
	Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

DERBY	I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother
	Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
	So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
	And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
	In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--
	Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
	And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
	Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
	I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--
	With best advantage will deceive the time,
	And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
	But on thy side I may not be too forward
	Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
	Be executed in his father's sight.
	Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
	Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
	And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
	Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon:
	God give us leisure for these rites of love!
	Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!

RICHMOND	Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
	I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
	Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,
	When I should mount with wings of victory:
	Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

	[Exeunt all but RICHMOND]

	O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
	Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
	Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
	That they may crush down with a heavy fall
	The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
	Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
	That we may praise thee in the victory!
	To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
	Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:
	Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

	[Sleeps]

	[Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, son to King Henry VI]

Ghost
of Prince Edward	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
	Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
	At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls
	Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf
	King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

	[Enter the Ghost of King Henry VI]

Ghost
of King Henry VI	[To KING RICHARD III]

	When I was mortal, my anointed body
	By thee was punched full of deadly holes
	Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die!
	Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!
	Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,
	Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flourish!

	[Enter the Ghost of CLARENCE]

Ghost of CLARENCE	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
	I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
	Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death!
	To-morrow in the battle think on me,
	And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!--

	[To RICHMOND]

	Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster
	The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee
	Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!

	[Enter the Ghosts of RIVERS, GRAY, and VAUGHAN]

Ghost of RIVERS	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow,
	Rivers. that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!

Ghost of GREY	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

Ghost of VAUGHAN	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear,
	Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!

All	[To RICHMOND]

	Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom
	Will conquer him! awake, and win the day!

	[Enter the Ghost of HASTINGS]

Ghost of HASTINGS	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,
	And in a bloody battle end thy days!
	Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!
	Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

	[Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes]

Ghosts
of young Princes	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:
	Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard,
	And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
	Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;
	Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
	Live, and beget a happy race of kings!
	Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

	[Enter the Ghost of LADY ANNE]

Ghost of LADY ANNE	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,
	That never slept a quiet hour with thee,
	Now fills thy sleep with perturbations
	To-morrow in the battle think on me,
	And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep
	Dream of success and happy victory!
	Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

	[Enter the Ghost of BUCKINGHAM]

Ghost
of BUCKINGHAM	[To KING RICHARD III]

	The last was I that helped thee to the crown;
	The last was I that felt thy tyranny:
	O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
	And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
	Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death:
	Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!

	[To RICHMOND]

	I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:
	But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
	God and good angel fight on Richmond's side;
	And Richard falls in height of all his pride.

	[The Ghosts vanish]

	[KING RICHARD III starts out of his dream]

KING RICHARD III	Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.
	Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream.
	O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
	The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
	Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
	What do I fear?  myself?  there's none else by:
	Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
	Is there a murderer here?  No. Yes, I am:
	Then fly. What, from myself?   Great reason why:
	Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
	Alack. I love myself. Wherefore?  for any good
	That I myself have done unto myself?
	O, no! alas, I rather hate myself
	For hateful deeds committed by myself!
	I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not.
	Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
	My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
	And every tongue brings in a several tale,
	And every tale condemns me for a villain.
	Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree
	Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;
	All several sins, all used in each degree,
	Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
	I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
	And if I die, no soul shall pity me:
	Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
	Find in myself no pity to myself?
	Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
	Came to my tent; and every one did threat
	To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

	[Enter RATCLIFF]

RATCLIFF	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	'Zounds! who is there?

RATCLIFF	Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
	Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
	Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

KING RICHARD III	O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
	What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

RATCLIFF	No doubt, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                  O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,--

RATCLIFF	Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

KING RICHARD III	By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
	Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
	Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
	Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
	It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
	Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
	To see if any mean to shrink from me.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter the Lords to RICHMOND, sitting in his tent]

LORDS	Good morrow, Richmond!

RICHMOND	Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
	That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

LORDS	How have you slept, my lord?

RICHMOND	The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams
	That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
	Have I since your departure had, my lords.
	Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
	Came to my tent, and cried on victory:
	I promise you, my soul is very jocund
	In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
	How far into the morning is it, lords?

LORDS	Upon the stroke of four.

RICHMOND	Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.

	[His oration to his soldiers]

	More than I have said, loving countrymen,
	The leisure and enforcement of the time
	Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,
	God and our good cause fight upon our side;
	The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
	Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
	Richard except, those whom we fight against
	Had rather have us win than him they follow:
	For what is he they follow?  truly, gentlemen,
	A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
	One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
	One that made means to come by what he hath,
	And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
	Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil
	Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
	One that hath ever been God's enemy:
	Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
	God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
	If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
	You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
	If you do fight against your country's foes,
	Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
	If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
	Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
	If you do free your children from the sword,
	Your children's children quit it in your age.
	Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
	Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
	For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
	Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
	But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
	The least of you shall share his part thereof.
	Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
	God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants
	and Forces]

KING RICHARD III	What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

RATCLIFF	That he was never trained up in arms.

KING RICHARD III	He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?

RATCLIFF	He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.'

KING RICHARD III	He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

	[Clock striketh]

	Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar.
	Who saw the sun to-day?

RATCLIFF	Not I, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
	He should have braved the east an hour ago
	A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF	        My lord?

KING RICHARD III	The sun will not be seen to-day;
	The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
	I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
	Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
	More than to Richmond?  for the selfsame heaven
	That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

	[Enter NORFOLK]

NORFOLK	Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.

KING RICHARD III	Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.
	Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
	I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
	And thus my battle shall be ordered:
	My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
	Consisting equally of horse and foot;
	Our archers shall be placed in the midst
	John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
	Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
	They thus directed, we will follow
	In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
	Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
	This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk?

NORFOLK	A good direction, warlike sovereign.
	This found I on my tent this morning.

	[He sheweth him a paper]

KING RICHARD III	[Reads]

	'Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,
	For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
	A thing devised by the enemy.
	Go, gentleman, every man unto his charge
	Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls:
	Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
	Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:
	Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
	March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell
	If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

	[His oration to his Army]

	What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
	Remember whom you are to cope withal;
	A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
	A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants,
	Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
	To desperate ventures and assured destruction.
	You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
	You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,
	They would restrain the one, distain the other.
	And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
	Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost?
	A milk-sop, one that never in his life
	Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
	Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
	Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
	These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
	Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
	For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves:
	If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,
	And not these bastard Bretons; whom our fathers
	Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
	And in record, left them the heirs of shame.
	Shall these enjoy our lands?  lie with our wives?
	Ravish our daughters?

	[Drum afar off]

		Hark! I hear their drum.
	Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yoemen!
	Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
	Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
	Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

	[Enter a Messenger]

	What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power?

Messenger	My lord, he doth deny to come.

KING RICHARD III	Off with his son George's head!

NORFOLK	My lord, the enemy is past the marsh
	After the battle let George Stanley die.

KING RICHARD III	A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:
	Advance our standards, set upon our foes
	Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
	Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
	Upon them! victory sits on our helms.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces
	fighting; to him CATESBY]

CATESBY	Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
	The king enacts more wonders than a man,
	Daring an opposite to every danger:
	His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
	Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
	Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

	[Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD III]

KING RICHARD III	A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY	Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD III	Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
	And I will stand the hazard of the die:
	I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
	Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
	A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III and RICHMOND; they
	fight. KING RICHARD III is slain. Retreat and
	flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the
	crown, with divers other Lords]

RICHMOND	God and your arms be praised, victorious friends,
	The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

DERBY	Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.
	Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
	From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
	Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal:
	Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

RICHMOND	Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
	But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?

DERBY	He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;
	Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

RICHMOND	What men of name are slain on either side?

DERBY	John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
	Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

RICHMOND	Inter their bodies as becomes their births:
	Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
	That in submission will return to us:
	And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
	We will unite the white rose and the red:
	Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
	That long have frown'd upon their enmity!
	What traitor hears me, and says not amen?
	England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
	The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
	The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
	The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:
	All this divided York and Lancaster,
	Divided in their dire division,
	O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
	The true succeeders of each royal house,
	By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
	And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
	Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
	With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
	Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
	That would reduce these bloody days again,
	And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
	Let them not live to taste this land's increase
	That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
	Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again:
	That she may long live here, God say amen!

	[Exeunt]
  	A LOVER'S COMPLAINT



FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.

'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:

'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'

'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.

''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.

''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.

''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.

''But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

''O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.

''How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.

''My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

''When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

''Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'

'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.

'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.

'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'
	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.


The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof
this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.
The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth
of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I
have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in
all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would
show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship,
to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE


	THE ARGUMENT


Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,
after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs,
not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had
possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons
and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege
the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of
Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after
supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among
whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife
Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they posted to Rome; and
intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of
that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds
his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her
maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or
in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus
the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering
his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the
camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and
was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight,
hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father,
another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one
accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius;
and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause
of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her
revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and
withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the
Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted
the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a
bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the
people were so moved, that with one consent and a general
acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state
government changed from kings to consuls.



	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE



FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apologies be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field:
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

Their silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,--
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
He makes excuses for his being there:
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour in fell battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself himself be must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm;
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,
'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine:
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine;
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my household's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
True valour still a true respect should have;
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, shamed with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not bin.

'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

'If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

'O, what excuse can my invention make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But coward-like with trembling terror die.


'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife,
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

'Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known:
Hateful it is; there is no hate in loving:
I'll beg her love; but she is own:
The worst is but denial and reproving:
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand,
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd.

'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand mine eye:
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;
Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?'

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost choked by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,
So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine:
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part;

And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward;
But, as they open, they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard;
Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks:
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks;
As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured; return again in haste;
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.'

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial:
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a lingering slay his course doth let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'

Now is he come unto the chamber-door,
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing be sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Having solicited th' eternal power
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts: quoth he, 'I must deflower:
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act?

'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
My will is back'd with resolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried;
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution;
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide.
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch:
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:
By their high treason is his heart misled;
Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is that she reflects so bright,
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.

O, had they in that darksome prison died!
Then had they seen the period of their ill;
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss;
Between whose hills her head entombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admired of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;
O modest wantons! wanton modesty!
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality:
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life lived in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred;
Who, like a foul ursurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified;
Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left there round turrets destitute and pale.

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror or 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,--
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!--
May feel her heart-poor citizen!--distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,
To make the breach and enter this sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe;
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face,
That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide;
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting;
All this beforehand counsel comprehends:
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.

'I have debated, even in my soul,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;
But nothing can affection's course control,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.'

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade,
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under his insulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells.

'Lucrece,' quoth he,'this night I must enjoy thee:
If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee:
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

'So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy:
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,
And sung by children in succeeding times.

'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In a pure compound; being so applied,
His venom in effect is purified.

'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot:
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.

But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bidding,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth:
Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place;
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath,
By her untimely tears, her husband's love,
By holy human law, and common troth,
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both,
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.

Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended;
He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe.

'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me:
Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me:
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee:
If ever man were moved with woman moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:

'All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart,
To soften it with their continual motion;
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me,
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name.
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;
For kings like gods should govern everything.

'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring!
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage,
What darest thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing
From vassal actors can be wiped away;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.

'This deed will make thee only loved for fear;
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove;
For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
To privilege dishonour in thy name?
Thou black'st reproach against long-living laud,
And makest fair reputation but a bawd.

'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say,
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

'Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes!

'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier:
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.'

'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'

'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king;
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these pretty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave:
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'--
No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.'

This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:

For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forced league doth force a further strife;
This momentary joy breeds months of pain;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring.

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace,
For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.

Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence;
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sneaking with guilty fear;
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless castaway;
He in his speed looks for the morning light;
She prays she never may behold the day,
'For day,' quoth she, 'nights scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

'They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.'

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:

'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell!
Dim register and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!

'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time;
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon and make perpetual night.

'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child,
The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep again:
So should I have co-partners in my pain;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.

'Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,
Let not the jealous Day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!

'Make me not object to the tell-tale Day!
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow:
Yea the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!

'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honour lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left,
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him:
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!

'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits;
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours:
We have no good that we can say is ours,
But ill-annexed Opportunity
Or kills his life or else his quality.

'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason:
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

'Thou makest the vestal violate her oath;
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!

'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd?
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds:
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds:
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid:
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appaid
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation,
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift,
Guilty of incest, that abomination;
An accessary by thine inclination
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.

'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare;
Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are:
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to repose,
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes;
To eat up errors by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

'Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers;

'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs,
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel;

'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops.

'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends:
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!

'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave,
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort;
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.

'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill;
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?

'The baser is he, coming from a king,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate:
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may hide them when they list.

'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,
And unperceived fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,
But eagles gazed upon with every eye.

'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools;
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.

'In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night;
In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood.

'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame:
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou livest in my defame:
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death:
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth
To make more vent for passage of her breath;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from AEtna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife:
So am I now: O no, that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

'O, that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery;
A dying life to living infamy:
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!

'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stained taste of violated troth;
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute
That thou art doting father of his fruit.

'Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,
And with my trespass never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.

'I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses:
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.'

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes,
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peeping:
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what's done by night.'

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees:
True grief is fond and testy as a child,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees:
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues:
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;
Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords.

The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody:
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
Sad souls are slain in merry company;
Grief best is pleased with grief's society:
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
When with like semblance it is sympathized.

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;
He ten times pines that pines beholding food;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows;
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

'You mocking-birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb:
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair:
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear;
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.

'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.'

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily;
So with herself is she in mutiny,
To live or die which of the twain were better,
When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor.

'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack, what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution?
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion
Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,
Will slay the other and be nurse to none.

'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine?
Whose love of either to myself was nearer,
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine?
Ay me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither and his sap decay;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;
Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,
Grossly engirt with daring infamy:
Then let it not be call'd impiety,
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled soul.

'Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.

'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou revenged mayest be.
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.

'This brief abridgement of my will I make:
My soul and body to the skies and ground;
My resolution, husband, do thou take;
Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound;
My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me.

'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say 'So be it:'
Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee:
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.'

This Plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
For why her face wore sorrow's livery;
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen, minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own fault's books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd:
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame,
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong,
That dying fear through all her body spread;
And who cannot abuse a body dead?

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are
raining?
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

'But tell me, girl, when went'--and there she stay'd
Till after a deep groan--'Tarquin from hence?'
'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid,
'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.'
'O, peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it less;
For more it is than I can well express:
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen:
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.'

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door,
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

At last she thus begins: 'Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe t' afford--
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see--
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So, I commend me from our house in grief:
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.'

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality:
She dares not thereof make discovery,
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse.

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her:
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ
'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.'
The post attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast:
Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

The homely villain court'sies to her low;
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
Imagine every eye beholds their blame;
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to her see shame:

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, Life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy:
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece.
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioner
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces;
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art
Of physiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cipher'd either's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand,
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight:
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
All jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice,
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and
red;
Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear,
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Griped in an armed hand; himself, behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to
field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
That through their light joy seemed to appear,
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear.

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought,
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd.
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

In her the painter had anatomized
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign:
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguised;
Of what she was no semblance did remain:
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,
To give her so much grief and not a tongue.

'Poor instrument,' quoth she,'without a sound,
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong;
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear:
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here;
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.

'Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe?
Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so;
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general?

'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds:
Had doting Priam cheque'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.'

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.

She throws her eyes about the painting round,
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a constant and confirmed devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so ensconced his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms,
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjured Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew;
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces.

This picture she advisedly perused,
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill,
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused;
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:
And still on him she gazed; and gazing still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

'It cannot be,' quoth she,'that so much guile'--
She would have said 'can lurk in such a look;'
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took:
'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook,
And turn'd it thus,' It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind.

'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted.
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
As if with grief or travail he had fainted,
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguiled
With outward honesty, but yet defiled
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds!
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds:
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;
These contraries such unity do hold,
Only to flatter fools and make them bold:
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.'

Here, all enraged, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.'

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,
And both she thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps,
And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent;
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment;
Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolour others have endured.

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:
And round about her tear-stained eye
Blue circles stream'd; like rainbows in the sky:
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares:
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares:
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending;
'Few words,' quoth she, 'Shall fit the trespass best,
Where no excuse can give the fault amending:
In me moe woes than words are now depending;
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

'Then be this all the task it hath to say
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou was wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

' 'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine,' quoth he,
'Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame and thy perpetual infamy.'

'With this, I did begin to start and cry;
And then against my heart he sets his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word;
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies.

'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!
Or at the least this refuge let me find;
Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse,
Immaculate and spotless is my mind;
That was not forced; that never was inclined
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.'

Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe,
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so:
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste,
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw,
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful: let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me
From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she,
Speaking to those that came with Collatine,
'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design
To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.'

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. 'O, speak, ' quoth she,
'How may this forced stain be wiped from me?

'What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense,
My low-declined honour to advance?
May any terms acquit me from this chance?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again;
And why not I from this compelled stain?'

With this, they all at once began to say,
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living,
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name; 'He, he,' she says,
But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this, 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed:
That blow did that it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes,
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrified.

'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries,
'That life was mine which thou hast here deprived.
If in the child the father's image lies,
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived?
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children predecease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

'Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born;
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn:
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shivered all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was!

'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,
If they surcease to be that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive:
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath
And live to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid,
That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says 'She's mine.' 'O, mine she is,'
Replies her husband: 'do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.'

'O,' quoth Lucretius,' I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and 'my wife.'

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and uttering foolish things:

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To cheque the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth be, 'arise:
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool,
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school.

'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations;
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
That they will suffer these abominations,
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.

'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's
store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow;
And to his protestation urged the rest,
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.




	SONNETS



TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF
THESE INSUING SONNETS
MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESS
AND THAT ETERNITY
PROMISED BY
OUR EVER-LIVING POET WISHETH
THE WELL-WISHING
ADVENTURER IN
SETTING FORTH
T. T.


I.

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'st 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, makest waste in niggarding.
  Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
  To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II.

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd 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 deserved 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.

III.

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 unear'd 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 shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
  But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
  Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

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 tomb'd with thee,
  Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V.

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 cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd 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 distill'd though they with winter meet,
  Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
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-will'd, for thou art much too fair
  To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

VII.

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 climb'd 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,
  Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest 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.'

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest 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 murderous shame commits.

X.

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 lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous 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.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
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 endow'd she gave the 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.

XII.

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 silver'd 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.

XIII.

O, that you were yourself! 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.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment 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.

XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'd 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.

XVI.

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 your 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.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd 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 touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd 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.

XVIII.

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 dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
  So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
  So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

XIX.

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 fleets,
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.

XX.

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,
Much 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 prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
  Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

XXI.

So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself 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 fix'd in heaven's air:
  Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

XXII.

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 myself, 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 gavest me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII.

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides 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 burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books 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 express'd.
  O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
  To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the 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.

XXV.

Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd 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 foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
  Then happy I, that love and am beloved
  Where I may not remove nor be removed.

XXVI.

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 tatter'd 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.

XXVII.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose 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 myself no quiet find.

XXVIII.

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
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 them thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd 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 strength
  	seem stronger.

XXIX.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself 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 remember'd such wealth brings
  That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

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 cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd 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.

XXXI.

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.

XXXII.

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 bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd 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.'

XXXIII.

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 splendor on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
  Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
  Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

XXXIV.

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 bravery 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:
The 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.

XXXV.

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,
Myself 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 myself 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.

XXXVI.

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.

XXXVII.

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!

XXXVIII.

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.

XXXIX.

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 deservest 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!

XL.

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 love's wrong than hate's known injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

XLI.

Those petty 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 she have prevailed?
Ay me! but yet thou mightest my seat forbear,
And chide try 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.

XLII.

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 knowst I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering 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.

XLIII.

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.

XLIV.

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.

XLV.

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, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd 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.

XLVI.

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 'cide this title is impanneled
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.

XLVII.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd 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 resent 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.

XLVIII.

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 of 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 lock'd 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.

XLIX.

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,
Call'd 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 myself 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.

L.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease 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.

LI.

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.

LII.

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 the 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 imprison'd pride.
  Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
  Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

LIII.

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.

LIV.

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 unwoo'd 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.

LV.

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 besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
  So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
  You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
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;
  Else call it winter, which being full of care
  Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

LVII.

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.

LVIII.

That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege 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.

LIX.

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 burden 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.

LX.

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 crown'd,
Crooked elipses '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.

LXI.

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 tenor 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.

LXII.

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 myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd 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.

LXIII.

Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd 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.

LXIV.

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-razed
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 itself 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.

LXV.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways 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 wreckful siege of battering 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.

LXVI.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded 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 miscall'd 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.

LXVII.

Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steal dead seeing 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,
Beggar'd 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.

LXVIII.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the 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, itself 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.

LXIX.

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 crown'd;
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 solve is this, that thou dost common grow.

LXX.

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 woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged:
  If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
  Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then 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.

LXXII.

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.

LXXIII.

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 ruin'd 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 see'st 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 nourish'd by.
  This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
  To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

LXXIV.

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.

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd 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 better'd 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.

LXXVI.

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.

LXXVII.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The 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 can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd 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.

LXXVIII.

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.

LXXIX.

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another 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 behavior; 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.

LXXX.

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 wreck'd, 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.

LXXXI.

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.

LXXXII.

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.

LXXXIII.

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
The 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.

LXXXIV.

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.

LXXXV.

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 unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd 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.

LXXXVI.

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 fill'd up his line,
  Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

LXXXVII.

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 gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
  Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
  In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

LXXXVIII.

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself 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 conceal'd, 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 myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
  Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
  That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

LXXXIX.

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 myself 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 myself I'll vow debate,
  For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

XC.

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 'scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd 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.

XCI.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' 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' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or 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.

XCII.

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.

XCIII.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd 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!

XCIV.

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 itself 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.

XCV.

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 turn to fair that eyes can see!
  Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
  The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

XCVI.

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 makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem 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.

XCVII.

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 every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd 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.

XCVIII.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd 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 seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
  As with your shadow I with these did play:

XCIX.

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 annex'd 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.

C.

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 every where.
  Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
  So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

CI.

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 fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
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.

CII.

My love is strengthen'd, 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.

CIII.

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.

CIV.

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 turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
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.

CV.

Let not my love be call'd 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.

CVI.

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 express'd
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 look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
  For we, which now behold these present days,
  Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

CVII.

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.

CVIII.

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new 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 hallow'd 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.

CIX.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself 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 myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
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.

CX.

Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself 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 look'd 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.

CXI.

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 renew'd;
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.

CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd 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 steel'd 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.

CXIII.

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 rudest 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 makes mine eye untrue.

CXIV.

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd 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 poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
  That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

CXV.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd 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 altering 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?

CXVI.

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 wandering 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.

CXVII.

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 waken'd hate;
  Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
  The constancy and virtue of your love.

CXVIII.

Like as, to make our appetites 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 tuff 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, to 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.

CXIX.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself 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 ruin'd 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 ill thrice more than I have spent.

CXX.

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 hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd 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 remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble slave which wounded bosoms fits!
  But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
  Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

CXXI.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
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.

CXXII.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd 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 miss'd.
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.

CXXIII.

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 wondering 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.

CXXIV.

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd'
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd 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.

CXXV.

Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove 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 mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
  Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
  When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.

CXXVI.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, 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 delay'd, answer'd must be,
  And her quietus is to render thee.

CXXVII.

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 slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows 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.

CXXVIII.

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.

CXXIX.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd 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.

CXXX.

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 damask'd, 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.

CXXXI.

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 myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
  In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
  And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

CXXXII.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments 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.

CXXXIII.

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 myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
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 rigor in my gaol:
  And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
  Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself 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 learn'd but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fast 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.

CXXXV.

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.'

CXXXVI.

If thy soul cheque 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 ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' 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 lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'

CXXXVII.

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 anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
  In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
  And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.

CXXXVIII.

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
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 suppress'd.
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 flatter'd be.

CXXXIX.

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 lovest 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'er-press'd defense 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.

CXL.

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.

CXLI.

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 unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
  Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
  That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

CXLII.

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 seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest 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!

CXLIII.

Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes an 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 runn'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.

CXLIV.

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 colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but 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.

CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd 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 alter'd with an end,
That follow'd 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.'

CXLVI.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[         ] these rebel powers that thee 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 shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
  And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

CXLVII.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The 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 madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
  For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
  Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII.

O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's 'No.'
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
  O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
  Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

CXLIX.

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, 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 myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself 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 lovest, and I am blind.

CL.

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 warrantize 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.

CLI.

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 father 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.

CLII.

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!

CLIII.

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 borrow'd 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 distemper'd guest,
  But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
  Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.

CLIV.

The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd 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 warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
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 PASSIONATE PILGRIM



I.

WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.


II.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.


III.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?


IV.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She showed him favors to allure his eye;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there,--
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refused to take her figured proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer:
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward:
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!


V.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful
thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.


VI.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.
He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood:
'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'


VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;
She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.


VIII.

If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.


IX.

Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,
[		   ]
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds:
'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.'
She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.


X.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded!
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why I craved nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.


XI.

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced me,'
As if the boy should use like loving charms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!


XII.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long,


XIII.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.


XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow:'
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.


XV.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succor flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself tomorrow.



	SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC


XVI.

IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!

But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.


XVII.

On a day, alack the day!
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen, gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet:
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.'


XVIII.

My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,
All is amiss:
Love's denying,
Faith's defying,
Heart's renying,
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is placed without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;
O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see
Inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
O cruel speeding,
Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal;
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
My sighs so deep
Procure to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not
Forth their dye;
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping
Fearfully:
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for Love is dead
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan:
Poor Corydon
Must live alone;
Other help for him I see that there is none.


XIX.

When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy partial might:
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practise smell,--
A cripple soon can find a halt;--
But plainly say thou lovest her well,

And set thy person forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women still to strive with men,
To sin and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age doth them attaint.
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.

But, soft! enough, too much, I fear
Lest that my mistress hear my song,
She will not stick to round me i' the ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.


XX.

Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yields.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.


LOVE'S ANSWER.

If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.


XXI.

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry;
'Tereu, tereu!' by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy, like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find:
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering,
'Pity but he were a king;'
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandement:
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.




	THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE



	LET the bird of loudest lay,
	On the sole Arabian tree,
	Herald sad and trumpet be,
	To whose sound chaste wings obey.

	But thou shrieking harbinger,
	Foul precurrer of the fiend,
	Augur of the fever's end,
	To this troop come thou not near!

	From this session interdict
	Every fowl of tyrant wing,
	Save the eagle, feather'd king:
	Keep the obsequy so strict.

	Let the priest in surplice white,
	That defunctive music can,
	Be the death-divining swan,
	Lest the requiem lack his right.

	And thou treble-dated crow,
	That thy sable gender makest
	With the breath thou givest and takest,
	'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

	Here the anthem doth commence:
	Love and constancy is dead;
	Phoenix and the turtle fled
	In a mutual flame from hence.

	So they loved, as love in twain
	Had the essence but in one;
	Two distincts, division none:
	Number there in love was slain.

	Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
	Distance, and no space was seen
	'Twixt the turtle and his queen:
	But in them it were a wonder.

	So between them love did shine,
	That the turtle saw his right
	Flaming in the phoenix' sight;
	Either was the other's mine.

	Property was thus appalled,
	That the self was not the same;
	Single nature's double name
	Neither two nor one was called.

	Reason, in itself confounded,
	Saw division grow together,
	To themselves yet either neither,
	Simple were so well compounded,

	That it cried, How true a twain
	Seemeth this concordant one!
	Love hath reason, reason none,
	If what parts can so remain.

	Whereupon it made this threne
	To the phoenix and the dove,
	Co-supremes and stars of love,
	As chorus to their tragic scene.

	THRENOS.

	Beauty, truth, and rarity,
	Grace in all simplicity,
	Here enclosed in cinders lie.

	Death is now the phoenix' nest
	And the turtle's loyal breast
	To eternity doth rest,

	Leaving no posterity:
	'Twas not their infirmity,
	It was married chastity.

	Truth may seem, but cannot be:
	Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
	Truth and beauty buried be.

	To this urn let those repair
	That are either true or fair
	For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
	VENUS AND ADONIS



'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
RIGHT HONORABLE,

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my
unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will
censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a
burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if
the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be
sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish
and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!

'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.

'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

O, what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'

I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'

'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by
smelling.

'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, ''Tis very late;'
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.

'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolved no longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy
hounds.

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musets through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To harken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never relieved by any.

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so;
For love can comment upon every woe.

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all

'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.

'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

'So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'

'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme:
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger:
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ''Tis so:' they answer all ''Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:--
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best: then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories
His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire--
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.
	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE



MARK ANTONY		|
		|
OCTAVIUS CAESAR		|  triumvirs.
		|
M. AEMILIUS		|
LEPIDUS	(LEPIDUS:)	|


SEXTUS POMPEIUS	(POMPEY:)


DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	|
	|
VENTIDIUS	|
	|
EROS	|
	|
SCARUS	|  friends to Antony.
	|
DERCETAS	|
	|
DEMETRIUS	|
	|
PHILO	|


MECAENAS	|
	|
AGRIPPA	|
	|
DOLABELLA	|
	|
PROCULEIUS	|  friends to Caesar.
	|
THYREUS	|
	|
GALLUS	|
	|
MENAS	|


MENECRATES	|
	|  friends to Pompey.
VARRIUS	|


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		|
		|
MARDIAN	a Eunuch.	|
		|  attendants on Cleopatra.
SELEUCUS		|
		|
DIOMEDES		|


	A Soothsayer. (Soothsayer:)

	A Clown. (Clown:)

CLEOPATRA	queen of Egypt.

OCTAVIA	sister to Caesar and wife to Antony.


CHARMIAN	|
	|  attendants on Cleopatra.
IRAS	|


	Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Third Officer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Egyptian:)
	(Guard:)
	(First Guard:)
	(Second Guard:)
	(Attendant:)
	(First Attendant:)
	(Second Attendant:)



SCENE	In several parts of the Roman empire.




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


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 glow'd 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, 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.

MARK ANTONY	There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

CLEOPATRA	I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.

MARK ANTONY	Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

	[Enter an Attendant]

Attendant	News, my good lord, from Rome.

MARK 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.'

MARK 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!

MARK 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; when such a mutual pair

	[Embracing]

	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.

MARK ANTONY	                  But stirr'd 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.

MARK ANTONY	Fie, wrangling queen!
	Whom every thing 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
	To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with
	their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Another room.


	[Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer]

CHARMIAN	Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,
	almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer
	that you praised so to the 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.

	[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst
	follow worse, till the worst of all follow him
	laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Hush! here comes Antony.

CHARMIAN	Not he; the queen.

	[Enter CLEOPATRA]

CLEOPATRA	Saw you my lord?

DOMITIUS 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!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Madam?

CLEOPATRA	Seek him, and bring him hither.
	Where's Alexas?

ALEXAS	Here, at your service. My lord approaches.

CLEOPATRA	We will not look upon him: go with us.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants]

Messenger	Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

MARK ANTONY	Against my brother Lucius?

Messenger	Ay:
	But soon that war had end, and the time's state
	Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar;
	Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,
	Upon the first encounter, drave them.

MARK ANTONY	Well, what worst?

Messenger	The nature of bad news infects the teller.

MARK 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 flatter'd.

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--

MARK ANTONY	Antony, thou wouldst say,--

Messenger	O, my lord!

MARK ANTONY	Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue:
	Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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]

MARK ANTONY	From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!

First Attendant	The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one?

Second Attendant	He stays upon your will.

MARK ANTONY	Let him appear.
	These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
	Or lose myself in dotage.

	[Enter another Messenger]

		    What are you?

Second Messenger	Fulvia thy wife is dead.

MARK ANTONY	Where died she?

Second Messenger	In Sicyon:
	Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
	Importeth thee to know, this bears.

	[Gives a letter]

MARK ANTONY	Forbear me.

	[Exit Second Messenger]

	There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:
	What our contempt 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!

	[Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	What's your pleasure, sir?

MARK ANTONY	I must with haste from hence.

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	I must be gone.

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	She is cunning past man's thought.

	[Exit ALEXAS]

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	Would I had never seen her.

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	Fulvia is dead.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Sir?

MARK ANTONY	Fulvia is dead.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Fulvia!

MARK ANTONY	Dead.

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	The business she hath broached in the state
	Cannot endure my absence.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	And the business you have broached here cannot be
	without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which
	wholly depends on your abode.

MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	I shall do't.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE III	The same. Another room.


	[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS]

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 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 MARK ANTONY]

CLEOPATRA	I am sick and sullen.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	Now, my dearest queen,--

CLEOPATRA	Pray you, stand further from me.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	The gods best know,--

CLEOPATRA	O, never was there queen
	So mightily betray'd! yet at the first
	I saw the treasons planted.

MARK 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!

MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar.

MARK ANTONY	How now, lady!

CLEOPATRA	I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know
	There were a heart in Egypt.

MARK 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 condemn'd 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?

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know
	The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
	As you shall give the advice. By the fire
	That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
	Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war
	As thou affect'st.

CLEOPATRA	                  Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
	But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well,
	So Antony loves.

MARK 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
	Life perfect honour.

MARK ANTONY	You'll heat my blood: no more.

CLEOPATRA	You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

MARK 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.

MARK 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.

MARK 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 strew'd before your feet!

MARK ANTONY	Let us go. Come;
	Our separation so abides, and flies,
	That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
	And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE IV	Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS,
	and their Train]

OCTAVIUS 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 man-like
	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 enow 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear
	So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
	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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports
	The discontents repair, and men's reports
	Give him much wrong'd.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	I should have known no less.
	It hath been taught us from the primal state,
	That he which is was wish'd until he were;
	And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love,
	Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,
	Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
	Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
	To rot itself with motion.

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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Antony,
	Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
	Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not.

LEPIDUS	'Tis pity of him.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Let his shames quickly
	Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain
	Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end
	Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
	Thrives in our idleness.

LEPIDUS	To-morrow, Caesar,
	I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
	Both what by sea and land I can be able
	To front this present time.

OCTAVIUS 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Doubt not, sir;
	I knew it for my bond.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE V	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest?
	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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR]

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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
	Was beastly dumb'd by him.

CLEOPATRA	What, was he sad or merry?

ALEXAS	Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE I	Messina. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness!

	[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 further travel.

POMPEY	I could have given less matter
	A better ear. Menas, I did not think
	This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE II	Rome. The house of LEPIDUS.


	[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS]

LEPIDUS	Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
	And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
	To soft and gentle speech.

DOMITIUS 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 to-day.

LEPIDUS	'Tis not a time
	For private stomaching.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Every time
	Serves for the matter that is then born in't.

LEPIDUS	But small to greater matters must give way.

DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	                  And yonder, Caesar.

	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA]

MARK ANTONY	If we compose well here, to Parthia:
	Hark, Ventidius.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  I do not know,
	Mecaenas; 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 the matter.

MARK ANTONY	'Tis spoken well.
	Were we before our armies, and to fight.
	I should do thus.

	[Flourish]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Welcome to Rome.

MARK ANTONY	                  Thank you.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Sit.

MARK ANTONY	Sit, sir.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Nay, then.

MARK ANTONY	I learn, you take things ill which are not so,
	Or being, concern you not.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	I must be laugh'd at,
	If, or for nothing or a little, I
	Should say myself offended, and with you
	Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should
	Once name you derogately, when to sound your name
	It not concern'd me.

MARK ANTONY	My being in Egypt, Caesar,
	What was't to you?

OCTAVIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	How intend you, practised?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	You may be pleased to catch at mine intent
	By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother
	Made wars upon me; and their contestation
	Was theme for you, you were the word of war.

MARK 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	You praise yourself
	By laying defects of judgment to me; but
	You patch'd up your excuses.

MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle
	You may pace easy, but not such a wife.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Would we had all such wives, that the men might go
	to wars with the women!

MARK 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.

OCTAVIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	Sir,
	He fell upon me ere admitted: then
	Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
	Of what I was i' the morning: but next day
	I told him of myself; which was as much
	As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
	Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
	Out of our question wipe him.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	You have broken
	The article of your oath; which you shall never
	Have tongue to charge me with.

LEPIDUS	Soft, Caesar!

MARK ANTONY	No,
	Lepidus, let him speak:
	The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
	Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar;
	The article of my oath.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	To lend me arms and aid when I required them;
	The which you both denied.

MARK ANTONY	Neglected, rather;
	And then when poison'd 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.

MECAENAS	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, Mecaenas.

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK ANTONY	Thou art a soldier only: speak no more.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.

MARK ANTONY	You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Go to, then; your considerate stone.

OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge
	O' the world I would pursue it.

AGRIPPA	Give me leave, Caesar,--

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Speak, Agrippa.

AGRIPPA	Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
	Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony
	Is now a widower.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  Say not so, Agrippa:
	If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
	Were well deserved of rashness.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	                  Will Caesar speak?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
	With what is spoke already.

MARK ANTONY	What power is in Agrippa,
	If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,'
	To make this good?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  The power of Caesar, and
	His power unto Octavia.

MARK 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!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	There is 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!

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	Where lies he?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	About the mount Misenum.

MARK ANTONY	What is his strength by land?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Great and increasing: but by sea
	He is an absolute master.

MARK 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 talk'd of.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	With most gladness:
	And do invite you to my sister's view,
	Whither straight I'll lead you.

MARK ANTONY	Let us, Lepidus,
	Not lack your company.

LEPIDUS	Noble Antony,
	Not sickness should detain me.

	[Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY,
	and LEPIDUS]

MECAENAS	Welcome from Egypt, sir.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My
	honourable friend, Agrippa!

AGRIPPA	Good Enobarbus!

MECAENAS	We have cause to be glad that matters are so well
	digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and
	made the night light with drinking.

MECAENAS	Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and
	but twelve persons there; is this true?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more
	monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.

MECAENAS	She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to
	her.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	I will tell you.
	The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
	Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie
	In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue--
	O'er-picturing that Venus where we see
	The fancy outwork nature: on each side her
	Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
	With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
	To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
	And what they undid did.

AGRIPPA	O, rare for Antony!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
	So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone,
	Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
	Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
	And made a gap in nature.

AGRIPPA	Rare Egyptian!

DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd.

DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth.

MECAENAS	Now Antony must leave her utterly.

DOMITIUS 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.

MECAENAS	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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Humbly, sir, I thank you.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between
	them, and Attendants]

MARK 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.

MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady.
	Good night, sir.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Good night.

	[Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA]

	[Enter Soothsayer]

MARK ANTONY	Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt?

Soothsayer	Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither!

MARK 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.

MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is
	Noble, courageous high, unmatchable,
	Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel
	Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore
	Make space enough between you.

MARK 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.

MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever
	Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt:
	And though I make this marriage for my peace,
	I' the east my pleasure lies.

	[Enter VENTIDIUS]

		        O, come, Ventidius,
	You must to Parthia: your commission's ready;
	Follow me, and receive't.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE IV	The same. A street.


	[Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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.

MECAENAS	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.


MECAENAS	|
	|	Sir, good success!
AGRIPPA	|


LEPIDUS	Farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE V	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS]

CLEOPATRA	Give me some music; music, moody food
	Of us that trade in love.

Attendants	The music, ho!

	[Enter MARDIAN]

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 play'd
	As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir?

MARDIAN	As well as I can, madam.

CLEOPATRA	And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night
	I laugh'd 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 a Messenger]

		      O, from Italy
	Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
	That long time have been barren.

Messenger	Madam, madam,--

CLEOPATRA	Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing.

Messenger	First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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	Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence,

	[Strikes him again]

	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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine,
	Smarting in lingering 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.

	[Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger]

		       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. Bid you Alexas

	[To MARDIAN]

	Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian,
	But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II



SCENE VI	Near Misenum.


	[Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one door,
	with drum and trumpet: at another, OCTAVIUS CAESAR,
	MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS,
	with Soldiers marching]

POMPEY	Your hostages I have, so have you mine;
	And we shall talk before we fight.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Most meet
	That first we come to words; and therefore have we
	Our written purposes before us sent;
	Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus,
	With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen
	The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
	To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome
	Cast on my noble father.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Take your time.

MARK 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'er-count thee.

POMPEY	At land, indeed,
	Thou dost o'er-count 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	There's the point.

MARK ANTONY	Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
	What it is worth embraced.

OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back
	Our targes undinted.


OCTAVIUS CAESAR	|
	|
MARK ANTONY	|  That's our offer.
	|
LEPIDUS	|


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.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you,
	That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither;
	For I have gain'd by 't.

OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	That's the next to do.

POMPEY	We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's
	Draw lots who shall begin.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	You have heard much.

POMPEY	I have fair meanings, sir.

MARK ANTONY	And fair words to them.

POMPEY	Then so much have I heard:
	And I have heard, Apollodorus carried--

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	No more of that: he did so.

POMPEY	What, I pray you?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.

POMPEY	I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier?

DOMITIUS 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 behavior.

DOMITIUS 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?


OCTAVIUS CAESAR	|
	|
MARK ANTONY	|  Show us the way, sir.
	|
LEPIDUS	|


POMPEY	Come.

	[Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS]

MENAS	[Aside]  Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have
	made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	At sea, I think.

MENAS	We have, sir.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	You have done well by water.

MENAS	And you by land.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Yes, something you can deny for your own
	safety: you have been a great thief by sea.

MENAS	And you by land.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	But there is never a fair woman has a true face.

MENAS	No slander; they steal hearts.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again.

MENAS	You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony
	here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Caesar's sister is called Octavia.

MENAS	True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.

MENAS	Pray ye, sir?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	'Tis true.

MENAS	Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS 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?

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	I shall take it, sir: we have used our throats in Egypt.

MENAS	Come, let's away.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT II


SCENE VII	On board POMPEY's galley, off Misenum.


	[Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink.

First Servant	But it raises the greater war between him and
	his discretion.

Second Servant	Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK
	ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS,
	DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains]

MARK ANTONY	[To OCTAVIUS CAESAR]  Thus do they, sir: they take
	the flow o' the Nile
	By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know,
	By the 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.

MARK ANTONY	Ay, Lepidus.

LEPIDUS	Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the
	operation of your sun: so is your crocodile.

MARK 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.

DOMITIUS 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	[Aside to POMPEY]  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?

MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that
	which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of
	it, it transmigrates.

LEPIDUS	What colour is it of?

MARK ANTONY	Of it own colour too.

LEPIDUS	'Tis a strange serpent.

MARK ANTONY	'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Will this description satisfy him?

MARK 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 call'd 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.
	The matter?

	[Rises, and walks aside]

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.

MARK ANTONY	                  These quick-sands, Lepidus,
	Keep off them, for you sink.

MENAS	Wilt thou be lord of all the world?

POMPEY	What say'st thou?

MENAS	Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice.

POMPEY	How should that be?

MENAS	But entertain it,
	And, though thou think me poor, I am the man
	Will give thee all the world.

POMPEY	Hast thou drunk well?

MENAS	Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
	Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove:
	Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips,
	Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine.

POMPEY	Ah, this thou shouldst have done,
	And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany;
	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 pall'd fortunes more.
	Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd,
	Shall never find it more.

POMPEY	This health to Lepidus!

MARK ANTONY	Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Here's to thee, Menas!

MENAS	Enobarbus, welcome!

POMPEY	Fill till the cup be hid.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	There's a strong fellow, Menas.

	[Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS]

MENAS	Why?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st
	not?

MENAS	The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all,
	That it might go on wheels!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Drink thou; increase the reels.

MENAS	Come.

POMPEY	This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.

MARK ANTONY	It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho?
	Here is to Caesar!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  I could well forbear't.
	It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain,
	And it grows fouler.

MARK ANTONY	Be a child o' the time.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Possess it, I'll make answer:
	But I had rather fast from all four days
	Than drink so much in one.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Ha, my brave emperor!

	[To MARK ANTONY]

	Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals,
	And celebrate our drink?

POMPEY	Let's ha't, good soldier.

MARK ANTONY	Come, let's all take hands,
	Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense
	In soft and delicate Lethe.

DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud
	As his strong sides can volley.

	[Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them
	hand in hand]
	THE SONG.

	Come, thou monarch of the vine,
	Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!
	In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
	With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:
	Cup us, till the world go round,
	Cup us, till the world go round!

OCTAVIUS 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
	Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night.
	Good Antony, your hand.

POMPEY	I'll try you on the shore.

MARK 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Take heed you fall not.

	[Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS]

	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 hang'd, sound out!

	[Sound a flourish, with drums]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Ho! says a' There's my cap.

MENAS	Ho! Noble captain, come.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


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 the minute, lost his favour.
	Who does i' the 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' the 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE II	Rome. An ante-chamber in OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house.


	[Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS
	at another]

AGRIPPA	What, are the brothers parted?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness.

AGRIPPA	'Tis a noble Lepidus.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar!

AGRIPPA	Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men.

AGRIPPA	What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil!

AGRIPPA	O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further.

AGRIPPA	Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony:
	Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards,
	poets, cannot
	Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho!
	His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,
	Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.

AGRIPPA	Both he loves.

DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA]

MARK ANTONY	No further, sir.

OCTAVIUS 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 band
	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 cherish'd.

MARK ANTONY	Make me not offended
	In your distrust.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  I have said.

MARK 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.

OCTAVIUS 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!

MARK 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--

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	What, Octavia?

OCTAVIA	       I'll tell you in your ear.

MARK 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 full of tide,
	And neither way inclines.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside to AGRIPPA]  Will Caesar weep?

AGRIPPA	[Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]  He has a cloud in 's face.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside to AGRIPPA]  He were the worse for that,
	were he a horse;
	So is he, being a man.

AGRIPPA	[Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]  Why, Enobarbus,
	When Antony found Julius Caesar dead,
	He cried almost to roaring; and he wept
	When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside to AGRIPPA]  That year, indeed, he was
	troubled with a rheum;
	What willingly he did confound he wail'd,
	Believe't, till I wept too.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	No, sweet Octavia,
	You shall hear from me still; the time shall not
	Out-go my thinking on you.

MARK 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Adieu; be happy!

LEPIDUS	Let all the number of the stars give light
	To thy fair way!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Farewell, farewell!

	[Kisses OCTAVIA]

MARK ANTONY	Farewell!

	[Trumpets sound. Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE III	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS]

CLEOPATRA	Where is the fellow?

ALEXAS	Half afeard to come.

CLEOPATRA	Go to, go to.

	[Enter the 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 look'd 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III


SCENE IV	Athens. A room in MARK ANTONY's house.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA]

MARK 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 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.

MARK 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 mean time, 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.

MARK 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE V	The same. Another room.


	[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	How now, friend Eros!

EROS	There's strange news come, sir.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	What, man?

EROS	Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Our great navy's rigg'd.

EROS	For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius;
	My lord desires you presently: my news
	I might have told hereafter.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	'Twill be naught:
	But let it be. Bring me to Antony.

EROS	Come, sir.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE VI	Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more,
	In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't:
	I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
	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.

MECAENAS	                  This in the public eye?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	I' the common show-place, where they exercise.
	His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:
	Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia.
	He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
	Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she
	In the habiliments of the goddess Isis
	That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,
	As 'tis reported, so.

MECAENAS	Let Rome be thus Inform'd.

AGRIPPA	Who, queasy with his insolence
	Already, will their good thoughts call from him.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	The people know it; and have now received
	His accusations.

AGRIPPA	                  Who does he accuse?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Caesar: and that, having in Sicily
	Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
	His part o' the 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 answer'd.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd,
	I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia,
	And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I
	Demand the like.

MECAENAS	                  He'll never yield to that.

OCTAVIUS 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!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	That ever I should call thee castaway!

OCTAVIA	You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did
	On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
	Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted
	My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd
	His pardon for return.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Which soon he granted,
	Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.

OCTAVIA	Do not say so, my lord.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	I have eyes upon him,
	And his affairs come to me on the wind.
	Where is he now?

OCTAVIA	                  My lord, in Athens.

OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled
	Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus,
	Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king
	Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;
	King Malchus 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 do afflict each other!

OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers
	Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort;
	And ever welcome to us.

AGRIPPA	Welcome, lady.

MECAENAS	Welcome, dear madam.
	Each heart in Rome does love and pity you:
	Only the 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?

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you,
	Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE VII	Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp.


	[Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

CLEOPATRA	I will be even with thee, doubt it not.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	But why, why, why?

CLEOPATRA	Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars,
	And say'st it is not fit.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Well, is it, is it?

CLEOPATRA	If not denounced against us, why should not we
	Be there in person?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside]  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?

DOMITIUS 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' the war,
	And, as the president of my kingdom, will
	Appear there for a man. Speak not against it:
	I will not stay behind.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Nay, I have done.
	Here comes the emperor.

	[Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS]

MARK 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.

MARK 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?

MARK ANTONY	For that he dares us to't.

DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off;
	And so should you.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	                  Your ships are not well mann'd;
	Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people
	Ingross'd 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.

MARK ANTONY	By sea, by sea.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
	The absolute soldiership you have by land;
	Distract your army, which doth most consist
	Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
	Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego
	The way which promises assurance; and
	Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard,
	From firm security.

MARK ANTONY	I'll fight at sea.

CLEOPATRA	I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.

MARK ANTONY	Our overplus of shipping will we burn;
	And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium
	Beat the 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.

MARK ANTONY	Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible;
	Strange that 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 the Egyptians
	And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we
	Have used to conquer, standing on the earth,
	And fighting foot to foot.

MARK ANTONY	Well, well: away!

	[Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS
	ENOBARBUS]

Soldier	By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE VIII	A plain near Actium.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Taurus!

TAURUS	My lord?

OCTAVIUS 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE IX	Another part of the plain.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

MARK ANTONY	Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the hill,
	In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place
	We may the number of the ships behold,
	And so proceed accordingly.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III


SCENE X	Another part of the plain.


	[CANIDIUS marcheth with his land army one way over
	the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS
	CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is
	heard the noise of a sea-fight]

	[Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer:
	The 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!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	What's thy passion!

SCARUS	The greater cantle of the world is lost
	With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
	Kingdoms and provinces.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	How appears the fight?

SCARUS	On our side like the token'd pestilence,
	Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,--
	Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight,
	When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
	Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,
	The breese upon her, like a cow in June,
	Hoists sails and flies.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	That I beheld:
	Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not
	Endure a further view.

SCARUS	She once being loof'd,
	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.

DOMITIUS 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!

DOMITIUS 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.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	I'll yet follow
	The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
	Sits in the wind against me.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE XI	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants]

MARK 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.

MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS
	following]

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!

MARK ANTONY	No, no, no, no, no.

EROS	See you here, sir?

MARK ANTONY	O fie, fie, fie!

CHARMIAN	Madam!

IRAS	Madam, O good empress!

EROS	Sir, sir,--

MARK 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 practise 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 him: O!

EROS	Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches:
	Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but
	Your comfort makes the rescue.

MARK ANTONY	I have offended reputation,
	A most unnoble swerving.

EROS	Sir, the queen.

MARK 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
	'Stroy'd in dishonour.

CLEOPATRA	O my lord, my lord,
	Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought
	You would have follow'd.

MARK ANTONY	Egypt, thou knew'st too well
	My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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!

MARK 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' the world play'd 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!

MARK 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE XII	Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Let him appear that's come from Antony.
	Know you him?

DOLABELLA	                  Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:
	An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
	He sends so poor a pinion off his wing,
	Which had superfluous kings for messengers
	Not many moons gone by.

	[Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Approach, and speak.

EUPHRONIUS	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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	                  Be't so: declare thine office.

EUPHRONIUS	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.

OCTAVIUS 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.

EUPHRONIUS	Fortune pursue thee!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Bring him through the bands.

	[Exit EUPHRONIUS]

	[To THYREUS]  To try 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, Thyreus;
	Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
	Will answer as a law.

THYREUS	Caesar, I go.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,
	And what thou think'st his very action speaks
	In every power that moves.

THYREUS	Caesar, I shall.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT III



SCENE XIII	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS]

CLEOPATRA	What shall we do, Enobarbus?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Think, and die.

CLEOPATRA	Is Antony or we in fault for this?

DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point,
	When half to half the world opposed, he being
	The meered question: 'twas a shame no less
	Than was his loss, to course your flying flags,
	And leave his navy gazing.

CLEOPATRA	Prithee, peace.

	[Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador]

MARK ANTONY	Is that his answer?

EUPHRONIUS	Ay, my lord.

MARK ANTONY	The queen shall then have courtesy, so she
	Will yield us up.

EUPHRONIUS	                  He says so.

MARK 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?

MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside]  Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will
	Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant]

Attendant	                  A messenger from CAESAR.

CLEOPATRA	What, no more ceremony? See, my women!
	Against the blown rose may they stop their nose
	That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir.

	[Exit Attendant]

DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord
	Does conquer him that did his master conquer
	And earns a place i' the story.

	[Enter THYREUS]

CLEOPATRA	Caesar's will?

THYREUS	Hear it apart.

CLEOPATRA	                  None but friends: say boldly.

THYREUS	So, haply, are they friends to Antony.

DOMITIUS 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.

THYREUS	So.
	Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats,
	Not to consider in what case thou stand'st,
	Further than he is Caesar.

CLEOPATRA	Go on: right royal.

THYREUS	He knows that you embrace not Antony
	As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

CLEOPATRA	O!

THYREUS	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 conquer'd merely.

DOMITIUS 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]

THYREUS	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 shrowd,
	The universal landlord.

CLEOPATRA	What's your name?

THYREUS	My name is Thyreus.

CLEOPATRA	Most kind messenger,
	Say to great Caesar this: in deputation
	I kiss his conquering 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.

THYREUS	'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,
	Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
	As it rain'd kisses.

	[Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

MARK ANTONY	Favours, by Jove that thunders!
	What art thou, fellow?

THYREUS	One that but performs
	The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
	To have command obey'd.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside]               You will be whipp'd.

MARK 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 Attendants]

	Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside]  'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
	Than with an old one dying.

MARK 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.

THYREUS	Mark Antony!


MARK ANTONY	                  Tug him away: being whipp'd,
	Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall
	Bear us an errand to him.

	[Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS]

	You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha!
	Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,--

MARK ANTONY	You have been a boggler ever:
	But when we in our viciousness grow hard--
	O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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?

MARK ANTONY	I found you as a morsel cold upon
	Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment
	Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,
	Unregister'd 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?

MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
	For being yare about him.

	[Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS]

		    Is he whipp'd?

First Attendant	Soundly, my lord.

MARK ANTONY	                  Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon?

First Attendant	He did ask favour.

MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone!

	[Exit THYREUS]

CLEOPATRA	Have you done yet?

MARK ANTONY	                  Alack, our terrene moon
	Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone
	The fall of Antony!

CLEOPATRA	I must stay his time.

MARK ANTONY	To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
	With one that ties his points?

CLEOPATRA	Not know me yet?

MARK 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!

MARK ANTONY	I am satisfied.
	Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where
	I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
	Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too
	Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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!

MARK ANTONY	I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day:
	I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord
	Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

MARK ANTONY	We will yet do well.

CLEOPATRA	Call all his noble captains to my lord.

MARK ANTONY	Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE I	Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with
	his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power
	To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger
	He hath whipp'd 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.

MECAENAS	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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Let our best heads
	Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE II	Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS,
	CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others]

MARK ANTONY	He will not fight with me, Domitius.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	No.

MARK ANTONY	Why should he not?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
	He is twenty men to one.

MARK ANTONY	To-morrow, 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?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.'

MARK ANTONY	Well said; come on.
	Call forth my household servants: let's to-night
	Be bounteous at our meal.

	[Enter three or four Servitors]

		    Give me thy hand,
	Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]  What means this?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside to CLEOPATRA]  'Tis one of those odd
	tricks which sorrow shoots
	Out of the mind.

MARK ANTONY	                  And thou art honest too.
	I wish I could be made so many men,
	And all of you clapp'd up together in
	An Antony, that I might do you service
	So good as you have done.

All	The gods forbid!

MARK ANTONY	Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night:
	Scant not my cups; and make as much of me
	As when mine empire was your fellow too,
	And suffer'd my command.

CLEOPATRA	[Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]  What does he mean?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	[Aside to CLEOPATRA]  To make his followers weep.

MARK ANTONY	Tend me to-night;
	May be it is the period of your duty:
	Haply you shall not see me more; or if,
	A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow
	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 to-night two hours, I ask no more,
	And the gods yield you for't!

DOMITIUS 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.

MARK 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 to-morrow; and will lead you
	Where rather I'll expect victorious life
	Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
	And drown consideration.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same. Before the palace.


	[Enter two Soldiers to their guard]

First Soldier	Brother, good night: to-morrow 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]

Fourth Soldier	Here we: and if to-morrow
	Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
	Our landmen will stand up.

Third Soldier	'Tis a brave army,
	And full of purpose.

	[Music of the hautboys as under the stage]

Fourth Soldier	Peace! what noise?

First Soldier	List, list!

Second Soldier	Hark!

First Soldier	    Music i' the 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	[Speaking together]  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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The same. A room in the palace.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and
	others attending]

MARK ANTONY	Eros! mine armour, Eros!

CLEOPATRA	Sleep a little.

MARK ANTONY	No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros!

	[Enter EROS with armour]

	Come good fellow, put mine iron on:
	If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
	Because we brave her: come.

CLEOPATRA	Nay, I'll help too.
	What's this for?

MARK 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.

MARK 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?

MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st
	The royal occupation! thou shouldst see
	A workman in't.

	[Enter an armed Soldier]

	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.

Soldier	A thousand, sir,
	Early though't be, have on their riveted trim,
	And at the port expect you.

	[Shout. Trumpets flourish]

	[Enter Captains and Soldiers]

Captain	The morn is fair. Good morrow, general.

All	Good morrow, general.

MARK 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: rebukeable

	[Kisses her]

	And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE V	Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp.


	[Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a
	Soldier meeting them]

Soldier	The gods make this a happy day to Antony!

MARK ANTONY	Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
	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
	Follow'd thy heels.

MARK 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.'

MARK ANTONY	What say'st thou?

Soldier	Sir,
	He is with Caesar.

EROS	                  Sir, his chests and treasure
	He has not with him.

MARK ANTONY	Is he gone?

Soldier	Most certain.

MARK 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp.


	[Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with
	DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
	Our will is Antony be took alive;
	Make it so known.

AGRIPPA	Caesar, I shall.

	[Exit]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	The time of universal peace is near:
	Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
	Shall bear the olive freely.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Antony
	Is come into the field.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Go charge Agrippa
	Plant those that have revolted in the van,
	That Antony may seem to spend his fury
	Upon himself.

	[Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on
	Affairs of Antony; there did persuade
	Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,
	And leave his master Antony: for this pains
	Caesar hath hang'd 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.

DOMITIUS 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]

DOMITIUS 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



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 MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	Thou bleed'st apace.

SCARUS	I had a wound here that was like a T,
	But now 'tis made an H.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	I will reward thee
	Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
	For thy good valour. Come thee on.

SCARUS	I'll halt after.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE VIII	Under the walls of Alexandria.


	[Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS,
	with others]

MARK ANTONY	We have beat him to his camp: run one before,
	And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow,
	Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood
	That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole.

	[To SCARUS]

		    Give me thy hand

	[Enter CLEOPATRA, attended]

	To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,
	Make her thanks bless thee.

	[To CLEOPATRA]

		      O thou day o' the world,
	Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from
	The world's great snare uncaught?

MARK ANTONY	My 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 to-day
	As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
	Destroy'd in such a shape.

CLEOPATRA	I'll give thee, friend,
	An armour all of gold; it was a king's.

MARK ANTONY	He has deserved it, were it carbuncled
	Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand:
	Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
	Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines;
	That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,
	Applauding our approach.

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE IX	OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp.


	[Sentinels at their post]

First Soldier	If we be not relieved within this hour,
	We must return to the court of guard: the night
	Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle
	By the second hour i' the morn.

Second Soldier	This last day was
	A shrewd one to's.

	[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	                  O, bear me witness, night,--

Third Soldier	What man is this?

Second Soldier	                  Stand close, and list him.

DOMITIUS 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!

First Soldier	Enobarbus!

Third Soldier	Peace!
	Hark further.

DOMITIUS 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]

Second Soldier	Let's speak To him.

First Soldier	Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
	May concern Caesar.

Third Soldier	Let's do so. But he sleeps.

First Soldier	Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
	Was never yet for sleep.

Second Soldier	Go we to him.

Third Soldier	Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.

Second Soldier	Hear you, sir?

First Soldier	The hand of death hath raught him.

	[Drums afar off]

		                  Hark! the drums
	Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
	To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
	Is fully out.

Third Soldier	Come on, then;
	He may recover yet.

	[Exeunt with the body]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE X	Between the two camps.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army]

MARK ANTONY	Their preparation is to-day by sea;
	We please them not by land.

SCARUS	For both, my lord.

MARK ANTONY	I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air;
	We'ld 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV


SCENE XI	Another part of the same.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army]

OCTAVIUS 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV


SCENE XII	Another part of the same.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS]

MARK ANTONY	Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers
	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.

	[Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight]

	[Re-enter MARK ANTONY]

MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone.

	[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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
	Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
	On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd,
	That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am:
	O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,--
	Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;
	Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,--
	Like a right gipsy, 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?

MARK 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 doits; 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' the moon;
	And with those hands, that grasp'd 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV


SCENE XIII	Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd.

CHARMIAN	To the 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 the 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 the monument!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE XIV	The same. Another room.


	[Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS]

MARK ANTONY	Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

EROS	Ay, noble lord.

MARK ANTONY	Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;
	A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
	A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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,

MARK 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.

MARK 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 annex'd unto't
	A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has
	Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword.

MARDIAN	No, Antony;
	My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled
	With thine entirely.

MARK ANTONY	Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
	She hath betray'd 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 render'd life,
	Thy name so buried in her.

MARK ANTONY	Dead, then?

MARDIAN	Dead.

MARK ANTONY	Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,
	And we must sleep.

	[To MARDIAN]

	That thou depart'st hence safe,
	Does pay thy labour richly; go.

	[Exit MARDIAN]

		         Off, pluck off:
	The seven-fold 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!

	[Re-enter EROS]

EROS	What would my lord?

MARK ANTONY	Since Cleopatra died,
	I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods
	Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
	Quarter'd 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
	The inevitable prosecution of
	Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
	Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come:
	Thou strikest 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?

MARK ANTONY	Eros,
	Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see
	Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down
	His corrigible neck, his face subdued
	To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat
	Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
	His baseness that ensued?

EROS	I would not see't.

MARK 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!

MARK ANTONY	When I did make thee free, sworest 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.

MARK ANTONY	Lo thee!

	[Turning from him]

EROS	My sword is drawn.

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	'Tis said, man; and farewell.

EROS	Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

MARK ANTONY	Now, Eros.

EROS	Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow
	Of Antony's death.

	[Kills himself]

MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead?
	The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!

	[Enter DERCETAS and Guard]

First Guard	What's the noise?

MARK ANTONY	I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end
	Of what I have begun.

Second Guard	The star is fall'n.

First Guard	And time is at his period.

All	Alas, and woe!

MARK ANTONY	Let him that loves me strike me dead.

First Guard	Not I.

Second Guard	Nor I.

Third Guard	Nor any one.

	[Exeunt Guard]

DERCETAS	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?

DERCETAS	                  There, Diomed there.

DIOMEDES	Lives he?
	Wilt thou not answer, man?

	[Exit DERCETAS]

MARK 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.

MARK ANTONY	When did she send thee?

DIOMEDES	Now, my lord.

MARK ANTONY	Where is she?

DIOMEDES	Lock'd 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.

MARK 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 MARK ANTONY]

MARK 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!

MARK 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 MARK ANTONY]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT IV



SCENE XV	The same. 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,
	Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument;
	His guard have brought him thither.

	[Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard]

CLEOPATRA	O sun,
	Burn the great sphere thou movest in!
	darkling stand
	The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,
	Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
	Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

MARK ANTONY	Peace!
	Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
	But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

CLEOPATRA	So it should be, that none but Antony
	Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!

MARK ANTONY	I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
	I here importune death awhile, until
	Of many thousand kisses the poor last
	I lay up thy lips.

CLEOPATRA	                  I dare not, dear,--
	Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not,
	Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
	Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
	Be brooch'd 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.

MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
	And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,--
	Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come;

	[They heave MARK 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!

MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel,
	Provoked by my offence.

MARK ANTONY	One word, sweet queen:
	Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

CLEOPATRA	They do not go together.

MARK ANTONY	Gentle, hear me:
	None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

CLEOPATRA	My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
	None about Caesar.

MARK 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' the world,
	The noblest; and do now not basely die,
	Not cowardly put off my helmet to
	My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman
	Valiantly vanquish'd. 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,

	[MARK ANTONY dies]

	The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord!
	O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
	The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught;
	Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT V



SCENE I	Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS,
	GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war]

OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest
	Appear thus to us?

DERCETAS	                  I am call'd Dercetas;
	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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	What is't thou say'st?

DERCETAS	I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

OCTAVIUS 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.

DERCETAS	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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
	With his most noble blood.

OCTAVIUS 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.

MECAENAS	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 touch'd.

MECAENAS	When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
	He needs must see himself.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	O Antony!
	I have follow'd 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--
	But I will tell you at some meeter season:

	[Enter an Egyptian]

	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.

OCTAVIUS 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 live
	To be ungentle.

Egyptian	So the gods preserve thee!

	[Exit]

OCTAVIUS 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]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Gallus, go you along.

	[Exit GALLUS]

		Where's Dolabella,
	To second Proculeius?

All	Dolabella!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Let him alone, for I remember now
	How he's employ'd: 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]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT V



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 dug,
	The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.

	[Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS,
	GALLUS and Soldiers]

PROCULEIUS	Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face.

PROCULEIUS	This I'll report, dear lady.
	Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
	Of him that caused it.

GALLUS	You see how easily she may be surprised:

	[Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the
	monument by a ladder placed against a window, and,
	having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of
	the Guard unbar and open the gates]

	[To PROCULEIUS and the Guard]

	Guard her till Caesar come.

	[Exit]

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 betray'd.

CLEOPATRA	What, of death too,
	That rids our dogs of languish?

PROCULEIUS	Cleopatra,
	Do not abuse my master's bounty by
	The 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
	Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony:
	O, such another sleep, that I might see
	But such another man!

DOLABELLA	If it might please ye,--

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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above
	The element they lived in: in his livery
	Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
	As plates dropp'd from his pocket.

DOLABELLA	Cleopatra!

CLEOPATRA	Think you there was, or might be, such a man
	As this I dream'd of?

DOLABELLA	Gentle madam, no.

CLEOPATRA	You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
	But, if there be, or ever were, one such,
	It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff
	To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine
	And 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't.

	[Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there:
	Octavius Caesar!']

	[Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS,
	MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train]

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Which is the Queen of Egypt?

DOLABELLA	It is the emperor, madam.

	[CLEOPATRA kneels]

OCTAVIUS 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.

OCTAVIUS 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' the 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.

OCTAVIUS 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

CLEOPATRA	This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
	I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued;
	Not petty things admitted. Where's 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
	Your wisdom in the deed.

CLEOPATRA	See, Caesar! O, behold,
	How pomp is follow'd! 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!

OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man,
	Thou wouldst have mercy on me.

OCTAVIUS 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Cleopatra,
	Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged,
	Put we i' the 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 cheer'd;
	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!

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Not so. Adieu.

	[Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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.

	[Re-enter DOLABELLA]

DOLABELLA	Where is 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 perform'd
	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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore.

IRAS	O the good gods!

CLEOPATRA	Nay, that's certain.

IRAS	I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails
	Are stronger than mine eyes.

CLEOPATRA	Why, that's the way
	To fool their preparation, and to conquer
	Their most absurd intents.

	[Re-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.
	Wherefore's this noise?

	[Exit IRAS. A noise within]

	[Enter a Guardsman]

Guard	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.

	[Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket]

Guard	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	Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will
	believe all that they say, shall never be saved by
	half that they do: but this is most fallible, the
	worm's an odd worm.

CLEOPATRA	Get thee hence; farewell.

Clown	I wish you all joy of the worm.

	[Setting down his 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 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' the worm.

	[Exit]

	[Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
	And golden Phoebus never be beheld
	Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
	I'll mend it, and then play.

	[Enter the Guard, rushing in]

First Guard	Where is 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!

	[Dies]

	[Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou
	So sought'st to hinder.

	[Within  'A way there, a way for Caesar!']

	[Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching]

DOLABELLA	O sir, you are too sure an augurer;
	That you did fear is done.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Bravest at the last,
	She levell'd 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.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	Poison'd, 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 dropp'd.

OCTAVIUS CAESAR	O noble weakness!
	If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves
	Upon the caves of Nile.

OCTAVIUS 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]

	CORIOLANUS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CAIUS MARCIUS	(MARCUS:)  Afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.
	(CORIOLANUS:)


TITUS LARTIUS	(LARTIUS:)	|
		|  generals against the Volscians.
COMINIUS		|


MENENIUS AGRIPPA	friend to Coriolanus. (MENENIUS:)


SICINIUS VELUTUS	(SICINIUS:)	|
		|  tribunes of the people.
JUNIUS BRUTUS	(BRUTUS:)	|


Young MARCUS	son to Coriolanus.

	A Roman Herald. (Herald:)

TULLUS AUFIDIUS	general of the Volscians. (AUFIDIUS:)

	Lieutenant to Aufidius. (Lieutenant:)

	Conspirators with Aufidius.
	(First Conspirator:)
	(Second Conspirator:)
	(Third Conspirator:)

	A Citizen of Antium.

	Two Volscian Guards.

VOLUMNIA	mother to Coriolanus.

VIRGILIA	wife to Coriolanus.

VALERIA	friend to Virgilia.

	Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. (Gentlewoman:)

	Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians,
	AEdiles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers,
	Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants.
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(A Patrician:)
	(Second Patrician:)
	(AEdile:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Second Soldier:)
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(Fourth Citizen:)
	(Fifth Citizen:)
	(Sixth Citizen:)
	(Seventh Citizen:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Serviceman:)
	(Second Serviceman:)
	(Third Serviceman:)
	(Officer:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Roman:)
	(First Roman:)
	(Second Roman:)
	(Third Roman:)
	(Volsce:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)


SCENE	Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli
	and the neighbourhood; Antium.




	CORIOLANUS



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 Marcius is chief enemy to the people.

All	We know't, we know't.

First Citizen	Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price.
	Is't a verdict?

All	No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away!

Second Citizen	One word, good citizens.

First Citizen	We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.
	What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they
	would yield us but the superfluity, while it were
	wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely;
	but they think we are too dear: the leanness that
	afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an
	inventory to particularise their abundance; our
	sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with
	our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I
	speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

Second Citizen	Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?

All	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 fort, 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 till 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' the city
	is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!

All	Come, come.

First Citizen	Soft! who comes here?

	[Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA]

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 the 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' the 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 store-houses
	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
	Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it:
	That only like a gulf it did remain
	I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive,
	Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
	Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments
	Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
	And, mutually participate, did minister
	Unto the appetite and affection common
	Of the whole body. The belly answer'd--

First Citizen	Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

MENENIUS	Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,
	Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus--
	For, look you, I may make the belly smile
	As well as speak--it tauntingly replied
	To the 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
	In this our fabric, if that they--

MENENIUS	What then?
	'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then?

First Citizen	Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
	Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer.

First Citizen	Ye're long about it.

MENENIUS	Note me this, good friend;
	Your most grave belly was deliberate,
	Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
	'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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest,
	Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:
	Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
	Lead'st first to win some vantage.
	But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
	Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;
	The one side must have bale.

	[Enter CAIUS MARCIUS]

		       Hail, noble Marcius!

MARCIUS	Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
	That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
	Make yourselves scabs?

First Citizen	We have ever your good word.

MARCIUS	He that will give good words to thee will flatter
	Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
	That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,
	The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
	Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
	Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
	Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
	Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
	To make him worthy whose offence subdues him
	And curse that justice did it.
	Who deserves greatness
	Deserves your hate; and your affections are
	A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
	Which would increase his evil. He that depends
	Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
	And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye?
	With every minute you do change a mind,
	And call him noble that was now your hate,
	Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter,
	That in these several places of the city
	You cry against the noble senate, who,
	Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
	Would feed on one another? What's their seeking?

MENENIUS	For corn at their own rates; whereof, they say,
	The city is well stored.

MARCIUS	Hang 'em! They say!
	They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know
	What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry
	With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
	As I could pick my lance.

MENENIUS	Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;
	For though abundantly they lack discretion,
	Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
	What says the other troop?

MARCIUS	They are dissolved: hang 'em!
	They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs,
	That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,
	That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not
	Corn for the rich men only: with these shreds
	They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,
	And a petition granted them, a strange one--
	To break the heart of generosity,
	And make bold power look pale--they threw their caps
	As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon,
	Shouting their emulation.

MENENIUS	What is granted them?

MARCIUS	Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms,
	Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus,
	Sicinius Velutus, and I know not--'Sdeath!
	The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,
	Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time
	Win upon power and throw forth greater themes
	For insurrection's arguing.

MENENIUS	This is strange.

MARCIUS	Go, get you home, you fragments!

	[Enter a Messenger, hastily]

Messenger	Where's Caius Marcius?

MARCIUS	Here: what's the matter?

Messenger	The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.

MARCIUS	I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent
	Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.

	[Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators;
	JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS]

First Senator	Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us;
	The Volsces are in arms.

MARCIUS	They have a leader,
	Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't.
	I sin in envying his nobility,
	And were I any thing but what I am,
	I would wish me only he.

COMINIUS	You have fought together.

MARCIUS	Were half to half the world by the ears and he.
	Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make
	Only my wars with him: he is a lion
	That I am proud to hunt.

First Senator	Then, worthy Marcius,
	Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

COMINIUS	It is your former promise.

MARCIUS	Sir, it is;
	And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou
	Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
	What, art thou stiff? stand'st out?

TITUS	No, Caius Marcius;
	I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other,
	Ere stay behind this business.

MENENIUS	O, true-bred!

First Senator	Your company to the Capitol; where, I know,
	Our greatest friends attend us.

TITUS	[To COMINIUS]                Lead you on.

	[To MARCIUS]  Follow Cominius; we must follow you;
	Right worthy you priority.

COMINIUS	Noble Marcius!

First Senator	[To the Citizens]  Hence to your homes; be gone!

MARCIUS	Nay, let them follow:
	The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither
	To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners,
	Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow.

	[Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS
	and BRUTUS]

SICINIUS	Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?

BRUTUS	He has no equal.

SICINIUS	When we were chosen tribunes for the people,--

BRUTUS	Mark'd you his lip and eyes?

SICINIUS	Nay. but his taunts.

BRUTUS	Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods.

SICINIUS	Be-mock 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, can not
	Better be held nor more attain'd than by
	A place below the first: for what miscarries
	Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
	To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure
	Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he
	Had borne the business!'

SICINIUS	Besides, if things go well,
	Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall
	Of his demerits rob Cominius.

BRUTUS	Come:
	Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius.
	Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults
	To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed
	In aught he merit not.

SICINIUS	Let's hence, and hear
	How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion,
	More than his singularity, he goes
	Upon this present action.

BRUTUS	Lets along.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE II	Corioli. The Senate-house.


	[Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators]

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 press'd a power, but it is not known
	Whether for east or west: the dearth is great;
	The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd,
	Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,
	Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,
	And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
	These three lead on this preparation
	Whither 'tis bent: most likely 'tis for you:
	Consider of it.'

First Senator	                  Our army's in the field
	We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
	To answer us.

AUFIDIUS	                  Nor did you think it folly
	To keep your great pretences veil'd till when
	They needs must show themselves; which
	in the hatching,
	It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery.
	We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was
	To take in many towns ere almost Rome
	Should know we were afoot.

Second Senator	Noble Aufidius,
	Take your commission; hie you to your bands:
	Let us alone to guard Corioli:
	If they set down before 's, for the remove
	Bring 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 Marcius chance to meet,
	'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike
	Till one can do no more.

All	The gods assist you!

AUFIDIUS	And keep your honours safe!

First Senator	Farewell.

Second Senator	Farewell.

All	Farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE III	Rome. A room in Marcius' house.


	[Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA	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 the 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
	Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their
	country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

	[Enter a Gentlewoman]

Gentlewoman	Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

VIRGILIA	Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

VOLUMNIA	Indeed, you shall not.
	Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum,
	See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair,
	As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him:
	Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:
	'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear,
	Though you were born in Rome:' his bloody brow
	With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,
	Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow
	Or all or lose his hire.

VIRGILIA	His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!

VOLUMNIA	Away, you fool! it more becomes a man
	Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba,
	When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
	Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood
	At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria,
	We are fit to bid her welcome.

	[Exit Gentlewoman]

VIRGILIA	Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

VOLUMNIA	He'll beat Aufidius 'head below his knee
	And tread upon his neck.

	[Enter VALERIA, with an Usher and 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 house-keepers.
	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 school-master.

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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife with me this afternoon.

VIRGILIA	No, good madam; I will not out of doors.

VALERIA	Not out of doors!

VOLUMNIA	She shall, she shall.

VIRGILIA	Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the
	threshold till my lord return from the wars.

VALERIA	Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably: come,
	you must go visit the good lady that lies in.

VIRGILIA	I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with
	my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

VOLUMNIA	Why, I pray you?

VIRGILIA	'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.

VALERIA	You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all
	the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill
	Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric
	were sensible as your finger, that you might leave
	pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.

VIRGILIA	No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth.

VALERIA	In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you
	excellent news of your husband.

VIRGILIA	O, good madam, there can be none yet.

VALERIA	Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from
	him last night.

VIRGILIA	Indeed, madam?

VALERIA	In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it.
	Thus it is: the Volsces have an army forth; against
	whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of
	our Roman power: your lord and Titus Lartius are set
	down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt
	prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true,
	on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.

VIRGILIA	Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every
	thing 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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE IV	Before Corioli.


	[Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS
	LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a
	Messenger]

MARCIUS	Yonder comes news. A wager they have met.

LARTIUS	My horse to yours, no.

MARCIUS	'Tis done.

LARTIUS	Agreed.

MARCIUS	Say, has our general met the enemy?

Messenger	They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.

LARTIUS	So, the good horse is mine.

MARCIUS	I'll buy him of you.

LARTIUS	No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will
	For half a hundred years. Summon the town.

MARCIUS	How far off lie these armies?

Messenger	Within this mile and half.

MARCIUS	Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.
	Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,
	That we with smoking swords may march from hence,
	To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.

	[They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with others
	on the walls]

	Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

First Senator	No, nor a man that fears you less than he,
	That's lesser than a little.

	[Drums afar off]

		       Hark! our drums
	Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls,
	Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,
	Which yet seem shut, we, have but pinn'd with rushes;
	They'll open of themselves.

	[Alarum afar off]

		      Hark you. far off!
	There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes
	Amongst your cloven army.

MARCIUS	O, they are at it!

LARTIUS	Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!

	[Enter the army of the Volsces]

MARCIUS	They fear us not, but issue forth their city.
	Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
	With hearts more proof than shields. Advance,
	brave Titus:
	They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
	Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows:
	He that retires I'll take him for a Volsce,
	And he shall feel mine edge.

	[Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their
	trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing]

MARCIUS	All the contagion of the south light on you,
	You shames of Rome! you herd of--Boils and plagues
	Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
	Further 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 followed.

	[Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS
	follows them to the gates]

	So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds:
	'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
	Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

	[Enters the gates]

First Soldier	Fool-hardiness; not I.

Second Soldier	Nor I.

	[MARCIUS is shut in]

First Soldier	See, they have shut him in.

All	To the pot, I warrant him.

	[Alarum continues]

	[Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS]

LARTIUS	What is become of Marcius?

All	Slain, sir, doubtless.

First Soldier	Following the fliers at the very heels,
	With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
	Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone,
	To answer all the city.

LARTIUS	O noble fellow!
	Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
	And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius:
	A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
	Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
	Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
	Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and
	The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,
	Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world
	Were feverous and did tremble.

	[Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy]

First Soldier	Look, sir.

LARTIUS	O,'tis Marcius!
	Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

	[They fight, and all enter the city]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE V	Corioli. A street.


	[Enter certain Romans, with spoils]

First Roman	This will I carry to Rome.

Second Roman	And I this.

Third Roman	A murrain on't! I took this for silver.

	[Alarum continues still afar off]

	[Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet]

MARCIUS	See here these movers that do prize their hours
	At a crack'd drachm! 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!
	And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!
	There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
	Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
	Convenient numbers to make good the city;
	Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
	To help Cominius.

LARTIUS	                  Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
	Thy exercise hath been too violent for
	A second course of fight.

MARCIUS	Sir, praise me not;
	My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you well:
	The blood I drop is rather physical
	Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus
	I will appear, and fight.

LARTIUS	Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
	Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
	Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
	Prosperity be thy page!

MARCIUS	Thy friend no less
	Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

LARTIUS	Thou worthiest Marcius!

	[Exit MARCIUS]

	Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
	Call thither all the officers o' the town,
	Where they shall know our mind: away!

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



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. Ye Roman gods!
	Lead their successes as we wish our own,
	That both our powers, with smiling
	fronts encountering,
	May give you thankful sacrifice.

	[Enter a Messenger]

		                  Thy news?

Messenger	The citizens of Corioli have issued,
	And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
	I saw our party to their trenches driven,
	And then I came away.

COMINIUS	Though thou speak'st truth,
	Methinks thou speak'st not well.
	How long is't since?

Messenger	Above an hour, my lord.

COMINIUS	'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
	How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,
	And bring thy news so late?

Messenger	Spies of the Volsces
	Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel
	Three or four miles about, else had I, sir,
	Half an hour since brought my report.

COMINIUS	Who's yonder,
	That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods
	He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have
	Before-time seen him thus.

MARCIUS	[Within]                 Come I too late?

COMINIUS	The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour
	More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
	From every meaner man.

	[Enter MARCIUS]

MARCIUS	Come I too late?

COMINIUS	Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
	But mantled in your own.

MARCIUS	O, let me clip ye
	In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart
	As merry as when our nuptial day was done,
	And tapers burn'd to bedward!

COMINIUS	Flower of warriors,
	How is it with Titus Lartius?

MARCIUS	As with a man busied about decrees:
	Condemning some to death, and some to exile;
	Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other;
	Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
	Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
	To let him slip at will.

COMINIUS	Where is that slave
	Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
	Where is he? call him hither.

MARCIUS	Let him alone;
	He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen,
	The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!--
	The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge
	From rascals worse than they.

COMINIUS	But how prevail'd you?

MARCIUS	Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.
	Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field?
	If not, why cease you till you are so?

COMINIUS	Marcius,
	We have at disadvantage fought and did
	Retire to win our purpose.

MARCIUS	How lies their battle? know you on which side
	They have placed their men of trust?

COMINIUS	As I guess, Marcius,
	Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates,
	Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,
	Their very heart of hope.

MARCIUS	I do beseech you,
	By all the battles wherein we have fought,
	By the blood we have shed together, by the 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.

MARCIUS	Those are they
	That most are willing. If any such be here--
	As it were sin to doubt--that love this painting
	Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
	Lesser his person than an ill report;
	If any think brave death outweighs bad life
	And that his country's dearer than himself;
	Let him alone, or so many so minded,
	Wave thus, to express his disposition,
	And follow Marcius.

	[They all shout and wave their swords, take him up in
	their arms, and cast up their caps]

	O, me alone! make you a sword of me?
	If these shows be not outward, which of you
	But is four Volsces? none of you but is
	Able to bear against the great Aufidius
	A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
	Though thanks to all, must I select
	from all: the rest
	Shall bear the business in some other fight,
	As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;
	And four shall quickly draw out my command,
	Which men are best inclined.

COMINIUS	March on, my fellows:
	Make good this ostentation, and you shall
	Divide in all with us.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE VII	The gates of Corioli.


	[TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon
	Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward
	COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with
	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 the Roman camp conduct us.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE VIII	A field of battle.


	[Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides,
	MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS]

MARCIUS	I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee
	Worse than a promise-breaker.

AUFIDIUS	We hate alike:
	Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
	More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

MARCIUS	Let the first budger die the other's slave,
	And the gods doom him after!

AUFIDIUS	If I fly, Marcius,
	Holloa me like a hare.

MARCIUS	Within these three hours, Tullus,
	Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
	And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood
	Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge
	Wrench up thy power to the highest.

AUFIDIUS	Wert thou the Hector
	That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,
	Thou shouldst not scape me here.

	[They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of
	AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in
	breathless]

	Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me
	In your condemned seconds.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE IX	The Roman camp.


	[Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish.
	Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from
	the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf]

COMINIUS	If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
	Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it
	Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,
	Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,
	I' the 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 camest 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--

MARCIUS	Pray now, no more: my mother,
	Who has a charter to extol her blood,
	When she does praise me grieves me. I have done
	As you have done; that's what I can; 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 vouch'd,
	Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you
	In sign of what you are, not to reward
	What you have done--before our army hear me.

MARCIUS	I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
	To hear themselves remember'd.

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.

MARCIUS	                  I thank you, general;
	But cannot make my heart consent to take
	A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
	And stand upon my common part with those
	That have beheld the doing.

	[A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! Marcius!'
	cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS
	stand bare]

MARCIUS	May these same instruments, which you profane,
	Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall
	I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
	Made all of false-faced soothing!
	When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,
	Let him be made a coverture for the wars!
	No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd
	My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.--
	Which, without note, here's many else have done,--
	You shout me forth
	In acclamations hyperbolical;
	As if I 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 Marcius
	Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
	My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
	With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
	For what he did before Corioli, call him,
	With all the applause and clamour of the host,
	CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear
	The addition nobly ever!

	[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]

All	Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

CORIOLANUS	I will go wash;
	And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
	Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.
	I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
	To undercrest your good addition
	To the fairness of my power.

COMINIUS	So, to our tent;
	Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
	To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
	Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
	The best, with whom we may articulate,
	For their own good and ours.

LARTIUS	I shall, my lord.

CORIOLANUS	The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
	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 Corioli
	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'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
	To give my poor host freedom.

COMINIUS	O, well begg'd!
	Were he the butcher of my son, he should
	Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

LARTIUS	Marcius, his name?

CORIOLANUS	                  By Jupiter! forgot.
	I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.
	Have we no wine here?

COMINIUS	Go we to our tent:
	The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
	It should be look'd to: come.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT I



SCENE X	The camp of the Volsces.


	[A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS,
	bloody, with two or three Soldiers]

AUFIDIUS	The town is ta'en!

First Soldier	'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.

AUFIDIUS	Condition!
	I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,
	Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition!
	What good condition can a treaty find
	I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
	I have fought with thee: so often hast thou beat me,
	And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter
	As often as we eat. By the elements,
	If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
	He's mine, or I am his: mine emulation
	Hath not that honour in't it had; for where
	I thought to crush him in an equal force,
	True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way
	Or wrath or craft may get him.

First Soldier	He's the devil.

AUFIDIUS	Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd
	With only suffering stain by him; for him
	Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary,
	Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,
	The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,
	Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
	Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
	My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
	At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
	Against the hospitable canon, would I
	Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city;
	Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must
	Be hostages for Rome.

First Soldier	Will not you go?

AUFIDIUS	I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you--
	'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither
	How the world goes, that to the pace of it
	I may spur on my journey.

First Soldier	I shall, sir.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


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 to-night.

BRUTUS	Good or bad?

MENENIUS	Not according to the prayer of the people, for they
	love not Marcius.

SICINIUS	Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

MENENIUS	Pray you, who does the wolf love?

SICINIUS	The lamb.

MENENIUS	Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the
	noble Marcius.

BRUTUS	He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.

MENENIUS	He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two
	are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you.

Both	Well, sir.

MENENIUS	In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two
	have not in abundance?

BRUTUS	He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the
	right-hand file? do you?

Both	Why, how are we censured?

MENENIUS	Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry?

Both	Well, well, sir, well.

MENENIUS	Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of
	occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience:
	give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at
	your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a
	pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for
	being proud?

BRUTUS	We do it not alone, sir.

MENENIUS	I know you can do very little alone; for your helps
	are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous
	single: your abilities are too infant-like for
	doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you
	could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks,
	and make but an interior survey of your good selves!
	O that you could!

BRUTUS	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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in
	the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known
	well enough too? what barm can your bisson
	conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be
	known well enough too?

BRUTUS	Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.

MENENIUS	You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You
	are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you
	wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a
	cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller;
	and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack-
	saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud;
	who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors
	since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the
	best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to
	your worships: more of your conversation would
	infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly
	plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.

	[BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside]

	[Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA]

	How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon,
	were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow
	your eyes so fast?

VOLUMNIA	Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for
	the love of Juno, let's go.

MENENIUS	Ha! Marcius coming home!

VOLUMNIA	Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous
	approbation.

MENENIUS	Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!
	Marcius coming home!


VOLUMNIA	|
	|  Nay,'tis true.
VIRGILIA	|


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't.

MENENIUS	A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven
	years' health; in which time I will make a lip at
	the physician: the most sovereign prescription in
	Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative,
	of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he
	not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

VIRGILIA	O, no, no, no.

VOLUMNIA	O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't.

MENENIUS	So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a'
	victory in his pocket? the wounds become him.

VOLUMNIA	On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home
	with the oaken garland.

MENENIUS	Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow.

MENENIUS	True! I'll be sworn they are true.
	Where is he wounded?

	[To the Tribunes]

	God save your good worships! Marcius is coming
	home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?

VOLUMNIA	I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body.

MENENIUS	One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's
	nine that I know.

VOLUMNIA	He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five
	wounds upon him.

MENENIUS	Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.

	[A shout and flourish]

	Hark! the trumpets.

VOLUMNIA	These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he
	carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:
	Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie;
	Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.

	[A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the
	general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS,
	crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and
	Soldiers, and a Herald]

Herald	Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
	Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,
	With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
	In honour follows Coriolanus.
	Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

	[Flourish]

All	Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

CORIOLANUS	No more of this; it does offend my heart:
	Pray now, no more.

COMINIUS	                  Look, sir, your mother!

CORIOLANUS	O,
	You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
	For my prosperity!

	[Kneels]

VOLUMNIA	                  Nay, my good soldier, up;
	My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
	By deed-achieving honour newly named,--
	What is it?--Coriolanus must I call thee?--
	But O, thy wife!

CORIOLANUS	                  My gracious silence, hail!
	Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home,
	That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear,
	Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
	And mothers that lack sons.

MENENIUS	Now, the gods crown thee!

CORIOLANUS	And live you yet?

	[To VALERIA]
	O my sweet lady, pardon.

VOLUMNIA	I know not where to turn: O, welcome home:
	And welcome, general: and ye'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. 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,
	Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows,
	Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames
	Commit the war of white and damask in
	Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil
	Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother
	As if that whatsoever god who leads him
	Were slily crept into his human powers
	And gave him graceful posture.

SICINIUS	On the sudden,
	I warrant him consul.

BRUTUS	Then our office may,
	During his power, go sleep.

SICINIUS	He cannot temperately transport his honours
	From where he should begin and end, but will
	Lose those he hath won.

BRUTUS	In that there's comfort.

SICINIUS	Doubt not
	The commoners, for whom we stand, but they
	Upon their ancient malice will forget
	With the least cause these his new honours, which
	That he will give them make I as little question
	As he is proud to do't.

BRUTUS	I heard him swear,
	Were he to stand for consul, never would he
	Appear i' the market-place nor on him put
	The napless vesture of humility;
	Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds
	To the 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 the war, who have their provand
	Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
	For sinking under them.

SICINIUS	This, as you say, suggested
	At some time when his soaring insolence
	Shall touch the people--which time shall not want,
	If he be put upon 't; and that's as easy
	As to set dogs on sheep--will be his fire
	To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze
	Shall darken him for ever.

	[Enter a Messenger]

BRUTUS	What's the matter?

Messenger	You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought
	That Marcius shall be consul:
	I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and
	The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves,
	Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,
	Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended,
	As to Jove's statue, and the commons made
	A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:
	I never saw the like.

BRUTUS	Let's to the Capitol;
	And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,
	But hearts for the event.

SICINIUS	Have with you.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT II



SCENE  II	The same. The Capitol.


	[Enter two Officers, to lay cushions]

First Officer	Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand
	for consulships?

Second Officer	Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one
	Coriolanus will carry it.

First Officer	That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and
	loves not the common people.

Second Officer	Faith, there had 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 can render it him; and leaves
	nothing undone that may fully discover him their
	opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and
	displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he
	dislikes, to flatter them for their love.

Second Officer	He hath deserved worthily of his country: and his
	ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who,
	having been supple and courteous to the people,
	bonneted, without any further deed to have them at
	an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they
	are coming.

	[A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS
	the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators,
	SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their
	places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd
	By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom
	We met here both to thank and to remember
	With honours like himself.

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.

	[To the Tribunes]

		     Masters o' the 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 offers to go away]

		  Nay, keep your place.

First Senator	Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear
	What you have nobly done.

CORIOLANUS	Your horror's pardon:
	I had rather have my wounds to heal again
	Than hear say how I got them.

BRUTUS	Sir, I hope
	My words disbench'd you not.

CORIOLANUS	No, sir: yet oft,
	When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
	You 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' the sun
	When the alarum were struck than idly sit
	To hear my nothings monster'd.

	[Exit]

MENENIUS	Masters of the people,
	Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter--
	That's thousand to one good one--when you now see
	He had rather venture all his limbs for honour
	Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius.

COMINIUS	I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
	Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held
	That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
	Most dignifies the haver: if it be,
	The man I speak of cannot in the world
	Be singly 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: be bestrid
	An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed
	Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
	Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea,
	And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
	He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last,
	Before and in Corioli, let me say,
	I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers;
	And by his rare example made the coward
	Turn terror into sport: as weeds before
	A vessel under sail, so men obey'd
	And fell below his stem: his sword, death's stamp,
	Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
	He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
	Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd
	The mortal gate of the city, which he painted
	With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
	And with a sudden reinforcement struck
	Corioli like a planet: now all's his:
	When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce
	His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit
	Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
	And to the battle came he; where he did
	Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
	'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd
	Both field and city ours, he never stood
	To ease his breast with panting.

MENENIUS	Worthy man!

First Senator	He cannot but with measure fit the honours
	Which we devise him.

COMINIUS	Our spoils he kick'd at,
	And look'd upon things precious as they were
	The common muck of the world: he covets less
	Than misery itself would give; rewards
	His deeds with doing them, and is content
	To spend the time to end it.

MENENIUS	He's right noble:
	Let him be call'd for.

First Senator	Call Coriolanus.

Officer	He doth appear.

	[Re-enter CORIOLANUS]

MENENIUS	The senate, Coriolanus, are well 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 apart
	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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace,
	I know, they do attend us.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. 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' the 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 block-head, but
	if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward.

Second Citizen	Why that way?

Third Citizen	To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts
	melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return
	for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife.

Second Citizen	You are never without your tricks: you may, you may.

Third Citizen	Are you all 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
	behavior. We are not to stay all together, but to
	come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and
	by threes. He's to make his requests by
	particulars; wherein every one of us has a single
	honour, in giving him our own voices with our own
	tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how
	you shall go by him.

All	Content, content.

	[Exeunt Citizens]

MENENIUS	O sir, you are not right: have you not known
	The worthiest men have done't?

CORIOLANUS	What must I say?
	'I Pray, sir'--Plague upon't! I cannot bring
	My tongue to such a pace:--'Look, sir, my wounds!
	I got them in my country's service, when
	Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran
	From the 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]

CORIOLANUS	Bid them wash their faces
	And keep their teeth clean.

	[Re-enter two of the Citizens]

		      So, here comes a brace.

	[Re-enter a third Citizen]

	You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to
	gain by you.

CORIOLANUS	Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens]

	[Re-enter two other Citizens]

CORIOLANUS	Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your
	voices that I may be consul, I have here the
	customary gown.

Fourth Citizen	You have deserved nobly of your country, and you
	have not deserved nobly.

CORIOLANUS	Your enigma?

Fourth Citizen	You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have
	been a rod to her friends; you have not indeed loved
	the common people.

CORIOLANUS	You should account me the more virtuous that I have
	not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my
	sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer
	estimation of them; 'tis a condition they account
	gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is
	rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise
	the insinuating nod and be off to them most
	counterfeitly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the
	bewitchment of some popular man and give it
	bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you,
	I may be consul.

Fifth Citizen	We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give
	you our voices heartily.

Fourth Citizen	You have received many wounds for your country.

CORIOLANUS	I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I
	will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further.

Both Citizens	The gods give you joy, sir, heartily!

	[Exeunt]

CORIOLANUS	Most sweet voices!
	Better it is to die, better to starve,
	Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
	Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here,
	To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear,
	Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't:
	What custom wills, in all things should we do't,
	The dust on antique time would lie unswept,
	And mountainous error be too highly heapt
	For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do.

	[Re-enter three Citizens more]

	Here come more voices.
	Your voices: for your voices I have fought;
	Watch'd for your voices; for Your voices bear
	Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six
	I have seen and heard of; for your voices have
	Done many things, some less, some more your voices:
	Indeed I would be consul.

Sixth Citizen	He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest
	man's voice.

Seventh Citizen	Therefore let him be consul: the gods give him joy,
	and make him good friend to the people!

All Citizens	Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul!

	[Exeunt]

CORIOLANUS	Worthy voices!

	[Re-enter MENENIUS, with BRUTUS and SICINIUS]

MENENIUS	You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes
	Endue you with the people's voice: remains
	That, in the 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 summon'd
	To meet anon, upon your approbation.

CORIOLANUS	Where? at the senate-house?

SICINIUS	There, Coriolanus.

CORIOLANUS	May I change these garments?

SICINIUS	You may, sir.

CORIOLANUS	That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself again,
	Repair to the 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 methink
	'Tis warm at 's heart.

BRUTUS	With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.
	will you dismiss the people?

	[Re-enter Citizens]

SICINIUS	How now, my masters! have you chose this man?

First Citizen	He has our voices, sir.

BRUTUS	We pray the gods he may deserve your loves.

Second Citizen	Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy notice,
	He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices.

Third Citizen	Certainly
	He flouted us downright.

First Citizen	No,'tis his kind of speech: he did not mock us.

Second Citizen	Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says
	He used us scornfully: he should have show'd us
	His marks of merit, wounds received for's country.

SICINIUS	Why, so he did, I am sure.

Citizens	No, no; no man saw 'em.

Third Citizen	He said he had wounds, which he could show
	in private;
	And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
	'I would be consul,' says he: 'aged custom,
	But by your voices, will not so permit me;
	Your voices therefore.' When we granted that,
	Here was 'I thank you for your voices: thank you:
	Your most sweet voices: now you have left
	your voices,
	I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery?

SICINIUS	Why either were you ignorant to see't,
	Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness
	To yield your voices?

BRUTUS	Could you not have told him
	As you were lesson'd, when he had no power,
	But was a petty servant to the state,
	He was your enemy, ever spake against
	Your liberties and the charters that you bear
	I' the body of the weal; and now, arriving
	A place of potency and sway o' the state,
	If he should still malignantly remain
	Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit
	And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd
	Either his gracious promise, which you might,
	As cause had call'd you up, have held him to
	Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature,
	Which easily endures not article
	Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage,
	You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler
	And pass'd him unelected.

BRUTUS	Did you perceive
	He did solicit you in free contempt
	When he did need your loves, and do you think
	That his contempt shall not be bruising to you,
	When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies
	No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry
	Against the rectorship of judgment?

SICINIUS	Have you
	Ere now denied the asker? and now again
	Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow
	Your sued-for tongues?

Third Citizen	He's not confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves,
	Thinking upon his services, took from you
	The 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' the Marcians, from whence came
	That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,
	Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;
	Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,
	That our beat water brought by conduits hither;
	And  [Censorinus,]  nobly named so,
	Twice being  [by the people chosen]  censor,
	Was his great ancestor.

SICINIUS	One thus descended,
	That hath beside well in his person wrought
	To be set high in place, we did commend
	To your remembrances: but you have found,
	Scaling his present bearing with his past,
	That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke
	Your sudden approbation.

BRUTUS	Say, you ne'er had done't--
	Harp on that still--but by our putting on;
	And presently, when you have drawn your number,
	Repair to the Capitol.

All	We will so: almost all
	Repent in their election.

	[Exeunt Citizens]

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 the Capitol, come:
	We will be there before the stream o' the people;
	And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,
	Which we have goaded onward.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


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 safe-guard 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 call'd your vanquisher.

CORIOLANUS	At Antium lives he?

LARTIUS	At Antium.

CORIOLANUS	I wish I had a cause to seek him there,
	To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.

	[Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS]

	Behold, these are the tribunes of the people,
	The tongues o' the common mouth: I do despise them;
	For they do prank them in authority,
	Against all noble sufferance.

SICINIUS	Pass no further.

CORIOLANUS	Ha! what is that?

BRUTUS	It will be dangerous to go on: no further.

CORIOLANUS	What makes this change?

MENENIUS	The matter?

COMINIUS	Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common?

BRUTUS	Cominius, no.

CORIOLANUS	                  Have I had children's voices?

First Senator	Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place.

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 mock'd them, and of late,
	When corn was given them gratis, you repined;
	Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them
	Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.

CORIOLANUS	Why, this was known before.

BRUTUS	Not to them all.

CORIOLANUS	Have you inform'd them sithence?

BRUTUS	How! I inform them!

CORIOLANUS	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 paltering
	Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus
	Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely
	I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd,
	and scatter'd,
	By mingling them with us, the honour'd number,
	Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
	Which they have given to beggars.

MENENIUS	Well, no more.

First Senator	No more words, we beseech you.

CORIOLANUS	How! no more!
	As for my country I have shed my blood,
	Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs
	Coin words till their decay against those measles,
	Which we disdain should tatter us, yet sought
	The very way to catch them.

BRUTUS	You speak o' the people,
	As if you were a god to punish, not
	A man of their infirmity.

SICINIUS	'Twere well
	We let the people know't.

MENENIUS	What, what? his choler?

CORIOLANUS	Choler!
	Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
	By Jove, 'twould be my mind!

SICINIUS	It is a mind
	That shall remain a poison where it is,
	Not poison any further.

CORIOLANUS	Shall remain!
	Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you
	His absolute 'shall'?

COMINIUS	'Twas from the canon.

CORIOLANUS	'Shall'!
	O good but most unwise patricians! why,
	You grave but reckless senators, have you thus
	Given Hydra here to choose an officer,
	That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but
	The horn and noise o' the monster's, wants not spirit
	To say he'll turn your current in a ditch,
	And make your channel his? If he have power
	Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake
	Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd,
	Be not as common fools; if you are not,
	Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,
	If they be senators: and they are no less,
	When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste
	Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate,
	And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,'
	His popular 'shall' against a graver bench
	Than ever frown 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 the other.

COMINIUS	Well, on to the market-place.

CORIOLANUS	Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth
	The corn o' the 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 nourish'd disobedience, fed
	The ruin of the state.

BRUTUS	Why, shall the people give
	One that speaks thus their voice?

CORIOLANUS	I'll give my reasons,
	More worthier than their voices. They know the corn
	Was not our recompense, resting well assured
	That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war,
	Even when the navel of the state was touch'd,
	They would not thread the gates. This kind of service
	Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war
	Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd
	Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation
	Which they have often made against the senate,
	All cause unborn, could never be the motive
	Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?
	How shall this bisson 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' the senate and bring in
	The crows to peck the eagles.

MENENIUS	Come, enough.

BRUTUS	Enough, with over-measure.

CORIOLANUS	No, take more:
	What may be sworn by, both divine and human,
	Seal what I end withal! This double worship,
	Where one part does disdain with cause, the other
	Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom,
	Cannot conclude but by the yea and no
	Of general ignorance,--it must omit
	Real necessities, and give way the while
	To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd,
	it follows,
	Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,--
	You that will be less fearful than discreet,
	That love the fundamental part of state
	More than you doubt the change on't, that prefer
	A noble life before a long, and wish
	To jump a body with a dangerous physic
	That's sure of death without it, at once pluck out
	The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick
	The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour
	Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state
	Of that integrity which should become't,
	Not having the power to do the good it would,
	For the in which doth control't.

BRUTUS	Has said enough.

SICINIUS	Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer
	As traitors do.

CORIOLANUS	                  Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee!
	What should the people do with these bald tribunes?
	On whom depending, their obedience fails
	To the greater bench: in a rebellion,
	When what's not meet, but what must be, was law,
	Then were they chosen: in a better hour,
	Let what is meet be said it must be meet,
	And throw their power i' the dust.

BRUTUS	Manifest treason!

SICINIUS	                  This a consul? no.

BRUTUS	The aediles, ho!

	[Enter an AEdile]

	Let him be apprehended.

SICINIUS	Go, call the people:

	[Exit AEdile]

		in whose name myself
	Attach thee as a traitorous innovator,
	A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee,
	And follow to thine answer.

CORIOLANUS	Hence, old goat!

Senators, &C	We'll surety him.

COMINIUS	                  Aged sir, hands off.

CORIOLANUS	Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones
	Out of thy garments.

SICINIUS	Help, ye citizens!

	[Enter a rabble of Citizens (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!

Citizens	Down with him! down with him!

Senators, &C	Weapons, weapons, weapons!

	[They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying]

	'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!'
	'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!'
	'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 the people! Coriolanus, patience!
	Speak, good Sicinius.

SICINIUS	Hear me, people; peace!

Citizens	Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak.

SICINIUS	You are at point to lose your liberties:
	Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,
	Whom late you have 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?

Citizens	True,
	The people are the city.

BRUTUS	By the consent of all, we were establish'd
	The people's magistrates.

Citizens	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' the people, in whose power
	We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
	Of present death.

SICINIUS	                  Therefore lay hold of him;
	Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence
	Into destruction cast him.

BRUTUS	AEdiles, seize him!

Citizens	Yield, Marcius, yield!

MENENIUS	Hear me one word;
	Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.

AEdile	Peace, peace!

MENENIUS	[To BRUTUS]  Be that you seem, truly your
	country's friend,
	And temperately 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	No, I'll die here.

	[Drawing his sword]

	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.

COMINIUS	Help Marcius, help,
	You that be noble; help him, young and old!

Citizens	Down with him, down with him!

	[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the AEdiles, and the
	People, are beat in]

MENENIUS	Go, get you to your house; be gone, away!
	All will be naught else.

Second Senator	Get you gone.

COMINIUS	Stand fast;
	We have as many friends as enemies.

MENENIUS	Sham it be put to that?

First Senator	The gods forbid!
	I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;
	Leave us to cure this cause.

MENENIUS	For 'tis a sore upon us,
	You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you.

COMINIUS	Come, sir, along with us.

CORIOLANUS	I would they were barbarians--as they are,
	Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not,
	Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol--

MENENIUS	Be gone;
	Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;
	One time will owe another.

CORIOLANUS	On fair ground
	I could beat forty of them.

COMINIUS	I could myself
	Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the
	two tribunes:
	But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic;
	And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands
	Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,
	Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend
	Like interrupted waters and o'erbear
	What they are used to bear.

MENENIUS	Pray you, be gone:
	I'll try whether my old wit be in request
	With those that have but little: this must be patch'd
	With cloth of any colour.

COMINIUS	Nay, come away.

	[Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others]

A Patrician	This man has marr'd his fortune.

MENENIUS	His nature is too noble for the world:
	He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
	Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth:
	What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
	And, being angry, does forget that ever
	He heard the name of death.

	[A noise within]

		      Here's goodly work!

Second Patrician	I would they were abed!

MENENIUS	I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance!
	Could he not speak 'em fair?

	[Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble]

SICINIUS	Where is this viper
	That would depopulate the city and
	Be every man himself?

MENENIUS	You worthy tribunes,--

SICINIUS	He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock
	With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law,
	And therefore law shall scorn him further trial
	Than the severity of the public power
	Which he so sets at nought.

First Citizen	He shall well know
	The noble tribunes are the people's mouths,
	And we their hands.

Citizens	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!

Citizens	No, no, no, no, no.

MENENIUS	If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people,
	I may be heard, I would crave a word or two;
	The which shall turn you to no further harm
	Than so much loss of time.

SICINIUS	Speak briefly then;
	For we are peremptory to dispatch
	This viperous traitor: to eject him hence
	Were but one danger, and to keep him here
	Our certain death: therefore it is decreed
	He dies to-night.

MENENIUS	                  Now the good gods forbid
	That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
	Towards her deserved children is enroll'd
	In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
	Should now eat up her own!

SICINIUS	He's a disease that must be cut away.

MENENIUS	O, he's a limb that has but a disease;
	Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.
	What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?
	Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost--
	Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath,
	By many an ounce--he dropp'd 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 the end o' the world.

SICINIUS	This is clean kam.

BRUTUS	Merely awry: when he did love his country,
	It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars
	Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
	In bolted language; meal and bran together
	He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
	I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him
	Where he shall answer, by a lawful form,
	In peace, to his utmost peril.

First Senator	Noble tribunes,
	It is the humane way: the other course
	Will prove too bloody, and the end of it
	Unknown to the beginning.

SICINIUS	Noble Menenius,
	Be you then as the people's officer.
	Masters, lay down your weapons.

BRUTUS	Go not home.

SICINIUS	Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there:
	Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed
	In our first way.

MENENIUS	                  I'll bring him to you.

	[To the Senators]

	Let me desire your company: he must come,
	Or what is worst will follow.

First Senator	Pray you, let's to him.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT III



SCENE II	A room in CORIOLANUS'S house.


	[Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians]

CORIOLANUS	Let them puff 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.

A Patrician	You do the nobler.

CORIOLANUS	I muse my mother
	Does not approve me further, who was wont
	To call them woollen vassals, things created
	To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads
	In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder,
	When one but of my ordinance stood up
	To speak of peace or war.

	[Enter VOLUMNIA]

		    I talk of you:
	Why did you wish me milder? would you have me
	False to my nature? Rather say I play
	The man I am.

VOLUMNIA	                  O, sir, sir, sir,
	I would have had you put your power well on,
	Before you had worn it out.

CORIOLANUS	Let go.

VOLUMNIA	You might have been enough the man you are,
	With striving less to be so; lesser had been
	The thwartings of your dispositions, if
	You had not show'd them how ye were disposed
	Ere they lack'd power to cross you.

CORIOLANUS	Let them hang.

A Patrician	Ay, and burn too.

	[Enter MENENIUS and Senators]

MENENIUS	Come, come, you have been too rough, something
	too rough;
	You must return and mend it.

First Senator	There's no remedy;
	Unless, by not so doing, our good city
	Cleave in the midst, and perish.

VOLUMNIA	Pray, be counsell'd:
	I have a heart as little apt as yours,
	But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
	To better vantage.

MENENIUS	                  Well said, noble woman?
	Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that
	The violent fit o' the 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 the tribunes.

CORIOLANUS	Well, what then? what then?

MENENIUS	Repent what you have spoke.

CORIOLANUS	For them! I cannot do it to the gods;
	Must I then do't to them?

VOLUMNIA	You are too absolute;
	Though therein you can never be too noble,
	But when extremities speak. I have heard you say,
	Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
	I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me,
	In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction,
	Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them--
	Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business
	Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant
	More learned than the ears--waving thy head,
	Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,
	Now humble as the ripest mulberry
	That will not hold the handling: or say to them,
	Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils
	Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,
	Were fit for thee to use as they to claim,
	In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame
	Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
	As thou hast power and person.

MENENIUS	This but done,
	Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;
	For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
	As words to little purpose.

VOLUMNIA	Prithee now,
	Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather
	Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
	Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.

	[Enter COMINIUS]

COMINIUS	I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit
	You make strong party, or defend yourself
	By calmness or by absence: all's in anger.

MENENIUS	Only fair speech.

COMINIUS	                  I think 'twill serve, if he
	Can thereto frame his spirit.

VOLUMNIA	He must, and will
	Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.

CORIOLANUS	Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce?
	Must I with base tongue give my noble heart
	A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't:
	Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,
	This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it
	And throw't against the wind. To the market-place!
	You have put me now to such a part which never
	I shall discharge to the life.

COMINIUS	Come, come, we'll prompt you.

VOLUMNIA	I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
	My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
	To have my praise for this, perform a part
	Thou hast not done before.

CORIOLANUS	Well, I must do't:
	Away, my disposition, and possess me
	Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be turn'd,
	Which quired with my drum, into a pipe
	Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
	That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves
	Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up
	The glasses of my sight! a beggar's tongue
	Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,
	Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
	That hath 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 market-place;
	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' the way of flattery further.

VOLUMNIA	Do your will.

	[Exit]

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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT III



SCENE III	The same. The Forum.


	[Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS]

BRUTUS	In this point charge him home, that he affects
	Tyrannical power: if he evade us there,
	Enforce him with his envy to the people,
	And that the spoil got on the Antiates
	Was ne'er distributed.

	[Enter an AEdile]

	What, will he come?

AEdile	He's coming.

BRUTUS	How accompanied?

AEdile	With old Menenius, and those senators
	That always favour'd him.

SICINIUS	Have you a catalogue
	Of all the voices that we have procured
	Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so
	I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks
	What's in his heart; and that is there which looks
	With us to break his neck.

SICINIUS	Well, here he comes.

	[Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS,
	with Senators and Patricians]

MENENIUS	Calmly, I do beseech you.

CORIOLANUS	Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece
	Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd gods
	Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice
	Supplied with worthy men! plant love among 's!
	Throng our large temples with the shows of peace,
	And not our streets with war!

First Senator	Amen, amen.

MENENIUS	A noble wish.

	[Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens]

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' the holy churchyard.

CORIOLANUS	Scratches with briers,
	Scars to move laughter only.

MENENIUS	Consider further,
	That when he speaks not like a citizen,
	You find him like a soldier: do not take
	His rougher accents for malicious sounds,
	But, as I say, such as become a soldier,
	Rather than envy you.

COMINIUS	Well, well, no more.

CORIOLANUS	What is the matter
	That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
	I am so dishonour'd that the very hour
	You take it off again?

SICINIUS	Answer to us.

CORIOLANUS	Say, then: 'tis true, I ought so.

SICINIUS	We charge you, that you have contrived to take
	From Rome all season'd office and to wind
	Yourself into a power tyrannical;
	For which you are a traitor to the people.

CORIOLANUS	How! traitor!

MENENIUS	                  Nay, temperately; your promise.

CORIOLANUS	The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the people!
	Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!
	Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,
	In thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in
	Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say
	'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free
	As I do pray the gods.

SICINIUS	Mark you this, people?

Citizens	To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further:
	Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
	Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger
	But with a grain a day, I would not buy
	Their mercy at the price of one fair word;
	Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name,
	I say it shall be so.

Citizens	It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away:
	He's banish'd, and it shall be so.

COMINIUS	Hear me, my masters, and my common friends,--

SICINIUS	He's 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 banish'd,
	As enemy to the people and his country:
	It shall be so.

Citizens	It shall be so, it shall be so.

CORIOLANUS	You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
	As reek o' the 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 not reservation of yourselves,
	Still your own foes, deliver you as most
	Abated captives to some nation
	That won you without blows! Despising,
	For you, the city, thus I turn my back:
	There is a world elsewhere.

	[Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, MENENIUS, Senators,
	and Patricians]

AEdile	The people's enemy is gone, is gone!

Citizens	Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo!

	[Shouting, and throwing 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.

Citizens	Come, come; let's see him out at gates; come.
	The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


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 extremity was the trier of spirits;
	That common chances common men could bear;
	That when the sea was calm all boats alike
	Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows,
	When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves
	A noble cunning: you were used to load me
	With precepts that would make invincible
	The heart that conn'd them.

VIRGILIA	O heavens! O heavens!

CORIOLANUS	Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother.
	Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say,
	If you had been the wife of Hercules,
	Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld
	Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women
	'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,
	As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well
	My hazards still have been your solace: and
	Believe't not lightly--though I go alone,
	Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen
	Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son
	Will or exceed the common or be caught
	With cautelous baits and practise.

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' the way before thee.

CORIOLANUS	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' the 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'ld with thee every foot.

CORIOLANUS	Give me thy hand: Come.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same. A  street near the gate.


	[Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile]

SICINIUS	Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further.
	The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided
	In his behalf.

BRUTUS	                  Now we have shown our power,
	Let us seem humbler after it is done
	Than when it was a-doing.

SICINIUS	Bid them home:
	Say their great enemy is gone, and they
	Stand in their ancient strength.

BRUTUS	Dismiss them home.

	[Exit AEdile]

	Here comes his mother.

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.

	[Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS]

VOLUMNIA	O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods
	Requite your love!

MENENIUS	                  Peace, peace; be not so loud.

VOLUMNIA	If that I could for weeping, you should hear,--
	Nay, and you shall hear some.

	[To BRUTUS]

		        Will you be gone?

VIRGILIA	[To SICINIUS]  You shall stay too: I would I had the power
	To say so to my husband.

SICINIUS	Are you mankind?

VOLUMNIA	Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool.
	Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship
	To banish him that struck more blows for Rome
	Than thou hast spoken words?

SICINIUS	O blessed heavens!

VOLUMNIA	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'ld 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 us go.

VOLUMNIA	Now, pray, sir, get you gone:
	You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:--
	As far as doth the Capitol exceed
	The meanest house in Rome, so far my son--
	This lady's husband here, this, do you see--
	Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all.

BRUTUS	Well, well, we'll leave you.

SICINIUS	Why stay we to be baited
	With one that wants her wits?

VOLUMNIA	Take my prayers with you.

	[Exeunt Tribunes]

	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.

MENENIUS	Fie, fie, fie!

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



SCENE III	A highway between Rome and Antium.


	[Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting]

Roman	I know you well, sir, and you know
	me: your name, I think, is Adrian.

Volsce	It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you.

Roman	I am a Roman; and my services are,
	as you are, against 'em: know you me yet?

Volsce	Nicanor? no.

Roman	The same, sir.

Volsce	You had more beard when I last saw you; but your
	favour is well 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 the 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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



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 seem to wear one heart,
	Whose house, 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 birth-place 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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



SCENE V	The same. A hall in Aufidius's house.


	[Music within. Enter a Servingman]

First Servingman	Wine, wine, wine! What service
	is here! I think our fellows are asleep.

	[Exit]

	[Enter a second 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.

	[Re-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.

	[Re-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 thou'rt troublesome.

Second Servingman	Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon.

	[Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him]

Third Servingman	What fellow's this?

First Servingman	A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him
	out of the house: prithee, call my master to him.

	[Retires]

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 marvellous 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]

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 dwellest thou?

CORIOLANUS	Under the canopy.

Third Servingman	Under the canopy!

CORIOLANUS	Ay.

Third Servingman	Where's that?

CORIOLANUS	I' the city of kites and crows.

Third Servingman	I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is!
	Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for
	disturbing the lords within.

	[Retires]

AUFIDIUS	Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name?
	Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name?

CORIOLANUS	If, Tullus,

	[Unmuffling]

	Not yet thou knowest 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 hast a grim appearance, and thy face
	Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn.
	Thou show'st a noble vessel: what's thy name?

CORIOLANUS	Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st
	thou me yet?

AUFIDIUS	I know thee not: thy name?

CORIOLANUS	My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
	To thee particularly and to all the Volsces
	Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
	My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service,
	The extreme dangers and the drops of blood
	Shed for my thankless country are requited
	But with that surname; a good memory,
	And witness of the malice and displeasure
	Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains;
	The cruelty and envy of the people,
	Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
	Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest;
	And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be
	Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity
	Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope--
	Mistake me not--to save my life, for if
	I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen
	Of all the under fiends. But if so be
	Thou darest 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 follow'd thee with hate,
	Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
	And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
	It be to do thee service.

AUFIDIUS	O Marcius, Marcius!
	Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart
	A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
	Should from yond cloud speak divine things,
	And say 'Tis true,' I'ld not believe them more
	Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine
	Mine arms about that body, where against
	My grained ash an hundred times hath broke
	And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip
	The anvil of my sword, and do contest
	As hotly and as nobly with thy love
	As ever in ambitious strength I did
	Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
	I loved the maid I married; never man
	Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,
	Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart
	Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
	Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee,
	We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
	Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
	Or lose mine arm fort: 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 Marcius,
	Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that
	Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all
	From twelve to seventy, and pouring war
	Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
	Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in,
	And take our friendly senators by the 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
	The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome!

	[Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two
	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' the world.

First Servingman	I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on.

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.

	[Re-enter third Servingman]

Third Servingman	O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals!


First Servingman	|
	|  What, what, what? let's partake.
Second Servingman	|


Third Servingman	I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as
	lieve be a condemned man.


First Servingman	|
	|  Wherefore? wherefore?
Second Servingman	|


Third Servingman	Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general,
	Caius Marcius.

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 Corioli he scotched him and notched
	him like a carbon ado.

Second Servingman	An he had been cannibally given, he might have
	broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But
	the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i'
	the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with
	him.

First Servingman	But when goes this forward?

Third Servingman	To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the
	drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a
	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 spritely, waking, 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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS]

SICINIUS	We hear not of him, neither need we fear him;
	His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see
	Our tradesmen with 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.

Both Tribunes	Hail sir!

MENENIUS	        Hail to you both!

SICINIUS	Your Coriolanus
	Is not much miss'd, but with his friends:
	The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do,
	Were he more angry at it.

MENENIUS	All's well; and might have been much better, 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]

Citizens	The gods preserve you both!

SICINIUS	God-den, our neighbours.

BRUTUS	God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was
	A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent,
	O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,
	Self-loving,--

SICINIUS	                  And affecting one sole throne,
	Without assistance.

MENENIUS	I think not so.

SICINIUS	We should by this, to all our lamentation,
	If he had gone forth consul, found it so.

BRUTUS	The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
	Sits safe and still without him.

	[Enter an AEdile]

AEdile	Worthy tribunes,
	There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
	Reports, the Volsces with two several powers
	Are enter'd in the Roman territories,
	And with the deepest malice of the war
	Destroy what lies before 'em.

MENENIUS	'Tis Aufidius,
	Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
	Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;
	Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,
	And durst not once peep out.

SICINIUS	Come, what talk you
	Of Marcius?

BRUTUS	Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be
	The Volsces dare break with us.

MENENIUS	Cannot be!
	We have record that very well it can,
	And three examples of the like have been
	Within my age. But reason with the fellow,
	Before you punish him, where he heard this,
	Lest you shall chance to whip your information
	And beat the messenger who bids beware
	Of what is to be dreaded.

SICINIUS	Tell not me:
	I know this cannot be.

BRUTUS	Not possible.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	The nobles in great earnestness are going
	All to the senate-house: some news is come
	That turns their countenances.

SICINIUS	'Tis this slave;--
	Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes:--his raising;
	Nothing but his report.

Messenger	Yes, worthy sir,
	The slave's report is seconded; and more,
	More fearful, is deliver'd.

SICINIUS	What more fearful?

Messenger	It is spoke freely out of many mouths--
	How probable I do not know--that Marcius,
	Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,
	And vows revenge as spacious as between
	The young'st and oldest thing.

SICINIUS	This is most likely!

BRUTUS	Raised only, that the weaker sort may wish
	Good Marcius home again.

SICINIUS	The very trick on't.

MENENIUS	This is unlikely:
	He and Aufidius can no more atone
	Than violentest contrariety.

	[Enter a second Messenger]

Second Messenger	You are sent for to the senate:
	A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius
	Associated with Aufidius, rages
	Upon our territories; and have already
	O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd to your noses,--

MENENIUS	What's the news? what's the news?

COMINIUS	Your temples burned in their cement, and
	Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined
	Into an auger's bore.

MENENIUS	Pray now, your news?
	You have made fair work, I fear me.--Pray, your news?--
	If Marcius should be join'd 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 up much
	on the voice of occupation and
	The breath of garlic-eaters!

COMINIUS	He will 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 resist
	Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,
	And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?
	Your enemies and his find something in him.

MENENIUS	We are all undone, unless
	The noble man have mercy.

COMINIUS	Who shall ask it?
	The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
	Deserve such pity of him as the wolf
	Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they
	Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even
	As those should do that had deserved his hate,
	And therein show'd 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
	So incapable of help.

Both 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' the 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 come 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.

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	Ye re 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 dismay'd:
	These are a side that would be glad to have
	This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,
	And show no sign of fear.

First Citizen	The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home.
	I ever said we were i' the 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 us go.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT IV



SCENE VII	A camp, at a small distance from Rome.


	[Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant]

AUFIDIUS	Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd in this action, sir,
	Even by your own.

AUFIDIUS	                  I cannot help it now,
	Unless, by using means, I lame the foot
	Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,
	Even to my person, than I thought he would
	When first I did embrace him: yet his nature
	In that's no changeling; and I must excuse
	What cannot be amended.

Lieutenant	Yet I wish, sir,--
	I mean for your particular,--you had not
	Join'd in commission with him; but either
	Had borne the action of yourself, or else
	To him had left it solely.

AUFIDIUS	I understand thee well; and be thou sure,
	when he shall come to his account, he knows not
	What I can urge against him. Although it seems,
	And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
	To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly.
	And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,
	Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
	As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone
	That which shall break his neck or hazard mine,
	Whene'er we come to our account.

Lieutenant	Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?

AUFIDIUS	All places yield to him ere he sits down;
	And the nobility of Rome are his:
	The senators and patricians love him too:
	The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people
	Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty
	To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome
	As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
	By sovereignty of nature. First he was
	A noble servant to them; but he could not
	Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride,
	Which out of daily fortune ever taints
	The happy man; whether defect of judgment,
	To fail in the disposing of those chances
	Which he was lord of; or whether nature,
	Not to be other than one thing, not moving
	From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace
	Even with the same austerity and garb
	As he controll'd the war; but one of these--
	As he hath spices of them all, not all,
	For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd,
	So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit,
	To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues
	Lie in the interpretation of the time:
	And power, unto itself most commendable,
	Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair
	To 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]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE I	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS, BRUTUS,
	and 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 call'd me father:
	But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him;
	A mile before his tent fall down, and knee
	The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd
	To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.

COMINIUS	He would not seem to know me.

MENENIUS	Do you hear?

COMINIUS	Yet one time he did call me by my name:
	I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops
	That we have bled together. Coriolanus
	He would not answer to: forbad all names;
	He was a kind of nothing, titleless,
	Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire
	Of burning Rome.

MENENIUS	Why, so: you have made good work!
	A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome,
	To make coals cheap,--a noble memory!

COMINIUS	I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon
	When it was less expected: he replied,
	It was a bare petition of a state
	To one whom they had punish'd.

MENENIUS	Very well:
	Could he say less?

COMINIUS	I offer'd to awaken his regard
	For's private friends: his answer to me was,
	He could not stay to pick them in a pile
	Of noisome musty chaff: he said 'twas folly,
	For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt,
	And still to nose the offence.

MENENIUS	For one poor grain or two!
	I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child,
	And this brave fellow too, we are the grains:
	You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt
	Above the moon: we must be burnt for you.

SICINIUS	Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid
	In this so never-needed help, yet do not
	Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if you
	Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,
	More than the instant army we can make,
	Might stop our countryman.

MENENIUS	No, I'll not meddle.

SICINIUS	Pray you, go to him.

MENENIUS	What should I do?

BRUTUS	Only make trial what your love can do
	For Rome, towards Marcius.

MENENIUS	Well, and say that Marcius
	Return me, as Cominius is return'd,
	Unheard; what then?
	But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
	With his unkindness? say't be so?

SICINIUS	Yet your good will
	must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure
	As you intended well.

MENENIUS	I'll undertake 't:
	I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip
	And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.
	He was not taken well; he had not dined:
	The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
	We pout upon the morning, are unapt
	To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd
	These and these conveyances of our blood
	With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
	Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him
	Till he be dieted to my request,
	And then I'll set upon him.

BRUTUS	You know the very road into his kindness,
	And cannot lose your way.

MENENIUS	Good faith, I'll prove him,
	Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
	Of my success.

	[Exit]

COMINIUS	                  He'll never hear him.

SICINIUS	Not?

COMINIUS	I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye
	Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury
	The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him;
	'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd me
	Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do,
	He sent in writing after me; what he would not,
	Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions:
	So that all hope is vain.
	Unless his noble mother, and his wife;
	Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
	For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence,
	And with our fair entreaties haste them on.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE II	Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome.
	Two Sentinels on guard.


	[Enter to them, MENENIUS]

First Senator	Stay: whence are you?

Second Senator	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 Senator	From whence?

MENENIUS	From Rome.

First Senator	You may not pass, you must return: our general
	Will no more hear from thence.

Second Senator	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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius.

First Senator	Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name
	Is not here passable.

MENENIUS	I tell thee, fellow,
	The general is my lover: I have been
	The book of his good acts, whence men have read
	His name unparallel'd, haply amplified;
	For I have ever verified my friends,
	Of whom he's chief, with all the size that verity
	Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes,
	Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,
	I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise
	Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow,
	I must have leave to pass.

First Senator	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 Senator	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, canst thou tell? for I would not
	speak with him till after dinner.

First Senator	You are a Roman, are you?

MENENIUS	I am, as thy general is.

First Senator	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 Senator	Come, my captain knows you not.

MENENIUS	I mean, thy general.

First Senator	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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone.
	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

	[Gives a letter]

	And would have rent 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.

	[Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS]

First Senator	Now, sir, is your name Menenius?

Second Senator	'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the
	way home again.

First Senator	Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your
	greatness back?

Second Senator	What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?

MENENIUS	I neither care for the world nor your general: for
	such things as you, I can scarce think there's any,
	ye'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 Senator	A noble fellow, I warrant him.

Second Senator	The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the
	oak not to be wind-shaken.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE III	The tent of Coriolanus.


	[Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others]

CORIOLANUS	We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow
	Set down our host. My partner in this action,
	You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly
	I have borne this business.

AUFIDIUS	Only their ends
	You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
	The general suit of Rome; never admitted
	A private whisper, no, not with such friends
	That thought them sure of you.

CORIOLANUS	This last old man,
	Whom with a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd
	The first conditions, which they did refuse
	And cannot now accept; to grace him only
	That thought he could do more, a very little
	I have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits,
	Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter
	Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this?

	[Shout within]

	Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
	In the same time 'tis made? I will not.

	[Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA,
	leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants]

	My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould
	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 curt'sy 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.' O, a kiss
	Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
	Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
	I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
	Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,
	And the most noble mother of the world
	Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth;

	[Kneels]

	Of thy deep duty more impression show
	Than that of common sons.

VOLUMNIA	O, stand up blest!
	Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,
	I kneel before thee; and unproperly
	Show duty, as mistaken all this while
	Between the child and parent.

	[Kneels]

CORIOLANUS	What is this?
	Your knees to me? to your corrected son?
	Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
	Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
	Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;
	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 the 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' the wars
	Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
	And saving those that eye thee!

VOLUMNIA	Your knee, sirrah.

CORIOLANUS	That's my brave boy!

VOLUMNIA	Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,
	Are suitors to you.

CORIOLANUS	I beseech you, peace:
	Or, if you'ld 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
	To ally my rages and revenges with
	Your colder reasons.

VOLUMNIA	O, no more, no more!
	You have said you will not grant us any thing;
	For we have nothing else to ask, but that
	Which you deny already: yet we will ask;
	That, if you fail in our request, the blame
	May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us.

CORIOLANUS	Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll
	Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?

VOLUMNIA	Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment
	And state of bodies would bewray what life
	We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself
	How more unfortunate than all living women
	Are we come hither: since that thy sight,
	which should
	Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance
	with comforts,
	Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow;
	Making the mother, wife and child to see
	The son, the husband and the father tearing
	His country's bowels out. And to poor we
	Thine enmity's most capital: thou 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS	A' shall not tread on me;
	I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.

CORIOLANUS	Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
	Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
	I have sat too long.

	[Rising]

VOLUMNIA	Nay, go not from us thus.
	If it were so that our request did tend
	To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
	The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us,
	As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit
	Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces
	May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Romans,
	'This we received;' and each in either side
	Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest
	For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son,
	The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,
	That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
	Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
	Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
	Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,
	But with his last attempt he wiped it out;
	Destroy'd his country, and his name remains
	To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son:
	Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
	To imitate the graces of the gods;
	To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
	Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy,
	When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,
	Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home,
	Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust,
	And spurn me back: but if it 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;
	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 bands for fellowship,
	Does reason our petition with more strength
	Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go:
	This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
	His wife is in Corioli and his child
	Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch:
	I am hush'd until our city be a-fire,
	And then I'll speak a little.

	[He holds her by the hand, silent]

CORIOLANUS	O mother, mother!
	What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
	The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
	They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
	You have won a happy victory to Rome;
	But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it,
	Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
	If not most mortal to him. But, let it come.
	Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
	I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
	Were you in my stead, would you have heard
	A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?

AUFIDIUS	I was 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!

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.

	[The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS]

CORIOLANUS	Ay, by and by;

	[To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c]

	But we will drink together; and you shall bear
	A better witness back than words, which we,
	On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
	Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
	To have a temple built you: all the swords
	In Italy, and her confederate arms,
	Could not have made this peace.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE IV	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS]

MENENIUS	See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond
	corner-stone?

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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger]

SICINIUS	What's the news?

Second Messenger	Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd,
	The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone:
	A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
	No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.

SICINIUS	Friend,
	Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain?

Second Messenger	As certain as I know the sun is fire:
	Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
	Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide,
	As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you!

	[Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together]

	The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes,
	Tabours and cymbals and the shouting Romans,
	Make the sun dance. Hark you!

	[A shout within]

MENENIUS	This is good news:
	I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
	Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
	A city full; of tribunes, such as you,
	A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day:
	This morning for ten thousand of your throats
	I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!

	[Music still, with 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?

Second Messenger	Almost at point to enter.

SICINIUS	We will meet them,
	And help the joy.

	[Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE V	The same. A street near the gate.


	[Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA,
	VALERIA, &c. passing over the stage,
	followed by Patricians and others]

First Senator	Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!
	Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,
	And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them:
	Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
	Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;
	Cry 'Welcome, ladies, welcome!'

All	Welcome, ladies, Welcome!

	[A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt]




	CORIOLANUS


ACT V



SCENE VI	Antium. A public place.


	[Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants]

AUFIDIUS	Go tell the lords o' the city I am here:
	Deliver them this paper: having read it,
	Bid them repair to the market place; where I,
	Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
	Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
	The city ports by this hath enter'd and
	Intends to appear before the people, hoping
	To purge herself with words: dispatch.

	[Exeunt Attendants]

	[Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction]

	Most welcome!

First Conspirator	How is it with our general?

AUFIDIUS	Even so
	As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
	And with his charity slain.

Second Conspirator	Most noble sir,
	If you do hold the same intent wherein
	You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
	Of your great danger.

AUFIDIUS	Sir, I cannot tell:
	We must proceed as we do find the people.

Third Conspirator	The people will remain uncertain whilst
	'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either
	Makes the survivor heir of all.

AUFIDIUS	I know it;
	And my pretext to strike at him admits
	A good construction. I raised him, and I pawn'd
	Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd,
	He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery,
	Seducing so my friends; and, to this end,
	He bow'd his nature, never known before
	But to be rough, unswayable and free.

Third Conspirator	Sir, his stoutness
	When he did stand for consul, which he lost
	By lack of stooping,--

AUFIDIUS	That I would have spoke of:
	Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth;
	Presented to my knife his throat: I took him;
	Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way
	In all his own desires; nay, let him choose
	Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
	My best and freshest men; 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last,
	When he had carried Rome and that we look'd
	For no less spoil than glory,--

AUFIDIUS	There was it:
	For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
	At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
	As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
	Of our great action: therefore shall he die,
	And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

	[Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of
	the People]

First Conspirator	Your native town you enter'd like a post,
	And had no welcomes home: but he returns,
	Splitting the air with noise.

Second Conspirator	And patient fools,
	Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear
	With giving him glory.

Third Conspirator	Therefore, at your vantage,
	Ere he express himself, or move the people
	With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
	Which we will second. When he lies along,
	After your way his tale pronounced shall bury
	His reasons with his body.

AUFIDIUS	Say no more:
	Here come the lords.

	[Enter the Lords of the city]

All The 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?

Lords	We have.

First Lord	And grieve to hear't.
	What faults he made before the last, I think
	Might have found easy fines: but there to end
	Where he was to begin and give away
	The benefit of our levies, answering us
	With our own charge, making a treaty where
	There was a yielding,--this admits no excuse.

AUFIDIUS	He approaches: you shall hear him.

	[Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and
	colours; commoners being with him]

CORIOLANUS	Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier,
	No more infected with my country's love
	Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
	Under your great command. You are to know
	That prosperously I have attempted and
	With bloody passage led your wars even to
	The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home
	Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver,
	Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,
	Together with the seal o' the senate, what
	We have compounded on.

AUFIDIUS	Read it not, noble lords;
	But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree
	He hath abused your powers.

CORIOLANUS	Traitor! how now!

AUFIDIUS	                  Ay, traitor, Marcius!

CORIOLANUS	Marcius!

AUFIDIUS	Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think
	I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
	Coriolanus in Corioli?
	You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously
	He has betray'd your business, and given up,
	For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,
	I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother;
	Breaking his oath and resolution like
	A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
	Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears
	He whined and roar'd away your victory,
	That pages blush'd at him and men of heart
	Look'd wondering 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 impress'd upon him; that
	Must bear my beating to his grave--shall join
	To thrust the lie unto him.

First Lord	Peace, both, and hear me speak.

CORIOLANUS	Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,
	Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound!
	If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
	That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
	Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli:
	Alone I did it. Boy!

AUFIDIUS	Why, noble lords,
	Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
	Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
	'Fore your own eyes and ears?

All Conspirators	Let him die for't.

All The People	'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd
	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' the 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!

	[The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS:
	AUFIDIUS stands on his body]

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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.
	Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
	Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
	Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
	Which to this hour bewail the injury,
	Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.

	[Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead
	march sounded]
	HAMLET


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CLAUDIUS	king of Denmark. (KING CLAUDIUS:)

HAMLET	son to the late, and nephew to the present king.

POLONIUS	lord chamberlain. (LORD POLONIUS:)

HORATIO	friend to Hamlet.

LAERTES	son to Polonius.

LUCIANUS	nephew to the king.


VOLTIMAND	|
	|
CORNELIUS	|
	|
ROSENCRANTZ	|  courtiers.
	|
GUILDENSTERN	|
	|
OSRIC	|


	A Gentleman, (Gentlemen:)

	A Priest. (First Priest:)


MARCELLUS	|
	|  officers.
BERNARDO	|


FRANCISCO	a soldier.

REYNALDO	servant to Polonius.
	Players.
	(First Player:)
	(Player King:)
	(Player Queen:)

	Two Clowns, grave-diggers.
	(First Clown:)
	(Second Clown:)

FORTINBRAS	prince of Norway. (PRINCE FORTINBRAS:)

	A Captain.

	English Ambassadors. (First Ambassador:)

GERTRUDE	queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet.
	(QUEEN GERTRUDE:)

OPHELIA	daughter to Polonius.

	Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers,
	and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(First Sailor:)
	(Messenger:)

	Ghost of Hamlet's Father. (Ghost:)



SCENE	Denmark.




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE I	Elsinore. A platform before the castle.


	[FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO]

BERNARDO	Who's there?

FRANCISCO	Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.

BERNARDO	Long live the king!

FRANCISCO	Bernardo?

BERNARDO	He.

FRANCISCO	You come most carefully upon your hour.

BERNARDO	'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

FRANCISCO	For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
	And I am sick at heart.

BERNARDO	Have you had quiet guard?

FRANCISCO	Not a mouse stirring.

BERNARDO	Well, good night.
	If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
	The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

FRANCISCO	I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?

	[Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS]

HORATIO	Friends to this ground.

MARCELLUS	And liegemen to the Dane.

FRANCISCO	Give you good night.

MARCELLUS	O, farewell, honest soldier:
	Who hath relieved you?

FRANCISCO	Bernardo has my place.
	Give you good night.

	[Exit]

MARCELLUS	Holla! Bernardo!

BERNARDO	Say,
	What, is Horatio there?

HORATIO	A piece of him.

BERNARDO	Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

MARCELLUS	What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

BERNARDO	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.

BERNARDO	Sit down awhile;
	And let us once again assail your ears,
	That are so fortified against our story
	What we have two nights seen.

HORATIO	Well, sit we down,
	And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

BERNARDO	Last night of all,
	When yond same star that's westward from the pole
	Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
	Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
	The bell then beating one,--

	[Enter Ghost]

MARCELLUS	Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

BERNARDO	In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

MARCELLUS	Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

BERNARDO	Looks it not like the king?  mark it, Horatio.

HORATIO	Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

BERNARDO	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.

BERNARDO	                  See, it stalks away!

HORATIO	Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!

	[Exit Ghost]

MARCELLUS	'Tis gone, and will not answer.

BERNARDO	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 the 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,
	Dared 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 seized 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 covenant,
	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 romage in the land.

BERNARDO	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.--
	But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

	[Re-enter Ghost]

	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:

	[Cock crows]

	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! Stop it, Marcellus.

MARCELLUS	Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

HORATIO	Do, if it will not stand.

BERNARDO	'Tis here!

HORATIO	'Tis here!

MARCELLUS	'Tis gone!

	[Exit Ghost]

	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.

BERNARDO	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,
	The 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 dares 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 to-night
	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]




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE II	A room of state in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET,
	POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords,
	and Attendants]

KING CLAUDIUS	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,
	The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
	Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--
	With an auspicious and a 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 the 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, Voltimand,
	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 delated articles allow.
	Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.


CORNELIUS	|
	|  In that and all things will we show our duty.
VOLTIMAND	|


KING CLAUDIUS	We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

	[Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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	My dread 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 CLAUDIUS	Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?

LORD 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 CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

HAMLET	Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	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 forced breath,
	No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
	Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
	Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS	'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 persever
	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 to-day,
	'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 GERTRUDE	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 CLAUDIUS	Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:
	Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
	This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
	Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
	No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
	But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
	And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God!
	How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
	Seem to me all the uses of this world!
	Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO]

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 mine ear that violence,
	To make it truster of your own report
	Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
	But what is your affair in Elsinore?
	We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

HORATIO	My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

HAMLET	I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
	I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

HORATIO	Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.

HAMLET	Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
	Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
	Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
	Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
	My father!--methinks I see my father.

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 awhile
	With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
	Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
	This marvel to you.

HAMLET	For God's love, let me hear.

HORATIO	Two nights together had these gentlemen,
	Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
	In the dead vast and middle of the night,
	Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
	Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
	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, distilled
	Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
	Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
	In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
	And I with them the third night kept the watch;
	Where, as they had 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'd.

HAMLET	Did you not speak to it?

HORATIO	My lord, I did;
	But answer made it none: yet once methought
	It lifted up its head and did address
	Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
	But even then the morning cock crew loud,
	And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
	And 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 to-night?


MARCELLUS	|
	|	We do, my lord.
BERNARDO	|


HAMLET	Arm'd, say you?


MARCELLUS	|
	|  Arm'd, my lord.
BERNARDO	|


HAMLET	From top to toe?


MARCELLUS	|
	|             My lord, from head to foot.
BERNARDO	|


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 amazed you.

HAMLET	Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?

HORATIO	While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.


MARCELLUS	|
	| Longer, longer.
BERNARDO	|


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 to-night;
	Perchance 'twill walk again.

HORATIO	I warrant 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 to-night,
	Give it an understanding, but no tongue:
	I will requite your loves. So, fare you 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 all but HAMLET]

	My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;
	I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!
	Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
	Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

	[Exit]




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do,
	Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
	The safety and health of this whole state;
	And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
	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 disclosed,
	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 the effect of this good lesson keep,
	As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
	Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
	Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
	Whiles, 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.

LORD 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 thee!
	And these few precepts in thy memory
	See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
	Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
	Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
	Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
	Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
	But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
	Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
	Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
	Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
	Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
	Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
	Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
	But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
	For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
	And they in France of the best rank and station
	Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
	Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
	For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
	And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
	This above all: to thine ownself 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.

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]

LORD POLONIUS	What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you?

OPHELIA	So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.

LORD 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.

LORD 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.

LORD 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 importuned me with love
	In honourable fashion.

LORD 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.

LORD 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 somewhat 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]




	HAMLET


ACT I



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.

HAMLET	No, it is struck.

HORATIO	Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season
	Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

	[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within]

	What does this mean, my lord?

HAMLET	The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
	Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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:
	But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
	Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
	Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
	The form of plausive manners, that these men,
	Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
	Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,--
	Their 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 eale
	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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death,
	Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
	Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
	Hath oped 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 I will follow it.

HORATIO	Do not, my lord.

HAMLET	                  Why, what should be the fear?
	I do not set my life in 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 ruled; you shall not go.

HAMLET	My fate cries out,
	And makes each petty artery in this body
	As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
	Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
	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]




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE V	Another part of the platform.


	[Enter GHOST and HAMLET]

HAMLET	Where 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 sulphurous and tormenting flames
	Must render up myself.

HAMLET	Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost	Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
	To what I shall unfold.

HAMLET	Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost	 So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

HAMLET	What?

Ghost	I am thy father's spirit,
	Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
	And for the day confined to fast in fires,
	Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
	Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
	To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
	I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
	Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
	Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
	Thy knotted and combined locks to part
	And each particular hair to stand on end,
	Like quills upon the fretful 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth,
	The serpent that did sting thy father's life
	Now wears his crown.

HAMLET	O my prophetic soul! My uncle!

Ghost	Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
	With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,--
	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 moved,
	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 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,
	Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me.

	[Exit]

HAMLET	O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
	And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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.


MARCELLUS	|
	| [Within]  My lord, my lord,--
HORATIO	|


MARCELLUS	[Within]	Lord Hamlet,--

HORATIO	[Within]	Heaven secure him!

HAMLET	So be it!

HORATIO	[Within]  Hillo, 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	|
	|                   Ay, by heaven, my lord.
MARCELLUS	|


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 has business and desire,
	Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night.


HORATIO	|
	| My lord, we will not.
MARCELLUS	|


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	[Beneath]  Swear.

HAMLET	Ah, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there,
	truepenny?
	Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage--
	Consent to swear.

HORATIO	                  Propose the oath, my lord.

HAMLET	Never to speak of this that you have seen,
	Swear by my sword.

Ghost	[Beneath]  Swear.

HAMLET	Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
	Come hither, gentlemen,
	And lay your hands again upon my sword:
	Never to speak of this that you have heard,
	Swear by my sword.

Ghost	[Beneath]  Swear.

HAMLET	Well said, old mole! canst work i' the 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 headshake,
	Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
	As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'
	Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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!

	[They swear]

		        So, gentlemen,
	With all my love I do commend me to you:
	And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
	May do, to express his love and friending to you,
	God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
	And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
	The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
	That ever I was born to set it right!
	Nay, come, let's go together.

	[Exeunt]




	HAMLET


ACT II



SCENE I	A room in POLONIUS' house.


	[Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO]

LORD POLONIUS	Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.

REYNALDO	I will, my lord.

LORD POLONIUS	You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,
	Before you visit him, to make inquire
	Of his behavior.

REYNALDO	                  My lord, I did intend it.

LORD POLONIUS	Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,
	Inquire 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.

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.

LORD POLONIUS	Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,
	Drabbing: you may go so far.

REYNALDO	My lord, that would dishonour him.

LORD 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,--

LORD POLONIUS	Wherefore should you do this?

REYNALDO	Ay, my lord,
	I would know that.

LORD POLONIUS	                  Marry, sir, here's my drift;
	And I believe, it is a fetch of wit:
	You laying these slight sullies on my son,
	As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured
	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.

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.'

LORD POLONIUS	At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry;
	He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman;
	I saw him yesterday, or t' other day,
	Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,
	There was a' 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.

LORD POLONIUS	                  God be wi' you; fare you well.

REYNALDO	Good my lord!

LORD POLONIUS	Observe his inclination in yourself.

REYNALDO	I shall, my lord.

LORD POLONIUS	And let him ply his music.

REYNALDO	Well, my lord.

LORD POLONIUS	Farewell!

	[Exit REYNALDO]

	[Enter OPHELIA]

	How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?

OPHELIA	O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

LORD POLONIUS	With what, i' the name of God?

OPHELIA	My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
	Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;
	No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,
	Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle;
	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.

LORD POLONIUS	Mad for thy love?

OPHELIA	                  My lord, I do not know;
	But truly, I do fear it.

LORD 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 raised 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 helps,
	And, to the last, bended their light on me.

LORD 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 fetters and denied
	His access to me.

LORD POLONIUS	                  That hath made him mad.
	I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
	I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle,
	And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy!
	By heaven, 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]




	HAMLET


ACT II



SCENE II	A room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ,
	GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 call it,
	Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man
	Resembles that it was. What it should be,
	More than his father's death, that thus hath put him
	So much from the understanding of himself,
	I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,
	That, being of so young days brought up with him,
	And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior,
	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 GERTRUDE	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	                  But we both obey,
	And here give up ourselves, in the full bent
	To lay our service freely at your feet,
	To be commanded.

KING CLAUDIUS	Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 practises
	Pleasant and helpful to him!

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Ay, amen!

	[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some
	Attendants]

	[Enter POLONIUS]

LORD POLONIUS	The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
	Are joyfully return'd.

KING CLAUDIUS	Thou still hast been the father of good news.

LORD POLONIUS	Have I, my lord? I assure my good liege,
	I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
	Both to my God and to my gracious king:
	And I do think, or else this brain of mine
	Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
	As it hath used to do, that I have found
	The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

KING CLAUDIUS	O, speak of that; that do I long to hear.

LORD POLONIUS	Give first admittance to the ambassadors;
	My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.

KING CLAUDIUS	Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.

	[Exit POLONIUS]

	He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
	The head and source of all your son's distemper.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	I doubt it is no other but the main;
	His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.

KING CLAUDIUS	Well, we shall sift him.

	[Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS]

		   Welcome, my good friends!
	Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?

VOLTIMAND	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 grieved,
	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 the 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,

	[Giving 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 CLAUDIUS	It likes us well;
	And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS]

LORD 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 GERTRUDE	                  More matter, with less art.

LORD 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 while 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. Thus:

	[Reads]

	'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.'

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Came this from Hamlet to her?

LORD 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 shown me,
	And more above, hath his solicitings,
	As they fell out by time, by means and place,
	All given to mine ear.

KING CLAUDIUS	But how hath she
	Received his love?

LORD POLONIUS	                  What do you think of me?

KING CLAUDIUS	As of a man faithful and honourable.

LORD POLONIUS	I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
	When I had seen this hot love on the wing--
	As I perceived it, I must tell you that,
	Before my daughter told me--what might you,
	Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
	If I had 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 mourn for.

KING CLAUDIUS	Do you think 'tis this?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	It may be, very likely.

LORD POLONIUS	Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that--
	That I have positively said 'Tis so,'
	When it proved otherwise?

KING CLAUDIUS	Not that I know.

LORD POLONIUS	[Pointing to his head and shoulder]

	Take this from this, if this be otherwise:
	If circumstances lead me, I will find
	Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
	Within the centre.

KING CLAUDIUS	                  How may we try it further?

LORD POLONIUS	You know, sometimes he walks four hours together
	Here in the lobby.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	                  So he does indeed.

LORD 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 CLAUDIUS	We will try it.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.

LORD POLONIUS	Away, I do beseech you, both away:
	I'll board him presently.

	[Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and
	Attendants]

	[Enter HAMLET, reading]

		    O, give me leave:
	How does my good Lord Hamlet?

HAMLET	Well, God-a-mercy.

LORD POLONIUS	Do you know me, my lord?

HAMLET	Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

LORD POLONIUS	Not I, my lord.

HAMLET	Then I would you were so honest a man.

LORD POLONIUS	Honest, my lord!

HAMLET	Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be
	one man picked out of ten thousand.

LORD POLONIUS	That's very true, my lord.

HAMLET	For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a
	god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter?

LORD POLONIUS	I have, my lord.

HAMLET	Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a
	blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive.
	Friend, look to 't.

LORD POLONIUS	[Aside]  How say you by that? 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.

LORD POLONIUS	What is the matter, my lord?

HAMLET	Between who?

LORD POLONIUS	I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

HAMLET	Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here
	that old men have grey beards, that their faces are
	wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and
	plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of
	wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir,
	though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet
	I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for
	yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab
	you could go backward.

LORD 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.

LORD 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 any thing that I will
	more willingly part withal: except my life, except
	my life, except my life.

LORD POLONIUS	Fare you well, my lord.

HAMLET	These tedious old fools!

	[Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN]

LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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
	outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we
	to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.


ROSENCRANTZ	|
	| We'll wait upon you.
GUILDENSTERN	|


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, any thing, 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	[Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason!
	how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
	express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
	in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
	world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
	what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not
	me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling
	you seem to say so.

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 humourous man shall end his part
	in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose
	lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not.

HAMLET	How comes it? do they grow rusty?

ROSENCRANTZ	Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but
	there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of
	Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while
	my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an
	hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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]

LORD 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: o' Monday morning;
	'twas so indeed.

LORD 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,--

LORD POLONIUS	The actors are come hither, my lord.

HAMLET	Buz, buz!

LORD POLONIUS	Upon mine honour,--

HAMLET	Then came each actor on his ass,--

LORD 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!

LORD POLONIUS	What a treasure had he, my lord?

HAMLET	Why,
	'One fair daughter and no more,
	The which he loved passing well.'

LORD POLONIUS	[Aside]  Still on my daughter.

HAMLET	Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah?

LORD POLONIUS	If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter
	that I love passing well.

HAMLET	Nay, that follows not.

LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last:
	comest 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
	apiece 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 any thing we see:
	we'll have a speech straight: come, give us a taste
	of your quality; come, a passionate speech.

First Player	What speech, my lord?

HAMLET	I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was
	never acted; or, if it was, not above once; for the
	play, I remember, pleased not the million; 'twas
	caviare to the general: but it was--as I received
	it, and others, whose judgments in such matters
	cried in the top of mine--an excellent play, well
	digested in the scenes, set down with as much
	modesty as cunning. I remember, one said there
	were no sallets in the lines to make the matter
	savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might
	indict 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 the 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,
	Baked and impasted with the parching streets,
	That lend a tyrannous and damned light
	To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire,
	And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
	With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
	Old grandsire Priam seeks.'
	So, proceed you.

LORD 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
	The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
	Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
	Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
	Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his sword,
	Which was declining on the milky head
	Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick:
	So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
	And like a neutral to his will and matter,
	Did nothing.
	But, as we often see, against some storm,
	A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
	The bold winds speechless and the orb below
	As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
	Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
	Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;
	And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
	On Mars's armour forged for proof eterne
	With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
	Now falls on Priam.
	Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,
	In general synod 'take away her power;
	Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
	And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
	As low as to the fiends!'

LORD 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?'

LORD POLONIUS	That's good; 'mobled queen' is good.

First Player	'Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames
	With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
	Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
	About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
	A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;
	Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
	'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have
	pronounced:
	But if the gods themselves did see her then
	When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
	In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
	The instant burst of clamour that she made,
	Unless things mortal move them not at all,
	Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,
	And passion in the gods.'

LORD POLONIUS	Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has
	tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more.

HAMLET	'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon.
	Good my lord, will you see the players well
	bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for
	they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the
	time: after your death you were better have a bad
	epitaph than their ill report while you live.

LORD POLONIUS	My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

HAMLET	God's bodykins, 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.

LORD POLONIUS	Come, sirs.

HAMLET	Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow.

	[Exit 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 to-morrow night. You could, for a need,
	study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which
	I would set down and insert in't, could you not?

First Player	Ay, my lord.

HAMLET	Very well. Follow that lord; and look you mock him
	not.

	[Exit First Player]

	My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are
	welcome to Elsinore.

ROSENCRANTZ	Good my lord!

HAMLET	Ay, so, God be wi' ye;

	[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN]

		  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 wann'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' the 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!
	O, 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
	To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
	Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
	As he is very potent with such spirits,
	Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
	More relative than this: the play 's the thing
	Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

	[Exit]




	HAMLET


ACT III



SCENE I	A room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS,
	OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 GERTRUDE	                  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 GERTRUDE	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.

LORD POLONIUS	'Tis most true:
	And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
	To hear and see the matter.

KING CLAUDIUS	With all my heart; and it doth much content me
	To hear him so inclined.
	Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
	And drive his purpose on to these delights.

ROSENCRANTZ	We shall, my lord.

	[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN]

KING CLAUDIUS	                  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 behaved,
	If 't be the affliction of his love or no
	That thus he suffers for.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE]

LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage
	And pious action we do sugar o'er
	The devil himself.

KING CLAUDIUS	[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 burthen!

LORD POLONIUS	I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord.

	[Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised love, the law's delay,
	The insolence of office and the spurns
	That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
	When he himself might his quietus make
	With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
	To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
	But that the dread of something after death,
	The 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 composed
	As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,
	Take these again; for to the noble mind
	Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
	There, my lord.

HAMLET	Ha, ha! are you honest?

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 no where 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
	has given you one face, and you make yourselves
	another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and
	nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness
	your 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;
	The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
	The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
	The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
	And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
	That 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,
	To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

	[Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS]

KING CLAUDIUS	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?

LORD 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 placed, so please you, in the ear
	Of all their conference. If she find him not,
	To England send him, or confine him where
	Your wisdom best shall think.

KING CLAUDIUS	It shall be so:
	Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.

	[Exeunt]




	HAMLET


ACT III



SCENE II	A hall in the castle.


	[Enter HAMLET and 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,
	the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget
	a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it
	offends me to the soul to hear a 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not
	the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed that indifferently with us,
	sir.

HAMLET	O, reform it altogether. And let those that play
	your clowns speak no more than is set down for them;
	for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to
	set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh
	too; though, in the mean time, some necessary
	question of the play be then to be considered:
	that's villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition
	in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.

	[Exeunt Players]

	[Enter POLONIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN]

	How now, my lord! I will the king hear this piece of work?

LORD POLONIUS	And the queen too, and that presently.

HAMLET	Bid the players make haste.

	[Exit POLONIUS]

	Will you two help to hasten them?


ROSENCRANTZ	|
	|  We will, my lord.
GUILDENSTERN	|


	[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 coped withal.

HORATIO	O, my dear lord,--

HAMLET	                  Nay, do not think I flatter;
	For what advancement may I hope from thee
	That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,
	To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be 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 blest are those
	Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
	That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
	To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
	That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
	In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
	As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--
	There is a play to-night before the king;
	One scene of it comes near the circumstance
	Which I have told thee of my father's death:
	I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,
	Even with the very comment of thy soul
	Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt
	Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
	It is a damned ghost that we have seen,
	And my imaginations are as foul
	As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;
	For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
	And after we will both our judgments join
	In censure of his seeming.

HORATIO	Well, my lord:
	If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
	And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.

HAMLET	They are coming to the play; I must be idle:
	Get you a place.

	[Danish march. A flourish. Enter KING CLAUDIUS,
	QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ,
	GUILDENSTERN, and others]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words
	are not mine.

HAMLET	No, nor mine now.

	[To POLONIUS]

	My lord, you played once i' the university, you say?

LORD POLONIUS	That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor.

HAMLET	What did you enact?

LORD POLONIUS	I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the
	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 GERTRUDE	Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

HAMLET	No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.

LORD POLONIUS	[To KING CLAUDIUS]  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 these 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.'

	[Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's
	ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King
	dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner,
	with some two or three Mutes, comes in again,
	seeming to lament with her. The dead body is
	carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with
	gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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.

	[Exit]

HAMLET	Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

OPHELIA	'Tis brief, my lord.

HAMLET	As woman's love.

	[Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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	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 GERTRUDE	The lady protests too much, methinks.

HAMLET	O, but she'll keep her word.

KING CLAUDIUS	Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't?

HAMLET	No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence
	i' the world.

KING CLAUDIUS	What do you call the play?

HAMLET	The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play
	is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is
	the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see
	anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what o'
	that? your majesty and we that have free souls, it
	touches us not: let the galled jade wince, our
	withers are unwrung.

	[Enter LUCIANUS]

	This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.

OPHELIA	You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His
	name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in
	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 GERTRUDE	How fares my lord?

LORD POLONIUS	Give o'er the play.

KING CLAUDIUS	Give me some light: away!

All	Lights, lights, lights!

	[Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO]

HAMLET	     Why, let the stricken 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, perdy.
	Come, some music!

	[Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her
	into amazement and admiration.

HAMLET	O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But
	is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's
	admiration? Impart.

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	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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb
	is something musty.

	[Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you
	cannot play upon me.

	[Enter POLONIUS]

	God bless you, sir!

LORD 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?

LORD POLONIUS	By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.

HAMLET	Methinks it is like a weasel.

LORD POLONIUS	It is backed like a weasel.

HAMLET	Or like a whale?

LORD POLONIUS	Very like a whale.

HAMLET	Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool
	me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by.

LORD POLONIUS	I will say so.

HAMLET	By and by is easily said.

	[Exit POLONIUS]

	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 soever she be shent,
	To give them seals never, my soul, consent!

	[Exit]



	HAMLET


ACT III



SCENE III	A room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,
	Each small annexment, petty consequence,
	Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone
	Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.

KING CLAUDIUS	Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
	For we will fetters put upon this fear,
	Which now goes too free-footed.


ROSENCRANTZ	|
	|	We will haste us.
GUILDENSTERN	|


	[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN]

	[Enter POLONIUS]

LORD POLONIUS	My lord, he's going to his mother's closet:
	Behind the arras I'll convey myself,
	To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS	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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent?
	O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
	O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
	Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay!
	Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel,
	Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged,
	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 the 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]

KING CLAUDIUS	[Rising]  My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:
	Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

	[Exit]




	HAMLET


ACT III



SCENE IV	The Queen's closet.


	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET and POLONIUS]

LORD 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 sconce me even here.
	Pray you, be round with him.

HAMLET	[Within]  Mother, mother, mother!

QUEEN GERTRUDE	I'll warrant you,
	Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.

	[POLONIUS hides behind the arras]

	[Enter HAMLET]

HAMLET	Now, mother, what's the matter?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.

HAMLET	Mother, you have my father much offended.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.

HAMLET	Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Why, how now, Hamlet!

HAMLET	What's the matter now?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
	Help, help, ho!

LORD POLONIUS	[Behind]  What, ho! help, help, help!

HAMLET	[Drawing]  How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!

	[Makes a pass through the arras]

LORD POLONIUS	[Behind]  O, I am slain!

	[Falls and dies]

QUEEN GERTRUDE	O me, what hast thou done?

HAMLET	Nay, I know not:
	Is it the king?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	As kill a king!

HAMLET	                  Ay, lady, 'twas my word.

	[Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so
	That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
	In noise so rude against me?

HAMLET	Such an act
	That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
	Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
	From the fair forehead of an innocent love
	And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
	As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
	As from the body of contraction plucks
	The very soul, and sweet religion makes
	A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
	Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
	With tristful visage, as against the doom,
	Is thought-sick at the act.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Ay me, what act,
	That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?

HAMLET	Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
	The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
	See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
	Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
	An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
	A station like the herald Mercury
	New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
	A combination and a form indeed,
	Where every god did seem to set his seal,
	To give the world assurance of a man:
	This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
	Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
	Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
	Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
	And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
	You cannot call it love; for at your age
	The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
	And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
	Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
	Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
	Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
	Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
	But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	Alas, he's mad!

HAMLET	Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
	That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
	The important acting of your dread command? O, say!

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 GERTRUDE	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 hair, like life in excrements,
	Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE	To whom do you speak this?

HAMLET	Do you see nothing there?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.

HAMLET	Nor did you nothing hear?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	No, nothing but ourselves.

HAMLET	Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
	My father, in his habit as he lived!
	Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!

	[Exit Ghost]

QUEEN GERTRUDE	This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE	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 devil, 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 to-night,
	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 [         ] the devil, or throw him out
	With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
	And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
	I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,

	[Pointing to POLONIUS]

	I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE	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 engineer
	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.

	[Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS]




	HAMLET


ACT IV



SCENE I	A room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ,
	and GUILDENSTERN]

KING CLAUDIUS	There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves:
	You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them.
	Where is your son?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Bestow this place on us a little while.

	[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN]

	Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!

KING CLAUDIUS	What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 CLAUDIUS	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 every one.
	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 GERTRUDE	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 CLAUDIUS	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 [                ]
	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]




	HAMLET


ACT IV



SCENE II	Another room in the castle.


	[Enter HAMLET]

HAMLET	Safely stowed.


ROSENCRANTZ:	|
	|   [Within]  Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!
GUILDENSTERN:	|


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]




	HAMLET


ACT IV



SCENE III	Another room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, attended]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 loved of the distracted multitude,
	Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
	And where tis so, the 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 relieved,
	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 CLAUDIUS	But where is he?

ROSENCRANTZ	Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.

KING CLAUDIUS	Bring him before us.

ROSENCRANTZ	Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.

	[Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN]

KING CLAUDIUS	Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?

HAMLET	At supper.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	Alas, alas!

HAMLET	A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a
	king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.

KING CLAUDIUS	What dost you mean by this?

HAMLET	Nothing but to show you how a king may go a
	progress through the guts of a beggar.

KING CLAUDIUS	Where is Polonius?

HAMLET	In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger
	find him not there, seek him i' the other place
	yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within
	this month, you shall nose him as you go up the
	stairs into the lobby.

KING CLAUDIUS	Go seek him there.

	[To some Attendants]

HAMLET	He will stay till ye come.

	[Exeunt Attendants]

KING CLAUDIUS	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,
	The associates tend, and every thing is bent
	For England.

HAMLET	                  For England!

KING CLAUDIUS	Ay, Hamlet.

HAMLET	Good.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
	Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:
	Away! for every thing is seal'd and done
	That else leans on the 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 congruing 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]




	HAMLET


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A plain in Denmark.


	[Enter FORTINBRAS, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching]

PRINCE FORTINBRAS	Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king;
	Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras
	Craves the conveyance of a promised 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.

PRINCE FORTINBRAS	Go softly on.

	[Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers]

	[Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others]

HAMLET	Good sir, whose powers are these?

Captain	They are of Norway, sir.

HAMLET	How purposed, sir, I pray you?

Captain	Against some part of Poland.

HAMLET	Who commands them, sir?

Captain	The nephews 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 the 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 be wi' you, sir.

	[Exit]

ROSENCRANTZ	Wilt please you go, my lord?

HAMLET	I'll be with you straight go a little before.

	[Exeunt all except 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 god-like reason
	To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
	Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
	Of thinking too precisely on the 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 egg-shell. 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]




	HAMLET


ACT IV


SCENE V	Elsinore. A room in the castle.


	[Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE, HORATIO, and a Gentleman]

QUEEN GERTRUDE	I will not speak with her.

Gentleman	She is importunate, indeed distract:
	Her mood will needs be pitied.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	What would she have?

Gentleman	She speaks much of her father; says she hears
	There's tricks i' the 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.

HORATIO	'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
	Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Let her come in.

	[Exit HORATIO]

	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.

	[Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA]

OPHELIA	Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	Nay, but, Ophelia,--

OPHELIA	Pray you, mark.

	[Sings]

	White his shroud as the mountain snow,--

	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS]

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Alas, look here, my lord.

OPHELIA	[Sings]

	Larded with sweet flowers
	Which bewept to the grave did go
	With true-love showers.

KING CLAUDIUS	How do you, pretty lady?

OPHELIA	Well, God 'ild 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 CLAUDIUS	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]

	To-morrow 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 CLAUDIUS	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 promised me to wed.
	So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
	An thou hadst not come to my bed.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 should lay him
	i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of it:
	and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my
	coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies;
	good night, good night.

	[Exit]

KING CLAUDIUS	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 judgment,
	Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:
	Last, and as much containing as all these,
	Her brother is in secret come from France;
	Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
	And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
	With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
	Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
	Will nothing stick our person to arraign
	In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
	Like to a murdering-piece, in many places
	Gives me superfluous death.

	[A noise within]

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Alack, what noise is this?

KING CLAUDIUS	Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.

	[Enter another 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 officers. 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 GERTRUDE	How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
	O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

KING CLAUDIUS	The doors are broke.

	[Noise within]

	[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 GERTRUDE	                  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 CLAUDIUS	                  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 incensed. Let him go, Gertrude.
	Speak, man.

LAERTES	Where is my father?

KING CLAUDIUS	Dead.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	But not by him.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 revenged
	Most thoroughly for my father.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	Good Laertes,
	If you desire to know the certainty
	Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge,
	That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
	Winner and loser?

LAERTES	None but his enemies.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	Why, now you speak
	Like a good child and a true gentleman.
	That I am guiltless of your father's death,
	And am most sensible in grief for it,
	It shall as level to your judgment pierce
	As day does to your eye.

Danes	[Within]                Let her come in.

LAERTES	How now! what noise is that?

	[Re-enter OPHELIA]

	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 moral 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 barefaced on the bier;
	Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
	And in 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	[Sings]

	You must sing a-down a-down,
	An 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-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with
	a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you
	some violets, but they withered all when my father
	died: they say he made a good end,--

	[Sings]

	For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

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 be wi' ye.

	[Exit]

LAERTES	Do you see this, O God?

KING CLAUDIUS	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 can 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 funeral--
	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 CLAUDIUS	So you shall;
	And where the offence is let the great axe fall.
	I pray you, go with me.

	[Exeunt]




	HAMLET


ACT IV



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, an't please him. There's a letter for
	you, sir; it comes from the 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 speed 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 make you way for these your letters;
	And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
	To him from whom you brought them.

	[Exeunt]




	HAMLET


ACT IV


SCENE VII	Another room in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS and LAERTES]

KING CLAUDIUS	Now must your conscience my acquaintance 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
	Pursued 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 CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	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 loved 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 CLAUDIUS	From Hamlet! who brought them?

Messenger	Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:
	They were given me by Claudio; he received them
	Of him that brought them.

KING CLAUDIUS	Laertes, you shall hear them. Leave us.

	[Exit Messenger]

	[Reads]

	'High and mighty, You shall know I am set naked on
	your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see
	your kingly eyes: when I shall, first asking your
	pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden
	and more strange return.                  'HAMLET.'
	What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
	Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?

LAERTES	Know you the hand?

KING CLAUDIUS	'Tis Hamlets character. 'Naked!
	And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'
	Can you advise me?

LAERTES	I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come;
	It warms the very sickness in my heart,
	That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
	'Thus didest thou.'

KING CLAUDIUS	If it be so, Laertes--
	As how should it be so? how otherwise?--
	Will you be ruled by me?

LAERTES	Ay, my lord;
	So you will not o'errule me to a peace.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 of blame shall breathe,
	But even his mother shall uncharge the practise
	And call it accident.

LAERTES	My lord, I will be ruled;
	The rather, if you could devise it so
	That I might be the organ.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	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 served 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 he had been incorpsed and demi-natured
	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 CLAUDIUS	A Norman.

LAERTES	Upon my life, Lamond.

KING CLAUDIUS	The very same.

LAERTES	I know him well: he is the brooch indeed
	And gem of all the nation.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
	If you opposed 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 CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	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 plurisy,
	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' the 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' the church.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 practise
	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
	That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
	With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
	It may be death.

KING CLAUDIUS	                  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 should 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 prepared 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 GERTRUDE]

		      How now, sweet queen!

QUEEN GERTRUDE	One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
	So fast they follow; your sister's drown'd, Laertes.

LAERTES	Drown'd! O, where?

QUEEN GERTRUDE	There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
	That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
	There with fantastic garlands did she come
	Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
	That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
	But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
	There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
	Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
	When down her weedy trophies and herself
	Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
	And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
	Which time she chanted 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 GERTRUDE	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 CLAUDIUS	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]




	HAMLET


ACT V



SCENE I	A churchyard.


	[Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c]

First Clown	Is she to be buried in Christian burial that
	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, 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
	gentleman 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 digged:'
	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 in: 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 that he makes last till
	doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a
	stoup of liquor.

	[Exit Second Clown]

	[He digs and sings]

	In youth, when I did love, did love,
	Methought it was very sweet,
	To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,
	O, methought, there was nothing meet.

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 shipped me intil the land,
	As if I had never been such.

	[Throws up a skull]

HAMLET	That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once:
	how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were
	Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It
	might be the pate of a politician, which this ass
	now o'er-reaches; 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 mazzard 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 loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on't.

First Clown: [Sings]

	A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
	For and a shrouding sheet:
	O, a pit of clay for to be made
	For such a guest is meet.

	[Throws up another skull]

HAMLET	There's another: why may not that be the skull of a
	lawyer? Where be his quiddities 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 hardly 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 sheepskins?

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, sirrah?

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 it is not
	yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.

HAMLET	'Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine:
	'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

First Clown	'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away gain, 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 a note of
	it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the
	peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he
	gaffs his kibe. How long hast thou been a
	grave-maker?

First Clown	Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day
	that our last king Hamlet overcame 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, a 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' the earth ere he rot?

First Clown	I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die--as we
	have many pocky corses now-a-days, 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 tanned 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 has 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' poured 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 rims at
	it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
	not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
	gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
	that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
	now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
	Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
	her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
	come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell
	me one thing.

HORATIO	What's that, my lord?

HAMLET	Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i'
	the earth?

HORATIO	E'en so.

HAMLET	And smelt so? pah!

	[Puts 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 to expel the winter flaw!
	But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.

	[Enter Priest, &c. in procession; the Corpse of
	OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING
	CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, their trains, &c]

	The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow?
	And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
	The corse they follow did with desperate hand
	Fordo its 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?

First Priest	Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
	As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful;
	And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
	She should in ground unsanctified have lodged
	Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers,
	Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her;
	Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,
	Her maiden strewments and the bringing home
	Of bell and burial.

LAERTES	Must there no more be done?

First Priest	No more be done:
	We should profane the service of the dead
	To sing a requiem and such rest to her
	As to peace-parted souls.

LAERTES	Lay her i' the earth:
	And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
	May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
	A ministering angel shall my sister be,
	When thou liest howling.

HAMLET	What, the fair Ophelia!

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

	[Scattering flowers]

	I hoped 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
	Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
	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 wandering stars, and makes them stand
	Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
	Hamlet the Dane.

	[Leaps into the grave]

LAERTES	                  The devil take thy soul!

	[Grappling with him]

HAMLET	Thou pray'st not well.
	I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
	For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
	Yet have I something in me dangerous,
	Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand.

KING CLAUDIUS	Pluck them asunder.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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 GERTRUDE	O my son, what theme?

HAMLET	I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers
	Could not, with all their quantity of love,
	Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

KING CLAUDIUS	O, he is mad, Laertes.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	For love of God, forbear him.

HAMLET	'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do:
	Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?
	Woo'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 GERTRUDE	This is mere madness:
	And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
	Anon, as patient as the female dove,
	When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
	His silence will sit drooping.

HAMLET	Hear you, sir;
	What is the reason that you use me thus?
	I loved you ever: but it is no matter;
	Let Hercules himself do what he may,
	The cat will mew and dog will have his day.

	[Exit]

KING CLAUDIUS	I pray you, 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]



	HAMLET


ACT V



SCENE II	A hall in the castle.


	[Enter HAMLET and HORATIO]

HAMLET	So much for this, sir: now shall you 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 mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,
	And praised be rashness for it, let us know,
	Our indiscretion sometimes 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
	Groped 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,--
	O 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 be-netted round with villanies,--
	Ere I could make a prologue to my brains,
	They had begun the play--I sat me down,
	Devised 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 stiff 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 knowing 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 form of the other,
	Subscribed it, gave't the impression, placed 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, think'st thee, stand me now upon--
	He that hath kill'd my king and whored my mother,
	Popp'd in between the 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 towering 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 water-fly?

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, sir, with all diligence of
	spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head.

OSRIC	I thank your lordship, it is very hot.

HAMLET	No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is
	northerly.

OSRIC	It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.

HAMLET	But yet 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, good my lord; 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 the 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 wagered with him six Barbary
	horses: against the which he has imponed, as I take
	it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their
	assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so: three of the
	carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very
	responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages,
	and of very liberal conceit.

HAMLET	What call you the carriages?

HORATIO	I knew you must be edified by the margent 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 'imponed,' as you call it?

OSRIC	The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes
	between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you
	three hits: he hath laid on twelve for nine; and it
	would come to 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, 'tis 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 an 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 sucked it.
	Thus has he--and many more of the same bevy that I
	know the dressy age dotes on--only got the tune of
	the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of
	yesty collection, which carries them through and
	through the most fond 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 purpose; 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 practise: 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 any thing, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, LAERTES,
	Lords, OSRIC, and Attendants with foils, &c]

KING CLAUDIUS	Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

	[KING CLAUDIUS puts LAERTES' hand into HAMLET's]

HAMLET	Give me your pardon, sir: I've 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 purposed evil
	Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,
	That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
	And hurt my brother.

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 ungored. 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' the darkest night,
	Stick fiery off indeed.

LAERTES	You mock me, sir.

HAMLET	No, by this hand.

KING CLAUDIUS	Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,
	You know the wager?

HAMLET	Very well, my lord
	Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side.

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS	Set me the stoops 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 dunks to Hamlet.' Come, begin:
	And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.

HAMLET	Come on, sir.

LAERTES	                  Come, my lord.

	[They play]

HAMLET	One.

LAERTES	No.

HAMLET	Judgment.

OSRIC	A hit, a very palpable hit.

LAERTES	Well; again.

KING CLAUDIUS	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. Come.

	[They play]

	Another hit; what say you?

LAERTES	A touch, a touch, I do confess.

KING CLAUDIUS	Our son shall win.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	                  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 CLAUDIUS	          Gertrude, do not drink.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me.

KING CLAUDIUS	[Aside]  It is the poison'd cup: it is too late.

HAMLET	I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	Come, let me wipe thy face.

LAERTES	My lord, I'll hit him now.

KING CLAUDIUS	I do not think't.

LAERTES	[Aside]  And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.

HAMLET	Come, for the third, Laertes: you but dally;
	I pray you, pass with your best violence;
	I am afeard you make a wanton of me.

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 CLAUDIUS	Part them; they are incensed.

HAMLET	Nay, come, again.

	[QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 mine own springe, Osric;
	I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.

HAMLET	How does the queen?

KING CLAUDIUS	She swounds to see them bleed.

QUEEN GERTRUDE	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	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 practise
	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 KING CLAUDIUS]

All	Treason! treason!

KING CLAUDIUS	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 CLAUDIUS dies]

LAERTES	                  He is justly served;
	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 livest; 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 thou'rt 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 the 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]

PRINCE FORTINBRAS	Where is this sight?

HORATIO	What is it ye would see?
	If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

PRINCE 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 the 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 arrived give order that these bodies
	High on a stage be placed to the view;
	And let me speak to the yet unknowing world
	How these things came about: so shall you hear
	Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,
	Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,
	Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,
	And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
	Fall'n on the inventors' reads: all this can I
	Truly deliver.

PRINCE 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.

PRINCE FORTINBRAS	Let four captains
	Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
	For he was likely, had he been put on,
	To have proved 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 dead
	bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off]
	JULIUS CAESAR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


JULIUS CAESAR	(CAESAR:)


OCTAVIUS CAESAR	(OCTAVIUS:)	|
		|
MARCUS ANTONIUS	(ANTONY:)	|  triumvirs after death of Julius Caesar.
		|
M. AEMILIUS		|
LEPIDUS	(LEPIDUS:)	|


CICERO		|
		|
PUBLIUS		|  senators.
		|
POPILIUS LENA	(POPILIUS:)	|


MARCUS BRUTUS	(BRUTUS:)	|
		|
CASSIUS		|
		|
CASCA		|
		|
TREBONIUS		|
		|   conspirators against Julius Caesar.
LIGARIUS		|
		|
DECIUS BRUTUS		|
		|
METELLUS CIMBER		|
		|
CINNA		|


FLAVIUS	|
	|   tribunes.
MARULLUS	|


ARTEMIDORUS
Of Cnidos	a teacher of rhetoric. (ARTEMIDORUS:)

A Soothsayer	(Soothsayer:)

CINNA	a poet. (CINNA THE POET:)

Another Poet	(Poet:)


LUCILIUS		|
		|
TITINIUS		|
		|
MESSALA		|  friends to Brutus and Cassius.
		|
Young CATO	(CATO:)	|
		|
VOLUMNIUS		|


VARRO	|
	|
CLITUS	|
	|
CLAUDIUS	|
	|  servants to Brutus.
STRATO	|
	|
LUCIUS	|
	|
DARDANIUS	|


PINDARUS	servant to Cassius.

CALPURNIA	wife to Caesar.

PORTIA	wife to Brutus.

	Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(Fourth Citizen:)
	(First Commoner:)
	(Second Commoner:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Second Soldier:)
	(Third Soldier:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: the neighbourhood
	of Philippi.




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT I



SCENE I	Rome. A street.


	[Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners]

FLAVIUS	Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home:
	Is this a holiday? what! know you not,
	Being mechanical, you ought not walk
	Upon a labouring day without the sign
	Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

First Commoner	Why, sir, a carpenter.

MARULLUS	Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
	What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
	You, sir, what trade are you?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but,
	as you would say, a cobbler.

MARULLUS	But what trade art thou? answer me directly.

Second Commoner	A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
	conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

MARULLUS	What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

Second Commoner	Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,
	if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

MARULLUS	What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!

Second Commoner	Why, sir, cobble you.

FLAVIUS	Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I
	meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's
	matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon
	to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I
	recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon
	neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.

FLAVIUS	But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
	Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself
	into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday,
	to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.

MARULLUS	Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
	What tributaries follow him to Rome,
	To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
	You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
	O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
	Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
	Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
	To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
	Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
	The livelong day, with patient expectation,
	To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
	And when you saw his chariot but appear,
	Have you not made an universal shout,
	That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
	To hear the replication of your sounds
	Made in her concave shores?
	And do you now put on your best attire?
	And do you now cull out a holiday?
	And do you now strew flowers in his way
	That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone!
	Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
	Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
	That needs must light on this ingratitude.

FLAVIUS	Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
	Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
	Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
	Into the channel, till the lowest stream
	Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

	[Exeunt all the Commoners]

	See whether their basest metal be not moved;
	They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
	Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
	This way will I	disrobe the images,
	If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

MARULLUS	May we do so?
	You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

FLAVIUS	It is no matter; let no images
	Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about,
	And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
	So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
	These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
	Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
	Who else would soar above the view of men
	And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT I



SCENE II	A public place.



	[Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course;
	CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS,
	CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among
	them a Soothsayer]

CAESAR	Calpurnia!

CASCA	         Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

CAESAR	Calpurnia!

CALPURNIA	Here, my lord.

CAESAR	Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
	When he doth run his course. Antonius!

ANTONY	Caesar, my lord?

CAESAR	Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
	To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,
	The barren, touched in this holy chase,
	Shake off their sterile curse.

ANTONY	I shall remember:
	When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd.

CAESAR	Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

	[Flourish]

Soothsayer	Caesar!

CAESAR	Ha! who calls?

CASCA	Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!

CAESAR	Who is it in the press that calls on me?
	I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
	Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.

Soothsayer	Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	What man is that?

BRUTUS	A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	Set him before me; let me see his face.

CASSIUS	Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

CAESAR	What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.

Soothsayer	Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

	[Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS]

CASSIUS	Will you go see the order of the course?

BRUTUS	Not I.

CASSIUS	I pray you, do.

BRUTUS	I am not gamesome: I do lack some part
	Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
	Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
	I'll leave you.

CASSIUS	Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
	I have not from your eyes that gentleness
	And show of love as I was wont to have:
	You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
	Over your friend that loves you.

BRUTUS	Cassius,
	Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
	I turn the trouble of my countenance
	Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
	Of late with passions of some difference,
	Conceptions only proper to myself,
	Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
	But let not therefore my good friends be grieved--
	Among which number, Cassius, be you one--
	Nor construe any further my neglect,
	Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
	Forgets the shows of love to other men.

CASSIUS	Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
	By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
	Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
	Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

BRUTUS	No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
	But by reflection, by some other things.

CASSIUS	'Tis just:
	And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
	That you have no such mirrors as will turn
	Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
	That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
	Where many of the best respect in Rome,
	Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
	And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
	Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

BRUTUS	Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
	That you would have me seek into myself
	For that which is not in me?

CASSIUS	Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:
	And since you know you cannot see yourself
	So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
	Will modestly discover to yourself
	That of yourself which you yet know not of.
	And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:
	Were I a common laugher, or did use
	To stale with ordinary oaths my love
	To every new protester; if you know
	That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
	And after scandal them, or if you know
	That I profess myself in banqueting
	To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

	[Flourish, and shout]

BRUTUS	What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
	Choose Caesar for their king.

CASSIUS	Ay, do you fear it?
	Then must I think you would not have it so.

BRUTUS	I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.
	But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
	What is it that you would impart to me?
	If it be aught toward the general good,
	Set honour in one eye and death i' the other,
	And I will look on both indifferently,
	For let the gods so speed me as I love
	The name of honour more than I fear death.

CASSIUS	I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
	As well as I do know your outward favour.
	Well, honour is the subject of my story.
	I cannot tell what you and other men
	Think of this life; but, for my single self,
	I had as lief not be as live to be
	In awe of such a thing as I myself.
	I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
	We both have fed as well, and we can both
	Endure the winter's cold as well as he:
	For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
	The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
	Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now
	Leap in with me into this angry flood,
	And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word,
	Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
	And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
	The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
	With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
	And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
	But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
	Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!'
	I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,
	Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
	The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
	Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
	Is now become a god, and Cassius is
	A wretched creature and must bend his body,
	If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
	He had a fever when he was in Spain,
	And when the fit was on him, I did mark
	How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
	His coward lips did from their colour fly,
	And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
	Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:
	Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
	Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
	Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,'
	As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me
	A man of such a feeble temper should
	So get the start of the majestic world
	And bear the palm alone.

	[Shout. Flourish]

BRUTUS	Another general shout!
	I do believe that these applauses are
	For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar.

CASSIUS	Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
	Like a Colossus, and we petty men
	Walk under his huge legs and peep about
	To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
	Men at some time are masters of their fates:
	The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
	But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
	Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'?
	Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
	Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
	Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
	Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
	Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.
	Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
	Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
	That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
	Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
	When went there by an age, since the great flood,
	But it was famed with more than with one man?
	When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome,
	That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
	Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,
	When there is in it but one only man.
	O, you and I have heard our fathers say,
	There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
	The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
	As easily as a king.

BRUTUS	That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
	What you would work me to, I have some aim:
	How I have thought of this and of these times,
	I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
	I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
	Be any further moved. What you have said
	I will consider; what you have to say
	I will with patience hear, and find a time
	Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
	Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
	Brutus had rather be a villager
	Than to repute himself a son of Rome
	Under these hard conditions as this time
	Is like to lay upon us.

CASSIUS	I am glad that my weak words
	Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.

BRUTUS	The games are done and Caesar is returning.

CASSIUS	As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;
	And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
	What hath proceeded worthy note to-day.

	[Re-enter CAESAR and his Train]

BRUTUS	I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,
	The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,
	And all the rest look like a chidden train:
	Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
	Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
	As we have seen him in the Capitol,
	Being cross'd in conference by some senators.

CASSIUS	Casca will tell us what the matter is.

CAESAR	Antonius!

ANTONY	Caesar?

CAESAR	Let me have men about me that are fat;
	Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights:
	Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
	He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

ANTONY	Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous;
	He is a noble Roman and well given.

CAESAR	Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
	Yet if my name were liable to fear,
	I do not know the man I should avoid
	So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
	He is a great observer and he looks
	Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
	As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
	Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
	As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit
	That could be moved to smile at any thing.
	Such men as he be never at heart's ease
	Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
	And therefore are they very dangerous.
	I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
	Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
	Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
	And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.

	[Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA]

CASCA	You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

BRUTUS	Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day,
	That Caesar looks so sad.

CASCA	Why, you were with him, were you not?

BRUTUS	I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.

CASCA	Why, there was a crown offered him: and being
	offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand,
	thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.

BRUTUS	What was the second noise for?

CASCA	Why, for that too.

CASSIUS	They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?

CASCA	Why, for that too.

BRUTUS	Was the crown offered him thrice?

CASCA	Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every
	time gentler than other, and at every putting-by
	mine honest neighbours shouted.

CASSIUS	Who offered him the crown?

CASCA	Why, Antony.

BRUTUS	Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

CASCA	I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it:
	it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark
	Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown
	neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told
	you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my
	thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he
	offered it to him again; then he put it by again:
	but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his
	fingers off it. And then he offered it the third
	time; he put it the third time by: and still as he
	refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their
	chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps
	and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because
	Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked
	Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and
	for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of
	opening my lips and receiving the bad air.

CASSIUS	But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound?

CASCA	He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at
	mouth, and was speechless.

BRUTUS	'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness.

CASSIUS	No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I,
	And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.

CASCA	I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure,
	Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not
	clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and
	displeased them, as they use to do the players in
	the theatre, I am no true man.

BRUTUS	What said he when he came unto himself?

CASCA	Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the
	common herd was glad he refused the crown, he
	plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his
	throat to cut. An I had been a man of any
	occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word,
	I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so
	he fell. When he came to himself again, he said,
	If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired
	their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three
	or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good
	soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but
	there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had
	stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less.

BRUTUS	And after that, he came, thus sad, away?

CASCA	Ay.

CASSIUS	Did Cicero say any thing?

CASCA	Ay, he spoke Greek.

CASSIUS	To what effect?

CASCA	Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the
	face again: but those that understood him smiled at
	one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own
	part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more
	news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs
	off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you
	well. There was more foolery yet, if I could
	remember it.

CASSIUS	Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?

CASCA	No, I am promised forth.

CASSIUS	Will you dine with me to-morrow?

CASCA	Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner
	worth the eating.

CASSIUS	Good: I will expect you.

CASCA	Do so. Farewell, both.

	[Exit]

BRUTUS	What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
	He was quick mettle when he went to school.

CASSIUS	So is he now in execution
	Of any bold or noble enterprise,
	However he puts on this tardy form.
	This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
	Which gives men stomach to digest his words
	With better appetite.

BRUTUS	And so it is. For this time I will leave you:
	To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,
	I will come home to you; or, if you will,
	Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

CASSIUS	I will do so: till then, think of the world.

	[Exit BRUTUS]

	Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see,
	Thy honourable metal may be wrought
	From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet
	That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
	For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
	Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus:
	If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius,
	He should not humour me. I will this night,
	In several hands, in at his windows throw,
	As if they came from several citizens,
	Writings all tending to the great opinion
	That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely
	Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at:
	And after this let Caesar seat him sure;
	For we will shake him, or worse days endure.

	[Exit]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT I



SCENE III	The same. A street.




	[Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides,
	CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO]

CICERO	Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home?
	Why are you breathless? and why stare you so?

CASCA	Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth
	Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,
	I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
	Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
	The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,
	To be exalted with the threatening clouds:
	But never till to-night, never till now,
	Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
	Either there is a civil strife in heaven,
	Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,
	Incenses them to send destruction.

CICERO	Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?

CASCA	A common slave--you know him well by sight--
	Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn
	Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand,
	Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
	Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword--
	Against the Capitol I met a lion,
	Who glared upon me, and went surly by,
	Without annoying me: and there were drawn
	Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women,
	Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw
	Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.
	And yesterday the bird of night did sit
	Even at noon-day upon the market-place,
	Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies
	Do so conjointly meet, let not men say
	'These are their reasons; they are natural;'
	For, I believe, they are portentous things
	Unto the climate that they point upon.

CICERO	Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time:
	But men may construe things after their fashion,
	Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
	Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow?

CASCA	He doth; for he did bid Antonius
	Send word to you he would be there to-morrow.

CICERO	Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky
	Is not to walk in.

CASCA	Farewell, Cicero.

	[Exit CICERO]

	[Enter CASSIUS]

CASSIUS	Who's there?

CASCA	                  A Roman.

CASSIUS	Casca, by your voice.

CASCA	Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!

CASSIUS	A very pleasing night to honest men.

CASCA	Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

CASSIUS	Those that have known the earth so full of faults.
	For my part, I have walk'd about the streets,
	Submitting me unto the perilous night,
	And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,
	Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone;
	And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open
	The breast of heaven, I did present myself
	Even in the aim and very flash of it.

CASCA	But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens?
	It is the part of men to fear and tremble,
	When the most mighty gods by tokens send
	Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

CASSIUS	You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life
	That should be in a Roman you do want,
	Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze
	And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder,
	To see the strange impatience of the heavens:
	But if you would consider the true cause
	Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,
	Why birds and beasts from quality and kind,
	Why old men fool and children calculate,
	Why all these things change from their ordinance
	Their natures and preformed faculties
	To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find
	That heaven hath infused them with these spirits,
	To make them instruments of fear and warning
	Unto some monstrous state.
	Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
	Most like this dreadful night,
	That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
	As doth the lion in the Capitol,
	A man no mightier than thyself or me
	In personal action, yet prodigious grown
	And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

CASCA	'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?

CASSIUS	Let it be who it is: for Romans now
	Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors;
	But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead,
	And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits;
	Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.

CASCA	Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow
	Mean to establish Caesar as a king;
	And he shall wear his crown by sea and land,
	In every place, save here in Italy.

CASSIUS	I know where I will wear this dagger then;
	Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:
	Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;
	Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:
	Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
	Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
	Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
	But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
	Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
	If I know this, know all the world besides,
	That part of tyranny that I do bear
	I can shake off at pleasure.

	[Thunder still]

CASCA	So can I:
	So every bondman in his own hand bears
	The power to cancel his captivity.

CASSIUS	And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
	Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
	But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:
	He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
	Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
	Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome,
	What rubbish and what offal, when it serves
	For the base matter to illuminate
	So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,
	Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this
	Before a willing bondman; then I know
	My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
	And dangers are to me indifferent.

CASCA	You speak to Casca, and to such a man
	That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:
	Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
	And I will set this foot of mine as far
	As who goes farthest.

CASSIUS	There's a bargain made.
	Now know you, Casca, I have moved already
	Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
	To undergo with me an enterprise
	Of honourable-dangerous consequence;
	And I do know, by this, they stay for me
	In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night,
	There is no stir or walking in the streets;
	And the complexion of the element
	In favour's like the work we have in hand,
	Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

CASCA	Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.

CASSIUS	'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait;
	He is a friend.

	[Enter CINNA]

	Cinna, where haste you so?

CINNA	To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber?

CASSIUS	No, it is Casca; one incorporate
	To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?

CINNA	I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this!
	There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.

CASSIUS	Am I not stay'd for? tell me.

CINNA	Yes, you are.
	O Cassius, if you could
	But win the noble Brutus to our party--

CASSIUS	Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper,
	And look you lay it in the praetor's chair,
	Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
	In at his window; set this up with wax
	Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done,
	Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
	Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

CINNA	All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone
	To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
	And so bestow these papers as you bade me.

CASSIUS	That done, repair to Pompey's theatre.

	[Exit CINNA]

	Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
	See Brutus at his house: three parts of him
	Is ours already, and the man entire
	Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

CASCA	O, he sits high in all the people's hearts:
	And that which would appear offence in us,
	His countenance, like richest alchemy,
	Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

CASSIUS	Him and his worth and our great need of him
	You have right well conceited. Let us go,
	For it is after midnight; and ere day
	We will awake him and be sure of him.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT II



SCENE I	Rome. BRUTUS's orchard.


	[Enter BRUTUS]

BRUTUS	What, Lucius, ho!
	I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
	Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!
	I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
	When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!

	[Enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS	Call'd you, my lord?

BRUTUS	Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:
	When it is lighted, come and call me here.

LUCIUS	I will, my lord.

	[Exit]

BRUTUS	It must be by his death: and for my part,
	I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
	But for the general. He would be crown'd:
	How that might change his nature, there's the question.
	It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
	And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;--
	And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
	That at his will he may do danger with.
	The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
	Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,
	I have not known when his affections sway'd
	More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,
	That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
	Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
	But when he once attains the upmost round.
	He then unto the ladder turns his back,
	Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
	By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.
	Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
	Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
	Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
	Would run to these and these extremities:
	And therefore think him as a serpent's egg
	Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
	And kill him in the shell.

	[Re-enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS	The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
	Searching the window for a flint, I found
	This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure,
	It did not lie there when I went to bed.

	[Gives him the letter]

BRUTUS	Get you to bed again; it is not day.
	Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

LUCIUS	I know not, sir.

BRUTUS	Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

LUCIUS	I will, sir.

	[Exit]

BRUTUS	The exhalations whizzing in the air
	Give so much light that I may read by them.

	[Opens the letter and reads]

	'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself.
	Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!
	Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!'
	Such instigations have been often dropp'd
	Where I have took them up.
	'Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out:
	Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome?
	My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
	The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
	'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated
	To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise:
	If the redress will follow, thou receivest
	Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

	[Re-enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS	Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

	[Knocking within]

BRUTUS	'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.

	[Exit LUCIUS]

	Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
	I have not slept.
	Between the acting of a dreadful thing
	And the first motion, all the interim is
	Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
	The Genius and the mortal instruments
	Are then in council; and the state of man,
	Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
	The nature of an insurrection.

	[Re-enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS	Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
	Who doth desire to see you.

BRUTUS	Is he alone?

LUCIUS	No, sir, there are moe with him.

BRUTUS	Do you know them?

LUCIUS	No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears,
	And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
	That by no means I may discover them
	By any mark of favour.

BRUTUS	Let 'em enter.

	[Exit LUCIUS]

	They are the faction. O conspiracy,
	Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
	When evils are most free? O, then by day
	Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
	To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;
	Hide it in smiles and affability:
	For if thou path, thy native semblance on,
	Not Erebus itself were dim enough
	To hide thee from prevention.

	[Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS
	BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS]

CASSIUS	I think we are too bold upon your rest:
	Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?

BRUTUS	I have been up this hour, awake all night.
	Know I these men that come along with you?

CASSIUS	Yes, every man of them, and no man here
	But honours you; and every one doth wish
	You had but that opinion of yourself
	Which every noble Roman bears of you.
	This is Trebonius.

BRUTUS	                  He is welcome hither.

CASSIUS	This, Decius Brutus.

BRUTUS	He is welcome too.

CASSIUS	This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.

BRUTUS	They are all welcome.
	What watchful cares do interpose themselves
	Betwixt your eyes and night?

CASSIUS	Shall I entreat a word?

	[BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper]

DECIUS BRUTUS	Here lies the east: doth not the day break here?

CASCA	No.

CINNA	O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines
	That fret the clouds are messengers of day.

CASCA	You shall confess that you are both deceived.
	Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,
	Which is a great way growing on the south,
	Weighing the youthful season of the year.
	Some two months hence up higher toward the north
	He first presents his fire; and the high east
	Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

BRUTUS	Give me your hands all over, one by one.

CASSIUS	And let us swear our resolution.

BRUTUS	No, not an oath: if not the face of men,
	The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,--
	If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
	And every man hence to his idle bed;
	So let high-sighted tyranny range on,
	Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
	As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
	To kindle cowards and to steel with valour
	The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,
	What need we any spur but our own cause,
	To prick us to redress? what other bond
	Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word,
	And will not palter? and what other oath
	Than honesty to honesty engaged,
	That this shall be, or we will fall for it?
	Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
	Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
	That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
	Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain
	The even virtue of our enterprise,
	Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
	To think that or our cause or our performance
	Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
	That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
	Is guilty of a several bastardy,
	If he do break the smallest particle
	Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.

CASSIUS	But what of Cicero? shall we sound him?
	I think he will stand very strong with us.

CASCA	Let us not leave him out.

CINNA	No, by no means.

METELLUS CIMBER	O, let us have him, for his silver hairs
	Will purchase us a good opinion
	And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
	It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;
	Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
	But all be buried in his gravity.

BRUTUS	O, name him not: let us not break with him;
	For he will never follow any thing
	That other men begin.

CASSIUS	Then leave him out.

CASCA	Indeed he is not fit.

DECIUS BRUTUS	Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar?

CASSIUS	Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet,
	Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar,
	Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him
	A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
	If he improve them, may well stretch so far
	As to annoy us all: which to prevent,
	Let Antony and Caesar fall together.

BRUTUS	Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
	To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,
	Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;
	For Antony is but a limb of Caesar:
	Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
	We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;
	And in the spirit of men there is no blood:
	O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
	And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
	Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,
	Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
	Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
	Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:
	And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
	Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
	And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make
	Our purpose necessary and not envious:
	Which so appearing to the common eyes,
	We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
	And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
	For he can do no more than Caesar's arm
	When Caesar's head is off.

CASSIUS	Yet I fear him;
	For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar--

BRUTUS	Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
	If he love Caesar, all that he can do
	Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar:
	And that were much he should; for he is given
	To sports, to wildness and much company.

TREBONIUS	There is no fear in him; let him not die;
	For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.

	[Clock strikes]

BRUTUS	Peace! count the clock.

CASSIUS	The clock hath stricken three.

TREBONIUS	'Tis time to part.

CASSIUS	                  But it is doubtful yet,
	Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no;
	For he is superstitious grown of late,
	Quite from the main opinion he held once
	Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies:
	It may be, these apparent prodigies,
	The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
	And the persuasion of his augurers,
	May hold him from the Capitol to-day.

DECIUS BRUTUS	Never fear that: if he be so resolved,
	I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear
	That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
	And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
	Lions with toils and men with flatterers;
	But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
	He says he does, being then most flattered.
	Let me work;
	For I can give his humour the true bent,
	And I will bring him to the Capitol.

CASSIUS	Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

BRUTUS	By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?

CINNA	Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

METELLUS CIMBER	Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
	Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:
	I wonder none of you have thought of him.

BRUTUS	Now, good Metellus, go along by him:
	He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
	Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

CASSIUS	The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus.
	And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember
	What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.

BRUTUS	Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
	Let not our looks put on our purposes,
	But bear it as our Roman actors do,
	With untired spirits and formal constancy:
	And so good morrow to you every one.

	[Exeunt all but BRUTUS]

	Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;
	Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
	Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
	Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
	Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

	[Enter PORTIA]

PORTIA	Brutus, my lord!

BRUTUS	Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now?
	It is not for your health thus to commit
	Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.

PORTIA	Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus,
	Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,
	You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
	Musing and sighing, with your arms across,
	And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
	You stared upon me with ungentle looks;
	I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head,
	And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot;
	Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
	But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
	Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did;
	Fearing to strengthen that impatience
	Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal
	Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
	Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
	It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
	And could it work so much upon your shape
	As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
	I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
	Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

BRUTUS	I am not well in health, and that is all.

PORTIA	Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
	He would embrace the means to come by it.

BRUTUS	Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.

PORTIA	Is Brutus sick? and is it physical
	To walk unbraced and suck up the humours
	Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
	And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,
	To dare the vile contagion of the night
	And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air
	To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;
	You have some sick offence within your mind,
	Which, by the right and virtue of my place,
	I ought to know of: and, upon my knees,
	I charm you, by my once-commended beauty,
	By all your vows of love and that great vow
	Which did incorporate and make us one,
	That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
	Why you are heavy, and what men to-night
	Have had to resort to you: for here have been
	Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
	Even from darkness.

BRUTUS	Kneel not, gentle Portia.

PORTIA	I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
	Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
	Is it excepted I should know no secrets
	That appertain to you? Am I yourself
	But, as it were, in sort or limitation,
	To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
	And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs
	Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
	Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

BRUTUS	You are my true and honourable wife,
	As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
	That visit my sad heart

PORTIA	If this were true, then should I know this secret.
	I grant I am a woman; but withal
	A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife:
	I grant I am a woman; but withal
	A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.
	Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
	Being so father'd and so husbanded?
	Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em:
	I have made strong proof of my constancy,
	Giving myself a voluntary wound
	Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience.
	And not my husband's secrets?

BRUTUS	O ye gods,

	Render me worthy of this noble wife!

	[Knocking within]

	Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;
	And by and by thy bosom shall partake
	The secrets of my heart.
	All my engagements I will construe to thee,
	All the charactery of my sad brows:
	Leave me with haste.

	[Exit PORTIA]

		Lucius, who's that knocks?

	[Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS]

LUCIUS	He is a sick man that would speak with you.

BRUTUS	Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
	Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

LIGARIUS	Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

BRUTUS	O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
	To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!

LIGARIUS	I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
	Any exploit worthy the name of honour.

BRUTUS	Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
	Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

LIGARIUS	By all the gods that Romans bow before,
	I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!
	Brave son, derived from honourable loins!
	Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up
	My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,
	And I will strive with things impossible;
	Yea, get the better of them. What's to do?

BRUTUS	A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

LIGARIUS	But are not some whole that we must make sick?

BRUTUS	That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
	I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
	To whom it must be done.

LIGARIUS	Set on your foot,
	And with a heart new-fired I follow you,
	To do I know not what: but it sufficeth
	That Brutus leads me on.

BRUTUS	Follow me, then.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT II



SCENE II	CAESAR's house.


	[Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his
	night-gown]

CAESAR	Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night:
	Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,
	'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within?

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	My lord?

CAESAR	Go bid the priests do present sacrifice
	And bring me their opinions of success.

Servant	I will, my lord.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CALPURNIA]

CALPURNIA	What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth?
	You shall not stir out of your house to-day.

CAESAR	Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me
	Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see
	The face of Caesar, they are vanished.

CALPURNIA	Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies,
	Yet now they fright me. There is one within,
	Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
	Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
	A lioness hath whelped in the streets;
	And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead;
	Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,
	In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
	Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol;
	The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
	Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan,
	And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.
	O Caesar! these things are beyond all use,
	And I do fear them.

CAESAR	What can be avoided
	Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods?
	Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions
	Are to the world in general as to Caesar.

CALPURNIA	When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
	The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

CAESAR	Cowards die many times before their deaths;
	The valiant never taste of death but once.
	Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
	It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
	Seeing that death, a necessary end,
	Will come when it will come.

	[Re-enter Servant]

		       What say the augurers?

Servant	They would not have you to stir forth to-day.
	Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
	They could not find a heart within the beast.

CAESAR	The gods do this in shame of cowardice:
	Caesar should be a beast without a heart,
	If he should stay at home to-day for fear.
	No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well
	That Caesar is more dangerous than he:
	We are two lions litter'd in one day,
	And I the elder and more terrible:
	And Caesar shall go forth.

CALPURNIA	Alas, my lord,
	Your wisdom is consumed in confidence.
	Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear
	That keeps you in the house, and not your own.
	We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house:
	And he shall say you are not well to-day:
	Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.

CAESAR	Mark Antony shall say I am not well,
	And, for thy humour, I will stay at home.

	[Enter DECIUS BRUTUS]

	Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.

DECIUS BRUTUS	Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar:
	I come to fetch you to the senate-house.

CAESAR	And you are come in very happy time,
	To bear my greeting to the senators
	And tell them that I will not come to-day:
	Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser:
	I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius.

CALPURNIA	Say he is sick.

CAESAR	                  Shall Caesar send a lie?
	Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far,
	To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth?
	Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.

DECIUS BRUTUS	Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,
	Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so.

CAESAR	The cause is in my will: I will not come;
	That is enough to satisfy the senate.
	But for your private satisfaction,
	Because I love you, I will let you know:
	Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home:
	She dreamt to-night she saw my statua,
	Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts,
	Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans
	Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it:
	And these does she apply for warnings, and portents,
	And evils imminent; and on her knee
	Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day.

DECIUS BRUTUS	This dream is all amiss interpreted;
	It was a vision fair and fortunate:
	Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,
	In which so many smiling Romans bathed,
	Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
	Reviving blood, and that great men shall press
	For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance.
	This by Calpurnia's dream is signified.

CAESAR	And this way have you well expounded it.

DECIUS BRUTUS	I have, when you have heard what I can say:
	And know it now: the senate have concluded
	To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar.
	If you shall send them word you will not come,
	Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
	Apt to be render'd, for some one to say
	'Break up the senate till another time,
	When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.'
	If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper
	'Lo, Caesar is afraid'?
	Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love
	To our proceeding bids me tell you this;
	And reason to my love is liable.

CAESAR	How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia!
	I am ashamed I did yield to them.
	Give me my robe, for I will go.

	[Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA,
	TREBONIUS, and CINNA]

	And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

PUBLIUS	Good morrow, Caesar.

CAESAR	Welcome, Publius.
	What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too?
	Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,
	Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy
	As that same ague which hath made you lean.
	What is 't o'clock?

BRUTUS	Caesar, 'tis strucken eight.

CAESAR	I thank you for your pains and courtesy.

	[Enter ANTONY]

	See! Antony, that revels long o' nights,
	Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.

ANTONY	So to most noble Caesar.

CAESAR	Bid them prepare within:
	I am to blame to be thus waited for.
	Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius!
	I have an hour's talk in store for you;
	Remember that you call on me to-day:
	Be near me, that I may remember you.

TREBONIUS	Caesar, I will:

	[Aside]

	and so near will I be,
	That your best friends shall wish I had been further.

CAESAR	Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me;
	And we, like friends, will straightway go together.

BRUTUS	[Aside]  That every like is not the same, O Caesar,
	The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon!

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT II



SCENE III	A street near the Capitol.


	[Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper]

ARTEMIDORUS	'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius;
	come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not
	Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus
	loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius.
	There is but one mind in all these men, and it is
	bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal,
	look about you: security gives way to conspiracy.
	The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover,
		'ARTEMIDORUS.'
	Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,
	And as a suitor will I give him this.
	My heart laments that virtue cannot live
	Out of the teeth of emulation.
	If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live;
	If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.

	[Exit]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT II



SCENE IV	Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS.


	[Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS]

PORTIA	I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house;
	Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
	Why dost thou stay?

LUCIUS	To know my errand, madam.

PORTIA	I would have had thee there, and here again,
	Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
	O constancy, be strong upon my side,
	Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!
	I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
	How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
	Art thou here yet?

LUCIUS	                  Madam, what should I do?
	Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
	And so return to you, and nothing else?

PORTIA	Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
	For he went sickly forth: and take good note
	What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
	Hark, boy! what noise is that?

LUCIUS	I hear none, madam.

PORTIA	Prithee, listen well;
	I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,
	And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

LUCIUS	Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.

	[Enter the Soothsayer]

PORTIA	Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been?

Soothsayer	At mine own house, good lady.

PORTIA	What is't o'clock?

Soothsayer	                  About the ninth hour, lady.

PORTIA	Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?

Soothsayer	Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand,
	To see him pass on to the Capitol.

PORTIA	Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?

Soothsayer	That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar
	To be so good to Caesar as to hear me,
	I shall beseech him to befriend himself.

PORTIA	Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him?

Soothsayer	None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
	Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:
	The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
	Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
	Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:
	I'll get me to a place more void, and there
	Speak to great Caesar as he comes along.

	[Exit]

PORTIA	I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing
	The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
	The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
	Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit
	That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.
	Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;
	Say I am merry: come to me again,
	And bring me word what he doth say to thee.

	[Exeunt severally]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT III



SCENE I	Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above.


	[A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the
	Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS,
	CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER,
	TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS,
	PUBLIUS, and others]

CAESAR	[To the Soothsayer]  The ides of March are come.

Soothsayer	Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

ARTEMIDORUS	Hail, Caesar! read this schedule.

DECIUS BRUTUS	Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread,
	At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

ARTEMIDORUS	O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit
	That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar.

CAESAR	What touches us ourself shall be last served.

ARTEMIDORUS	Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly.

CAESAR	What, is the fellow mad?

PUBLIUS	Sirrah, give place.

CASSIUS	What, urge you your petitions in the street?
	Come to the Capitol.

	[CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest
	following]

POPILIUS	I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive.

CASSIUS	What enterprise, Popilius?

POPILIUS	Fare you well.

	[Advances to CAESAR]

BRUTUS	What said Popilius Lena?

CASSIUS	He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive.
	I fear our purpose is discovered.

BRUTUS	Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him.

CASSIUS	Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.
	Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,
	Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,
	For I will slay myself.

BRUTUS	Cassius, be constant:
	Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;
	For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.

CASSIUS	Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus.
	He draws Mark Antony out of the way.

	[Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS]

DECIUS BRUTUS	Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,
	And presently prefer his suit to Caesar.

BRUTUS	He is address'd: press near and second him.

CINNA	Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.

CAESAR	Are we all ready? What is now amiss
	That Caesar and his senate must redress?

METELLUS CIMBER	Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,
	Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
	An humble heart,--

	[Kneeling]

CAESAR	                  I must prevent thee, Cimber.
	These couchings and these lowly courtesies
	Might fire the blood of ordinary men,
	And turn pre-ordinance and first decree
	Into the law of children. Be not fond,
	To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood
	That will be thaw'd from the true quality
	With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words,
	Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning.
	Thy brother by decree is banished:
	If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him,
	I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
	Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause
	Will he be satisfied.

METELLUS CIMBER	Is there no voice more worthy than my own
	To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear
	For the repealing of my banish'd brother?

BRUTUS	I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;
	Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may
	Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

CAESAR	What, Brutus!

CASSIUS	                  Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon:
	As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,
	To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

CASSIUS	I could be well moved, if I were as you:
	If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
	But I am constant as the northern star,
	Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality
	There is no fellow in the firmament.
	The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks,
	They are all fire and every one doth shine,
	But there's but one in all doth hold his place:
	So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men,
	And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
	Yet in the number I do know but one
	That unassailable holds on his rank,
	Unshaked of motion: and that I am he,
	Let me a little show it, even in this;
	That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
	And constant do remain to keep him so.

CINNA	O Caesar,--

CAESAR	          Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?

DECIUS BRUTUS	Great Caesar,--

CAESAR	                  Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?

CASCA	Speak, hands for me!

	[CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and
	BRUTUS stab CAESAR]

CAESAR	Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar.

	[Dies]

CINNA	Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
	Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.

CASSIUS	Some to the common pulpits, and cry out
	'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!'

BRUTUS	People and senators, be not affrighted;
	Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid.

CASCA	Go to the pulpit, Brutus.

DECIUS BRUTUS	And Cassius too.

BRUTUS	Where's Publius?

CINNA	Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.

METELLUS CIMBER	Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's
	Should chance--

BRUTUS	Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer;
	There is no harm intended to your person,
	Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius.

CASSIUS	And leave us, Publius; lest that the people,
	Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.

BRUTUS	Do so: and let no man abide this deed,
	But we the doers.

	[Re-enter TREBONIUS]

CASSIUS	                  Where is Antony?

TREBONIUS	Fled to his house amazed:
	Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run
	As it were doomsday.

BRUTUS	Fates, we will know your pleasures:
	That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time
	And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

CASSIUS	Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life
	Cuts off so many years of fearing death.

BRUTUS	Grant that, and then is death a benefit:
	So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged
	His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,
	And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood
	Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords:
	Then walk we forth, even to the market-place,
	And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
	Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!'

CASSIUS	Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence
	Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
	In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

BRUTUS	How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,
	That now on Pompey's basis lies along
	No worthier than the dust!

CASSIUS	So oft as that shall be,
	So often shall the knot of us be call'd
	The men that gave their country liberty.

DECIUS BRUTUS	What, shall we forth?

CASSIUS	Ay, every man away:
	Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels
	With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.

	[Enter a Servant]

BRUTUS	Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's.

Servant	Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel:
	Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;
	And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:
	Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
	Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:
	Say I love Brutus, and I honour him;
	Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him.
	If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony
	May safely come to him, and be resolved
	How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death,
	Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
	So well as Brutus living; but will follow
	The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
	Thorough the hazards of this untrod state
	With all true faith. So says my master Antony.

BRUTUS	Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;
	I never thought him worse.
	Tell him, so please him come unto this place,
	He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,
	Depart untouch'd.

Servant	                  I'll fetch him presently.

	[Exit]

BRUTUS	I know that we shall have him well to friend.

CASSIUS	I wish we may: but yet have I a mind
	That fears him much; and my misgiving still
	Falls shrewdly to the purpose.

BRUTUS	But here comes Antony.

	[Re-enter ANTONY]

		 Welcome, Mark Antony.

ANTONY	O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?
	Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
	Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.
	I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
	Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
	If I myself, there is no hour so fit
	As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument
	Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
	With the most noble blood of all this world.
	I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
	Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
	Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
	I shall not find myself so apt to die:
	No place will please me so, no mean of death,
	As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,
	The choice and master spirits of this age.

BRUTUS	O Antony, beg not your death of us.
	Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
	As, by our hands and this our present act,
	You see we do, yet see you but our hands
	And this the bleeding business they have done:
	Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;
	And pity to the general wrong of Rome--
	As fire drives out fire, so pity pity--
	Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,
	To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
	Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts
	Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
	With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

CASSIUS	Your voice shall be as strong as any man's
	In the disposing of new dignities.

BRUTUS	Only be patient till we have appeased
	The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
	And then we will deliver you the cause,
	Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,
	Have thus proceeded.

ANTONY	I doubt not of your wisdom.
	Let each man render me his bloody hand:
	First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;
	Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;
	Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus;
	Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;
	Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius.
	Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say?
	My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
	That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
	Either a coward or a flatterer.
	That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true:
	If then thy spirit look upon us now,
	Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
	To see thy thy Anthony making his peace,
	Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
	Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?
	Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
	Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
	It would become me better than to close
	In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
	Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart;
	Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
	Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe.
	O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
	And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
	How like a deer, strucken by many princes,
	Dost thou here lie!

CASSIUS	Mark Antony,--

ANTONY	                  Pardon me, Caius Cassius:
	The enemies of Caesar shall say this;
	Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

CASSIUS	I blame you not for praising Caesar so;
	But what compact mean you to have with us?
	Will you be prick'd in number of our friends;
	Or shall we on, and not depend on you?

ANTONY	Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed,
	Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar.
	Friends am I with you all and love you all,
	Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons
	Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.

BRUTUS	Or else were this a savage spectacle:
	Our reasons are so full of good regard
	That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
	You should be satisfied.

ANTONY	That's all I seek:
	And am moreover suitor that I may
	Produce his body to the market-place;
	And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
	Speak in the order of his funeral.

BRUTUS	You shall, Mark Antony.

CASSIUS	Brutus, a word with you.

	[Aside to BRUTUS]

	You know not what you do: do not consent
	That Antony speak in his funeral:
	Know you how much the people may be moved
	By that which he will utter?

BRUTUS	By your pardon;
	I will myself into the pulpit first,
	And show the reason of our Caesar's death:
	What Antony shall speak, I will protest
	He speaks by leave and by permission,
	And that we are contented Caesar shall
	Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
	It shall advantage more than do us wrong.

CASSIUS	I know not what may fall; I like it not.

BRUTUS	Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body.
	You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
	But speak all good you can devise of Caesar,
	And say you do't by our permission;
	Else shall you not have any hand at all
	About his funeral: and you shall speak
	In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
	After my speech is ended.

ANTONY	Be it so.
	I do desire no more.

BRUTUS	Prepare the body then, and follow us.

	[Exeunt all but ANTONY]

ANTONY	O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
	That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
	Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
	That ever lived in the tide of times.
	Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
	Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,--
	Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
	To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue--
	A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
	Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
	Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
	Blood and destruction shall be so in use
	And dreadful objects so familiar
	That mothers shall but smile when they behold
	Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
	All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
	And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
	With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
	Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
	Cry  'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
	That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
	With carrion men, groaning for burial.

	[Enter a Servant]

	You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?

Servant	I do, Mark Antony.

ANTONY	Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.

Servant	He did receive his letters, and is coming;
	And bid me say to you by word of mouth--
	O Caesar!--

	[Seeing the body]

ANTONY	Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.
	Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,
	Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
	Began to water. Is thy master coming?

Servant	He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome.

ANTONY	Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced:
	Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
	No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
	Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile;
	Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse
	Into the market-place: there shall I try
	In my oration, how the people take
	The cruel issue of these bloody men;
	According to the which, thou shalt discourse
	To young Octavius of the state of things.
	Lend me your hand.

	[Exeunt with CAESAR's body]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT III



SCENE II	The Forum.


	[Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens]

Citizens	We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.

BRUTUS	Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.
	Cassius, go you into the other street,
	And part the numbers.
	Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here;
	Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;
	And public reasons shall be rendered
	Of Caesar's death.

First Citizen	                  I will hear Brutus speak.

Second Citizen	I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,
	When severally we hear them rendered.

	[Exit CASSIUS, with some of the Citizens. BRUTUS
	goes into the pulpit]

Third Citizen	The noble Brutus is ascended: silence!

BRUTUS	Be patient till the last.

	Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my
	cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me
	for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that
	you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and
	awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
	If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
	Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar
	was no less than his. If then that friend demand
	why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
	--Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
	Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
	die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live
	all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
	as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
	valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I
	slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his
	fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his
	ambition. Who is here so base that would be a
	bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended.
	Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If
	any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so
	vile that will not love his country? If any, speak;
	for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

All	None, Brutus, none.

BRUTUS	Then none have I offended. I have done no more to
	Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of
	his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not
	extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences
	enforced, for which he suffered death.

	[Enter ANTONY and others, with CAESAR's body]

	Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who,
	though he had no hand in his death, shall receive
	the benefit of his dying, a place in the
	commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this
	I depart,--that, as I slew my best lover for the
	good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself,
	when it shall please my country to need my death.

All	Live, Brutus! live, live!

First Citizen	Bring him with triumph home unto his house.

Second Citizen	Give him a statue with his ancestors.

Third Citizen	Let him be Caesar.

Fourth Citizen	                  Caesar's better parts
	Shall be crown'd in Brutus.

First Citizen	We'll bring him to his house
	With shouts and clamours.

BRUTUS	My countrymen,--

Second Citizen	Peace, silence! Brutus speaks.

First Citizen	Peace, ho!

BRUTUS	Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
	And, for my sake, stay here with Antony:
	Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech
	Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark Antony,
	By our permission, is allow'd to make.
	I do entreat you, not a man depart,
	Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.

	[Exit]

First Citizen	Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.

Third Citizen	Let him go up into the public chair;
	We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.

ANTONY	For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.

	[Goes into the pulpit]

Fourth Citizen	What does he say of Brutus?

Third Citizen	He says, for Brutus' sake,
	He finds himself beholding to us all.

Fourth Citizen	'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.

First Citizen	This Caesar was a tyrant.

Third Citizen	Nay, that's certain:
	We are blest that Rome is rid of him.

Second Citizen	Peace! let us hear what Antony can say.

ANTONY	You gentle Romans,--

Citizens	Peace, ho! let us hear him.

ANTONY	Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
	I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
	The evil that men do lives after them;
	The good is oft interred with their bones;
	So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
	Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
	If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
	And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
	Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
	For Brutus is an honourable man;
	So are they all, all honourable men--
	Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
	He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
	But Brutus says he was ambitious;
	And Brutus is an honourable man.
	He hath brought many captives home to Rome
	Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
	Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
	When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
	Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
	Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
	And Brutus is an honourable man.
	You all did see that on the Lupercal
	I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
	Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
	Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
	And, sure, he is an honourable man.
	I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
	But here I am to speak what I do know.
	You all did love him once, not without cause:
	What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
	O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
	And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
	My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
	And I must pause till it come back to me.

First Citizen	Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.

Second Citizen	If thou consider rightly of the matter,
	Caesar has had great wrong.

Third Citizen	Has he, masters?
	I fear there will a worse come in his place.

Fourth Citizen	Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown;
	Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious.

First Citizen	If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

Second Citizen	Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

Third Citizen	There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

Fourth Citizen	Now mark him, he begins again to speak.

ANTONY	But yesterday the word of Caesar might
	Have stood against the world; now lies he there.
	And none so poor to do him reverence.
	O masters, if I were disposed to stir
	Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
	I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
	Who, you all know, are honourable men:
	I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
	To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
	Than I will wrong such honourable men.
	But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar;
	I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:
	Let but the commons hear this testament--
	Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read--
	And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds
	And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,
	Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
	And, dying, mention it within their wills,
	Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
	Unto their issue.

Fourth Citizen	We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.

All	The will, the will! we will hear Caesar's will.

ANTONY	Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
	It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.
	You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
	And, being men, bearing the will of Caesar,
	It will inflame you, it will make you mad:
	'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
	For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

Fourth Citizen	Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony;
	You shall read us the will, Caesar's will.

ANTONY	Will you be patient? will you stay awhile?
	I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it:
	I fear I wrong the honourable men
	Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it.

Fourth Citizen	They were traitors: honourable men!

All	The will! the testament!

Second Citizen	They were villains, murderers: the will! read the will.

ANTONY	You will compel me, then, to read the will?
	Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
	And let me show you him that made the will.
	Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

Several Citizens	Come down.

Second Citizen	Descend.

Third Citizen	You shall have leave.

	[ANTONY comes down]

Fourth Citizen	A ring; stand round.

First Citizen	Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.

Second Citizen	Room for Antony, most noble Antony.

ANTONY	Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

Several Citizens	Stand back; room; bear back.

ANTONY	If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
	You all do know this mantle: I remember
	The first time ever Caesar put it on;
	'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
	That day he overcame the Nervii:
	Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
	See what a rent the envious Casca made:
	Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
	And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
	Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it,
	As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
	If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
	For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:
	Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!
	This was the most unkindest cut of all;
	For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
	Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
	Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
	And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
	Even at the base of Pompey's statua,
	Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
	O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
	Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
	Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
	O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel
	The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
	Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold
	Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
	Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

First Citizen	O piteous spectacle!

Second Citizen	O noble Caesar!

Third Citizen	O woful day!

Fourth Citizen	O traitors, villains!

First Citizen	O most bloody sight!

Second Citizen	We will be revenged.

All	Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay!
	Let not a traitor live!

ANTONY	Stay, countrymen.

First Citizen	Peace there! hear the noble Antony.

Second Citizen	We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him.

ANTONY	Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
	To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
	They that have done this deed are honourable:
	What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
	That made them do it: they are wise and honourable,
	And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
	I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
	I am no orator, as Brutus is;
	But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
	That love my friend; and that they know full well
	That gave me public leave to speak of him:
	For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
	Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
	To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
	I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
	Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,
	And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus,
	And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
	Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue
	In every wound of Caesar that should move
	The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

All	We'll mutiny.

First Citizen	We'll burn the house of Brutus.

Third Citizen	Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.

ANTONY	Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.

All	Peace, ho! Hear Antony. Most noble Antony!

ANTONY	Why, friends, you go to do you know not what:
	Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?
	Alas, you know not: I must tell you then:
	You have forgot the will I told you of.

All	Most true. The will! Let's stay and hear the will.

ANTONY	Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.
	To every Roman citizen he gives,
	To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

Second Citizen	Most noble Caesar! We'll revenge his death.

Third Citizen	O royal Caesar!

ANTONY	Hear me with patience.

All	Peace, ho!

ANTONY	Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
	His private arbours and new-planted orchards,
	On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,
	And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures,
	To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.
	Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?

First Citizen	Never, never. Come, away, away!
	We'll burn his body in the holy place,
	And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
	Take up the body.

Second Citizen	Go fetch fire.

Third Citizen	Pluck down benches.

Fourth Citizen	Pluck down forms, windows, any thing.

	[Exeunt Citizens with the body]

ANTONY	Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,
	Take thou what course thou wilt!

	[Enter a Servant]

		                  How now, fellow!

Servant	Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

ANTONY	Where is he?

Servant	He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house.

ANTONY	And thither will I straight to visit him:
	He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,
	And in this mood will give us any thing.

Servant	I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius
	Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.

ANTONY	Belike they had some notice of the people,
	How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT III



SCENE III	A street.


	[Enter CINNA the poet]

CINNA THE POET	I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Caesar,
	And things unlucky charge my fantasy:
	I have no will to wander forth of doors,
	Yet something leads me forth.

	[Enter Citizens]

First Citizen	What is your name?

Second Citizen	Whither are you going?

Third Citizen	Where do you dwell?

Fourth Citizen	Are you a married man or a bachelor?

Second Citizen	Answer every man directly.

First Citizen	Ay, and briefly.

Fourth Citizen	Ay, and wisely.

Third Citizen	Ay, and truly, you were best.

CINNA THE POET	What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I
	dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor? Then, to
	answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and
	truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor.

Second Citizen	That's as much as to say, they are fools that marry:
	you'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed; directly.

CINNA THE POET	Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral.

First Citizen	As a friend or an enemy?

CINNA THE POET	As a friend.

Second Citizen	That matter is answered directly.

Fourth Citizen	For your dwelling,--briefly.

CINNA THE POET	Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

Third Citizen	Your name, sir, truly.

CINNA THE POET	Truly, my name is Cinna.

First Citizen	Tear him to pieces; he's a conspirator.

CINNA THE POET	I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.

Fourth Citizen	Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.

CINNA THE POET	I am not Cinna the conspirator.

Fourth Citizen	It is no matter, his name's Cinna; pluck but his
	name out of his heart, and turn him going.

Third Citizen	Tear him, tear him! Come, brands ho! fire-brands:
	to Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all: some to Decius'
	house, and some to Casca's; some to Ligarius': away, go!

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT IV



SCENE I	A house in Rome.


	[ANTONY, OCTAVIUS, and LEPIDUS, seated at a table]

ANTONY	These many, then, shall die; their names are prick'd.

OCTAVIUS	Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?

LEPIDUS	I do consent--

OCTAVIUS	                  Prick him down, Antony.

LEPIDUS	Upon condition Publius shall not live,
	Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.

ANTONY	He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.
	But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house;
	Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
	How to cut off some charge in legacies.

LEPIDUS	What, shall I find you here?

OCTAVIUS	Or here, or at the Capitol.

	[Exit LEPIDUS]

ANTONY	This is a slight unmeritable man,
	Meet to be sent on errands: is it fit,
	The three-fold world divided, he should stand
	One of the three to share it?

OCTAVIUS	So you thought him;
	And took his voice who should be prick'd to die,
	In our black sentence and proscription.

ANTONY	Octavius, I have seen more days than you:
	And though we lay these honours on this man,
	To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,
	He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
	To groan and sweat under the business,
	Either led or driven, as we point the way;
	And having brought our treasure where we will,
	Then take we down his load, and turn him off,
	Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears,
	And graze in commons.

OCTAVIUS	You may do your will;
	But he's a tried and valiant soldier.

ANTONY	So is my horse, Octavius; and for that
	I do appoint him store of provender:
	It is a creature that I teach to fight,
	To wind, to stop, to run directly on,
	His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
	And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so;
	He must be taught and train'd and bid go forth;
	A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds
	On abjects, orts and imitations,
	Which, out of use and staled by other men,
	Begin his fashion: do not talk of him,
	But as a property. And now, Octavius,
	Listen great things:--Brutus and Cassius
	Are levying powers: we must straight make head:
	Therefore let our alliance be combined,
	Our best friends made, our means stretch'd
	And let us presently go sit in council,
	How covert matters may be best disclosed,
	And open perils surest answered.

OCTAVIUS	Let us do so: for we are at the stake,
	And bay'd about with many enemies;
	And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,
	Millions of mischiefs.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT IV



SCENE II	Camp near Sardis. Before BRUTUS's tent.


	[Drum. Enter BRUTUS, LUCILIUS, LUCIUS, and
	Soldiers; TITINIUS and PINDARUS meeting them]

BRUTUS	Stand, ho!

LUCILIUS	Give the word, ho! and stand.

BRUTUS	What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?

LUCILIUS	He is at hand; and Pindarus is come
	To do you salutation from his master.

BRUTUS	He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,
	In his own change, or by ill officers,
	Hath given me some worthy cause to wish
	Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand,
	I shall be satisfied.

PINDARUS	I do not doubt
	But that my noble master will appear
	Such as he is, full of regard and honour.

BRUTUS	He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius;
	How he received you, let me be resolved.

LUCILIUS	With courtesy and with respect enough;
	But not with such familiar instances,
	Nor with such free and friendly conference,
	As he hath used of old.

BRUTUS	Thou hast described
	A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius,
	When love begins to sicken and decay,
	It useth an enforced ceremony.
	There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;
	But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
	Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;
	But when they should endure the bloody spur,
	They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,
	Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

LUCILIUS	They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter'd;
	The greater part, the horse in general,
	Are come with Cassius.

BRUTUS	Hark! he is arrived.

	[Low march within]

	March gently on to meet him.

	[Enter CASSIUS and his powers]

CASSIUS	Stand, ho!

BRUTUS	Stand, ho! Speak the word along.

First Soldier	Stand!

Second Soldier	Stand!

Third Soldier	Stand!

CASSIUS	Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

BRUTUS	Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine enemies?
	And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

CASSIUS	Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;
	And when you do them--

BRUTUS	Cassius, be content.
	Speak your griefs softly: I do know you well.
	Before the eyes of both our armies here,
	Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
	Let us not wrangle: bid them move away;
	Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,
	And I will give you audience.

CASSIUS	Pindarus,
	Bid our commanders lead their charges off
	A little from this ground.

BRUTUS	Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man
	Come to our tent till we have done our conference.
	Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT IV



SCENE III	Brutus's tent.


	[Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS]

CASSIUS	That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
	You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
	For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
	Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
	Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

BRUTUS	You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

CASSIUS	In such a time as this it is not meet
	That every nice offence should bear his comment.

BRUTUS	Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
	Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm;
	To sell and mart your offices for gold
	To undeservers.

CASSIUS	                  I an itching palm!
	You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
	Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

BRUTUS	The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
	And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

CASSIUS	Chastisement!

BRUTUS	Remember March, the ides of March remember:
	Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
	What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
	And not for justice? What, shall one of us
	That struck the foremost man of all this world
	But for supporting robbers, shall we now
	Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
	And sell the mighty space of our large honours
	For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
	I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
	Than such a Roman.

CASSIUS	                  Brutus, bay not me;
	I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
	To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
	Older in practise, abler than yourself
	To make conditions.

BRUTUS	Go to; you are not, Cassius.

CASSIUS	I am.

BRUTUS	I say you are not.

CASSIUS	Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
	Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.

BRUTUS	Away, slight man!

CASSIUS	Is't possible?

BRUTUS	                  Hear me, for I will speak.
	Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
	Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

CASSIUS	O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this?

BRUTUS	All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;
	Go show your slaves how choleric you are,
	And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
	Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch
	Under your testy humour? By the gods
	You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
	Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
	I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
	When you are waspish.

CASSIUS	Is it come to this?

BRUTUS	You say you are a better soldier:
	Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
	And it shall please me well: for mine own part,
	I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

CASSIUS	You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;
	I said, an elder soldier, not a better:
	Did I say 'better'?

BRUTUS	If you did, I care not.

CASSIUS	When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.

BRUTUS	Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.

CASSIUS	I durst not!

BRUTUS	No.

CASSIUS	What, durst not tempt him!

BRUTUS	For your life you durst not!

CASSIUS	Do not presume too much upon my love;
	I may do that I shall be sorry for.

BRUTUS	You have done that you should be sorry for.
	There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
	For I am arm'd so strong in honesty
	That they pass by me as the idle wind,
	Which I respect not. I did send to you
	For certain sums of gold, which you denied me:
	For I can raise no money by vile means:
	By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
	And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
	From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
	By any indirection: I did send
	To you for gold to pay my legions,
	Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?
	Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
	When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
	To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
	Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;
	Dash him to pieces!

CASSIUS	I denied you not.

BRUTUS	You did.

CASSIUS	I did not: he was but a fool that brought
	My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart:
	A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
	But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

BRUTUS	I do not, till you practise them on me.

CASSIUS	You love me not.

BRUTUS	                  I do not like your faults.

CASSIUS	A friendly eye could never see such faults.

BRUTUS	A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
	As huge as high Olympus.

CASSIUS	Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,
	Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
	For Cassius is aweary of the world;
	Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
	Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
	Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
	To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
	My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
	And here my naked breast; within, a heart
	Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
	If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
	I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
	Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,
	When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
	Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

BRUTUS	Sheathe your dagger:
	Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
	Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
	O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
	That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
	Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
	And straight is cold again.

CASSIUS	Hath Cassius lived
	To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
	When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?

BRUTUS	When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.

CASSIUS	Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

BRUTUS	And my heart too.

CASSIUS	                  O Brutus!

BRUTUS	What's the matter?

CASSIUS	Have not you love enough to bear with me,
	When that rash humour which my mother gave me
	Makes me forgetful?

BRUTUS	Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth,
	When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
	He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Poet	[Within]  Let me go in to see the generals;
	There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet
	They be alone.

LUCILIUS	[Within]  You shall not come to them.

Poet	[Within]  Nothing but death shall stay me.

	[Enter Poet, followed by LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, and LUCIUS]

CASSIUS	How now! what's the matter?

Poet	For shame, you generals! what do you mean?
	Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;
	For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye.

CASSIUS	Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

BRUTUS	Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!

CASSIUS	Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion.

BRUTUS	I'll know his humour, when he knows his time:
	What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
	Companion, hence!

CASSIUS	                  Away, away, be gone.

	[Exit Poet]

BRUTUS	Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
	Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

CASSIUS	And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you
	Immediately to us.

	[Exeunt LUCILIUS and TITINIUS]

BRUTUS	Lucius, a bowl of wine!

	[Exit LUCIUS]

CASSIUS	I did not think you could have been so angry.

BRUTUS	O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

CASSIUS	Of your philosophy you make no use,
	If you give place to accidental evils.

BRUTUS	No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

CASSIUS	Ha! Portia!

BRUTUS	She is dead.

CASSIUS	How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so?
	O insupportable and touching loss!
	Upon what sickness?

BRUTUS	Impatient of my absence,
	And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony
	Have made themselves so strong:--for with her death
	That tidings came;--with this she fell distract,
	And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.

CASSIUS	And died so?

BRUTUS	                  Even so.

CASSIUS	O ye immortal gods!

	[Re-enter LUCIUS, with wine and taper]

BRUTUS	Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.
	In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

CASSIUS	My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
	Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
	I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

BRUTUS	Come in, Titinius!

	[Exit LUCIUS]

	[Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA]

	Welcome, good Messala.
	Now sit we close about this taper here,
	And call in question our necessities.

CASSIUS	Portia, art thou gone?

BRUTUS	No more, I pray you.
	Messala, I have here received letters,
	That young Octavius and Mark Antony
	Come down upon us with a mighty power,
	Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

MESSALA	Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.

BRUTUS	With what addition?

MESSALA	That by proscription and bills of outlawry,
	Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,
	Have put to death an hundred senators.

BRUTUS	Therein our letters do not well agree;
	Mine speak of seventy senators that died
	By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

CASSIUS	Cicero one!

MESSALA	          Cicero is dead,
	And by that order of proscription.
	Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

BRUTUS	No, Messala.

MESSALA	Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

BRUTUS	Nothing, Messala.

MESSALA	                  That, methinks, is strange.

BRUTUS	Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?

MESSALA	No, my lord.

BRUTUS	Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

MESSALA	Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
	For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

BRUTUS	Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala:
	With meditating that she must die once,
	I have the patience to endure it now.

MESSALA	Even so great men great losses should endure.

CASSIUS	I have as much of this in art as you,
	But yet my nature could not bear it so.

BRUTUS	Well, to our work alive. What do you think
	Of marching to Philippi presently?

CASSIUS	I do not think it good.

BRUTUS	Your reason?

CASSIUS	This it is:
	'Tis better that the enemy seek us:
	So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
	Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,
	Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.

BRUTUS	Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.
	The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground
	Do stand but in a forced affection;
	For they have grudged us contribution:
	The enemy, marching along by them,
	By them shall make a fuller number up,
	Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
	From which advantage shall we cut him off,
	If at Philippi we do face him there,
	These people at our back.

CASSIUS	Hear me, good brother.

BRUTUS	Under your pardon. You must note beside,
	That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
	Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
	The enemy increaseth every day;
	We, at the height, are ready to decline.
	There is a tide in the affairs of men,
	Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
	Omitted, all the voyage of their life
	Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
	On such a full sea are we now afloat;
	And we must take the current when it serves,
	Or lose our ventures.

CASSIUS	Then, with your will, go on;
	We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.

BRUTUS	The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
	And nature must obey necessity;
	Which we will niggard with a little rest.
	There is no more to say?

CASSIUS	No more. Good night:
	Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.

BRUTUS	Lucius!

	[Enter LUCIUS]
	My gown.

	[Exit LUCIUS]

	Farewell, good Messala:
	Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,
	Good night, and good repose.

CASSIUS	O my dear brother!
	This was an ill beginning of the night:
	Never come such division 'tween our souls!
	Let it not, Brutus.

BRUTUS	Every thing is well.

CASSIUS	Good night, my lord.

BRUTUS	Good night, good brother.


TITINIUS	|
	| Good night, Lord Brutus.
MESSALA	|


BRUTUS	Farewell, every one.

	[Exeunt all but BRUTUS]

	[Re-enter LUCIUS, with the gown]

	Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

LUCIUS	Here in the tent.

BRUTUS	                  What, thou speak'st drowsily?
	Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd.
	Call Claudius and some other of my men:
	I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

LUCIUS	Varro and Claudius!

	[Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS]

VARRO	Calls my lord?

BRUTUS	I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;
	It may be I shall raise you by and by
	On business to my brother Cassius.

VARRO	So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.

BRUTUS	I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs;
	It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.
	Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so;
	I put it in the pocket of my gown.

	[VARRO and CLAUDIUS lie down]

LUCIUS	I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

BRUTUS	Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
	Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
	And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

LUCIUS	Ay, my lord, an't please you.

BRUTUS	It does, my boy:
	I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

LUCIUS	It is my duty, sir.

BRUTUS	I should not urge thy duty past thy might;
	I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

LUCIUS	I have slept, my lord, already.

BRUTUS	It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again;
	I will not hold thee long: if I do live,
	I will be good to thee.

	[Music, and a song]

	This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber,
	Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,
	That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;
	I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:
	If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
	I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
	Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
	Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

	[Enter the Ghost of CAESAR]

	How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
	I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
	That shapes this monstrous apparition.
	It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
	Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
	That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
	Speak to me what thou art.

GHOST	Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

BRUTUS	Why comest thou?

GHOST	To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

BRUTUS	Well; then I shall see thee again?

GHOST	Ay, at Philippi.

BRUTUS	Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.

	[Exit Ghost]

	Now I have taken heart thou vanishest:
	Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
	Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!

LUCIUS	The strings, my lord, are false.

BRUTUS	He thinks he still is at his instrument.
	Lucius, awake!

LUCIUS	My lord?

BRUTUS	Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?

LUCIUS	My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

BRUTUS	Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any thing?

LUCIUS	Nothing, my lord.

BRUTUS	Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!

	[To VARRO]

	Fellow thou, awake!

VARRO	My lord?

CLAUDIUS	My lord?

BRUTUS	Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?


VARRO	|
	|  Did we, my lord?
CLAUDIUS	|


BRUTUS	Ay: saw you any thing?

VARRO	No, my lord, I saw nothing.

CLAUDIUS	Nor I, my lord.

BRUTUS	Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;
	Bid him set on his powers betimes before,
	And we will follow.


VARRO	|
	|                It shall be done, my lord.
CLAUDIUS	|


	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT V



SCENE I	The plains of Philippi.


	[Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their army]

OCTAVIUS	Now, Antony, our hopes are answered:
	You said the enemy would not come down,
	But keep the hills and upper regions;
	It proves not so: their battles are at hand;
	They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
	Answering before we do demand of them.

ANTONY	Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
	Wherefore they do it: they could be content
	To visit other places; and come down
	With fearful bravery, thinking by this face
	To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;
	But 'tis not so.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	                  Prepare you, generals:
	The enemy comes on in gallant show;
	Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
	And something to be done immediately.

ANTONY	Octavius, lead your battle softly on,
	Upon the left hand of the even field.

OCTAVIUS	Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left.

ANTONY	Why do you cross me in this exigent?

OCTAVIUS	I do not cross you; but I will do so.

	[March]

	[Drum. Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and their Army;
	LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, and others]

BRUTUS	They stand, and would have parley.

CASSIUS	Stand fast, Titinius: we must out and talk.

OCTAVIUS	Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?

ANTONY	No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.
	Make forth; the generals would have some words.

OCTAVIUS	Stir not until the signal.

BRUTUS	Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?

OCTAVIUS	Not that we love words better, as you do.

BRUTUS	Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

ANTONY	In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words:
	Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart,
	Crying 'Long live! hail, Caesar!'

CASSIUS	Antony,
	The posture of your blows are yet unknown;
	But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
	And leave them honeyless.

ANTONY	Not stingless too.

BRUTUS	O, yes, and soundless too;
	For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
	And very wisely threat before you sting.

ANTONY	Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers
	Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar:
	You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds,
	And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet;
	Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind
	Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!

CASSIUS	Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself:
	This tongue had not offended so to-day,
	If Cassius might have ruled.

OCTAVIUS	Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat,
	The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look;
	I draw a sword against conspirators;
	When think you that the sword goes up again?
	Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds
	Be well avenged; or till another Caesar
	Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.

BRUTUS	Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands,
	Unless thou bring'st them with thee.

OCTAVIUS	So I hope;
	I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.

BRUTUS	O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,
	Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.

CASSIUS	A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour,
	Join'd with a masker and a reveller!

ANTONY	Old Cassius still!

OCTAVIUS	                  Come, Antony, away!
	Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth:
	If you dare fight to-day, come to the field;
	If not, when you have stomachs.

	[Exeunt OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their army]

CASSIUS	Why, now, blow wind, swell billow and swim bark!
	The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

BRUTUS	Ho, Lucilius! hark, a word with you.

LUCILIUS	[Standing forth]	My lord?

	[BRUTUS and LUCILIUS converse apart]

CASSIUS	Messala!

MESSALA	[Standing forth]  What says my general?

CASSIUS	Messala,
	This is my birth-day; as this very day
	Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:
	Be thou my witness that against my will,
	As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set
	Upon one battle all our liberties.
	You know that I held Epicurus strong
	And his opinion: now I change my mind,
	And partly credit things that do presage.
	Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign
	Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd,
	Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands;
	Who to Philippi here consorted us:
	This morning are they fled away and gone;
	And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites,
	Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us,
	As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem
	A canopy most fatal, under which
	Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

MESSALA	Believe not so.

CASSIUS	                  I but believe it partly;
	For I am fresh of spirit and resolved
	To meet all perils very constantly.

BRUTUS	Even so, Lucilius.

CASSIUS	                  Now, most noble Brutus,
	The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may,
	Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!
	But since the affairs of men rest still incertain,
	Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
	If we do lose this battle, then is this
	The very last time we shall speak together:
	What are you then determined to do?

BRUTUS	Even by the rule of that philosophy
	By which I did blame Cato for the death
	Which he did give himself, I know not how,
	But I do find it cowardly and vile,
	For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
	The time of life: arming myself with patience
	To stay the providence of some high powers
	That govern us below.

CASSIUS	Then, if we lose this battle,
	You are contented to be led in triumph
	Thorough the streets of Rome?

BRUTUS	No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,
	That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
	He bears too great a mind. But this same day
	Must end that work the ides of March begun;
	And whether we shall meet again I know not.
	Therefore our everlasting farewell take:
	For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius!
	If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
	If not, why then, this parting was well made.

CASSIUS	For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus!
	If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
	If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.

BRUTUS	Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might know
	The end of this day's business ere it come!
	But it sufficeth that the day will end,
	And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT V



SCENE II	The same. The field of battle.


	[Alarum. Enter BRUTUS and MESSALA]

BRUTUS	Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills
	Unto the legions on the other side.

	[Loud alarum]

	Let them set on at once; for I perceive
	But cold demeanor in Octavius' wing,
	And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
	Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Alarums. Enter CASSIUS and TITINIUS]

CASSIUS	O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!
	Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy:
	This ensign here of mine was turning back;
	I slew the coward, and did take it from him.

TITINIUS	O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early;
	Who, having some advantage on Octavius,
	Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,
	Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed.

	[Enter PINDARUS]

PINDARUS	Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;
	Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord
	Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.

CASSIUS	This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;
	Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?

TITINIUS	They are, my lord.

CASSIUS	                  Titinius, if thou lovest me,
	Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him,
	Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops,
	And here again; that I may rest assured
	Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.

TITINIUS	I will be here again, even with a thought.

	[Exit]

CASSIUS	Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill;
	My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius,
	And tell me what thou notest about the field.

	[PINDARUS ascends the hill]

	This day I breathed first: time is come round,
	And where I did begin, there shall I end;
	My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?

PINDARUS	[Above]  O my lord!

CASSIUS	What news?

PINDARUS	[Above]  Titinius is enclosed round about
	With horsemen, that make to him on the spur;
	Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.
	Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.
	He's ta'en.

	[Shout]

	And, hark! they shout for joy.

CASSIUS	Come down, behold no more.
	O, coward that I am, to live so long,
	To see my best friend ta'en before my face!

	[PINDARUS descends]

	Come hither, sirrah:
	In Parthia did I take thee prisoner;
	And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,
	That whatsoever I did bid thee do,
	Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath;
	Now be a freeman: and with this good sword,
	That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom.
	Stand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts;
	And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now,
	Guide thou the sword.

	[PINDARUS stabs him]

		Caesar, thou art revenged,
	Even with the sword that kill'd thee.

	[Dies]

PINDARUS	So, I am free; yet would not so have been,
	Durst I have done my will. O Cassius,
	Far from this country Pindarus shall run,
	Where never Roman shall take note of him.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter TITINIUS with MESSALA]

MESSALA	It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius
	Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power,
	As Cassius' legions are by Antony.

TITINIUS	These tidings will well comfort Cassius.

MESSALA	Where did you leave him?

TITINIUS	All disconsolate,
	With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.

MESSALA	Is not that he that lies upon the ground?

TITINIUS	He lies not like the living. O my heart!

MESSALA	Is not that he?

TITINIUS	                  No, this was he, Messala,
	But Cassius is no more. O setting sun,
	As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night,
	So in his red blood Cassius' day is set;
	The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone;
	Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done!
	Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.

MESSALA	Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.
	O hateful error, melancholy's child,
	Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
	The things that are not? O error, soon conceived,
	Thou never comest unto a happy birth,
	But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee!

TITINIUS	What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?

MESSALA	Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet
	The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
	Into his ears; I may say, thrusting it;
	For piercing steel and darts envenomed
	Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus
	As tidings of this sight.

TITINIUS	Hie you, Messala,
	And I will seek for Pindarus the while.

	[Exit MESSALA]

	Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?
	Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they
	Put on my brows this wreath of victory,
	And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?
	Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!
	But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
	Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
	Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,
	And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
	By your leave, gods:--this is a Roman's part
	Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.

	[Kills himself]

	[Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, CATO,
	STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and LUCILIUS]

BRUTUS	Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

MESSALA	Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.

BRUTUS	Titinius' face is upward.

CATO	He is slain.

BRUTUS	O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
	Thy spirit walks abroad and turns our swords
	In our own proper entrails.

	[Low alarums]

CATO	Brave Titinius!
	Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius!

BRUTUS	Are yet two Romans living such as these?
	The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
	It is impossible that ever Rome
	Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears
	To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
	I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
	Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body:
	His funerals shall not be in our camp,
	Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;
	And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
	Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:
	'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night
	We shall try fortune in a second fight.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies;
	then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and others]

BRUTUS	Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!

CATO	What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
	I will proclaim my name about the field:
	I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
	A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend;
	I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

BRUTUS	And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;
	Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus!

	[Exit]

LUCILIUS	O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
	Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius;
	And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son.

First Soldier	Yield, or thou diest.

LUCILIUS	Only I yield to die:
	There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;

	[Offering money]

	Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.

First Soldier	We must not. A noble prisoner!

Second Soldier	Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.

First Soldier	I'll tell the news. Here comes the general.

	[Enter ANTONY]

	Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.

ANTONY	Where is he?

LUCILIUS	Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:
	I dare assure thee that no enemy
	Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:
	The gods defend him from so great a shame!
	When you do find him, or alive or dead,
	He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

ANTONY	This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,
	A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe;
	Give him all kindness: I had rather have
	Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
	And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;
	And bring us word unto Octavius' tent
	How every thing is chanced.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, STRATO, and
	VOLUMNIUS]

BRUTUS	Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

CLITUS	Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord,
	He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.

BRUTUS	Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word;
	It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

	[Whispers]

CLITUS	What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

BRUTUS	Peace then! no words.

CLITUS	I'll rather kill myself.

BRUTUS	Hark thee, Dardanius.

	[Whispers]

DARDANIUS	Shall I do such a deed?

CLITUS	O Dardanius!

DARDANIUS	O Clitus!

CLITUS	What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

DARDANIUS	To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

CLITUS	Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
	That it runs over even at his eyes.

BRUTUS	Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.

VOLUMNIUS	What says my lord?

BRUTUS	                  Why, this, Volumnius:
	The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
	Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
	And, this last night, here in Philippi fields:
	I know my hour is come.

VOLUMNIUS	Not so, my lord.

BRUTUS	Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
	Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
	Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

	[Low alarums]

	It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
	Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
	Thou know'st that we two went to school together:
	Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
	Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

VOLUMNIUS	That's not an office for a friend, my lord.

	[Alarum still]

CLITUS	Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.

BRUTUS	Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.
	Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
	Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,
	My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
	I found no man but he was true to me.
	I shall have glory by this losing day
	More than Octavius and Mark Antony
	By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
	So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
	Hath almost ended his life's history:
	Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,
	That have but labour'd to attain this hour.

	[Alarum. Cry within, 'Fly, fly, fly!']

CLITUS	Fly, my lord, fly.

BRUTUS	                  Hence! I will follow.

	[Exeunt CLITUS, DARDANIUS, and VOLUMNIUS]

	I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
	Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
	Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
	Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
	While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

STRATO	Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.

BRUTUS	Farewell, good Strato.

	[Runs on his sword]

		 Caesar, now be still:
	I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.

	[Dies]

	[Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA,
	LUCILIUS, and the army]

OCTAVIUS	What man is that?

MESSALA	My master's man. Strato, where is thy master?

STRATO	Free from the bondage you are in, Messala:
	The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
	For Brutus only overcame himself,
	And no man else hath honour by his death.

LUCILIUS	So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,
	That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true.

OCTAVIUS	All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.
	Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

STRATO	Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

OCTAVIUS	Do so, good Messala.

MESSALA	How died my master, Strato?

STRATO	I held the sword, and he did run on it.

MESSALA	Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
	That did the latest service to my master.

ANTONY	This was the noblest Roman of them all:
	All the conspirators save only he
	Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
	He only, in a general honest thought
	And common good to all, made one of them.
	His life was gentle, and the elements
	So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
	And say to all the world 'This was a man!'

OCTAVIUS	According to his virtue let us use him,
	With all respect and rites of burial.
	Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
	Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.
	So call the field to rest; and let's away,
	To part the glories of this happy day.

	[Exeunt]
	KING LEAR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEAR	king of Britain  (KING LEAR:)

KING OF FRANCE:

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF CORNWALL	(CORNWALL:)

DUKE OF ALBANY	(ALBANY:)

EARL OF KENT	(KENT:)

EARL OF GLOUCESTER	(GLOUCESTER:)

EDGAR	son to Gloucester.

EDMUND	bastard son to Gloucester.

CURAN	a courtier.

Old Man	tenant to Gloucester.

Doctor:

Fool:

OSWALD	steward to Goneril.

	A Captain employed by Edmund. (Captain:)

	Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. (Gentleman:)
	A Herald.

	Servants to Cornwall.
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)


GONERIL	|
	|
REGAN	|  daughters to Lear.
	|
CORDELIA	|


	Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers,
	Soldiers, and Attendants
	(Knight:)
	(Captain:)
	(Messenger:)



SCENE	Britain.




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE I	King Lear's palace.


	[Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND]

KENT	I thought the king had more affected the Duke of
	Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER	It did always seem so to us: but now, in the
	division of the kingdom, it appears not which of
	the dukes he values most; for equalities are so
	weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice
	of either's moiety.

KENT	Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have
	so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am
	brazed to it.

KENT	I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER	Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon
	she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son
	for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
	Do you smell a fault?

KENT	I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
	being so proper.

GLOUCESTER	But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year
	elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:
	though this knave came something saucily into the
	world before he was sent for, yet was his mother
	fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
	whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this
	noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND	No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my
	honourable friend.

EDMUND	My services to your lordship.

KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND	Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER	He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
	again. The king is coming.

	[Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY,
	GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants]

KING LEAR	Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER	I shall, my liege.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

KING LEAR	Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
	Give me the map there. Know that we have divided
	In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
	To shake all cares and business from our age;
	Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
	Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
	And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
	We have this hour a constant will to publish
	Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
	May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
	Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
	Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
	And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,--
	Since now we will divest us both of rule,
	Interest of territory, cares of state,--
	Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
	That we our largest bounty may extend
	Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
	Our eldest-born, speak first.

GONERIL	Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
	Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
	Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
	No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
	As much as child e'er loved, or father found;
	A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
	Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

CORDELIA	[Aside]  What shall Cordelia do?
	Love, and be silent.

LEAR	Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
	With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
	With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
	We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue
	Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,
	Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

REGAN	Sir, I am made
	Of the self-same metal that my sister is,
	And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
	I find she names my very deed of love;
	Only she comes too short: that I profess
	Myself an enemy to all other joys,
	Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
	And find I am alone felicitate
	In your dear highness' love.

CORDELIA	[Aside]	Then poor Cordelia!
	And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
	More richer than my tongue.

KING LEAR	To thee and thine hereditary ever
	Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
	No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
	Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,
	Although the last, not least; to whose young love
	The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
	Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw
	A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.

KING LEAR	Nothing!

CORDELIA	Nothing.

KING LEAR	Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA	Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
	My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
	According to my bond; nor more nor less.

KING LEAR	How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,
	Lest it may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA	Good my lord,
	You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I
	Return those duties back as are right fit,
	Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
	Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
	They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
	That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
	Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
	Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
	To love my father all.

KING LEAR	But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA	Ay, good my lord.

KING LEAR	So young, and so untender?

CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.

KING LEAR	Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower:
	For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
	The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
	By all the operation of the orbs
	From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
	Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
	Propinquity and property of blood,
	And as a stranger to my heart and me
	Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
	Or he that makes his generation messes
	To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
	Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,
	As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT	Good my liege,--

KING LEAR	Peace, Kent!
	Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
	I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
	On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!
	So be my grave my peace, as here I give
	Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs?
	Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,
	With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
	Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
	I do invest you jointly with my power,
	Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
	That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,
	With reservation of an hundred knights,
	By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
	Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
	The name, and all the additions to a king;
	The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
	Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
	This coronet part betwixt you.

	[Giving the crown]

KENT	Royal Lear,
	Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
	Loved as my father, as my master follow'd,
	As my great patron thought on in my prayers,--

KING LEAR	The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.

KENT	Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
	The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
	When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?
	Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,
	When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
	When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
	And, in thy best consideration, cheque
	This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
	Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
	Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
	Reverbs no hollowness.

KING LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more.

KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn
	To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,
	Thy safety being the motive.

KING LEAR	Out of my sight!

KENT	See better, Lear; and let me still remain
	The true blank of thine eye.

KING LEAR	Now, by Apollo,--

KENT	                  Now, by Apollo, king,
	Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

KING LEAR	O, vassal! miscreant!

	[Laying his hand on his sword]


ALBANY	|
	|  Dear sir, forbear.
CORNWALL	|


KENT	Do:
	Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
	Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;
	Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
	I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

KING LEAR	Hear me, recreant!
	On thine allegiance, hear me!
	Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
	Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride
	To come between our sentence and our power,
	Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,
	Our potency made good, take thy reward.
	Five days we do allot thee, for provision
	To shield thee from diseases of the world;
	And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
	Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,
	Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
	The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,
	This shall not be revoked.

KENT	Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,
	Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

	[To CORDELIA]

	The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
	That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!

	[To REGAN and GONERIL]

	And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
	That good effects may spring from words of love.
	Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
	He'll shape his old course in a country new.

	[Exit]

	[Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE,
	BURGUNDY, and Attendants]

GLOUCESTER	Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

KING LEAR	My lord of Burgundy.
	We first address towards you, who with this king
	Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,
	Will you require in present dower with her,
	Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY	Most royal majesty,
	I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,
	Nor will you tender less.

KING LEAR	Right noble Burgundy,
	When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
	But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:
	If aught within that little seeming substance,
	Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced,
	And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
	She's there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY	I know no answer.

KING LEAR	Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
	Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
	Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
	Take her, or leave her?

BURGUNDY	Pardon me, royal sir;
	Election makes not up on such conditions.

KING LEAR	Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,
	I tell you all her wealth.

	[To KING OF FRANCE]

		     For you, great king,
	I would not from your love make such a stray,
	To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
	To avert your liking a more worthier way
	Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed
	Almost to acknowledge hers.

KING OF FRANCE	This is most strange,
	That she, that even but now was your best object,
	The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
	Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time
	Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
	So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence
	Must be of such unnatural degree,
	That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
	Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her,
	Must be a faith that reason without miracle
	Could never plant in me.

CORDELIA	I yet beseech your majesty,--
	If for I want that glib and oily art,
	To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,
	I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known
	It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
	No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,
	That hath deprived me of your grace and favour;
	But even for want of that for which I am richer,
	A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
	As I am glad I have not, though not to have it
	Hath lost me in your liking.

KING LEAR	Better thou
	Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

KING OF FRANCE	Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature
	Which often leaves the history unspoke
	That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,
	What say you to the lady? Love's not love
	When it is mingled with regards that stand
	Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
	She is herself a dowry.

BURGUNDY	Royal Lear,
	Give but that portion which yourself proposed,
	And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
	Duchess of Burgundy.

KING LEAR	Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

BURGUNDY	I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father
	That you must lose a husband.

CORDELIA	Peace be with Burgundy!
	Since that respects of fortune are his love,
	I shall not be his wife.

KING OF FRANCE	Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
	Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
	Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
	Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
	Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
	My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
	Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
	Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
	Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
	Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.
	Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
	Thou losest here, a better where to find.

KING LEAR	Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we
	Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
	That face of hers again. Therefore be gone
	Without our grace, our love, our benison.
	Come, noble Burgundy.

	[Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL,
	REGAN, and CORDELIA]

KING OF FRANCE	Bid farewell to your sisters.

CORDELIA	The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
	Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;
	And like a sister am most loath to call
	Your faults as they are named. Use well our father:
	To your professed bosoms I commit him
	But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
	I would prefer him to a better place.
	So, farewell to you both.

REGAN	Prescribe not us our duties.

GONERIL	Let your study
	Be to content your lord, who hath received you
	At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
	And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

CORDELIA	Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
	Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
	Well may you prosper!

KING OF FRANCE	Come, my fair Cordelia.

	[Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA]

GONERIL	Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what
	most nearly appertains to us both. I think our
	father will hence to-night.

REGAN	That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.

GONERIL	You see how full of changes his age is; the
	observation we have made of it hath not been
	little: he always loved our sister most; and
	with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off
	appears too grossly.

REGAN	'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever
	but slenderly known himself.

GONERIL	The best and soundest of his time hath been but
	rash; then must we look to receive from his age,
	not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed
	condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness
	that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

REGAN	Such unconstant starts are we like to have from
	him as this of Kent's banishment.

GONERIL	There is further compliment of leavetaking
	between France and him. Pray you, let's hit
	together: if our father carry authority with
	such dispositions as he bears, this last
	surrender of his will but offend us.

REGAN	We shall further think on't.

GONERIL	We must do something, and i' the heat.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE II	The Earl of Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter EDMUND, with a letter]

EDMUND	Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law
	My services are bound. Wherefore should I
	Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
	The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
	For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
	Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
	When my dimensions are as well compact,
	My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
	As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
	With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
	Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
	More composition and fierce quality
	Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
	Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
	Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
	Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
	Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
	As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!
	Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
	And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
	Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
	Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!
	And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power!
	Confined to exhibition! All this done
	Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?

EDMUND	So please your lordship, none.

	[Putting up the letter]

GLOUCESTER	Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

EDMUND	I know no news, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	What paper were you reading?

EDMUND	Nothing, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of
	it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath
	not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come,
	if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

EDMUND	I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter
	from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read;
	and for so much as I have perused, I find it not
	fit for your o'er-looking.

GLOUCESTER	Give me the letter, sir.

EDMUND	I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The
	contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.

GLOUCESTER	Let's see, let's see.

EDMUND	I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote
	this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.

GLOUCESTER	[Reads]  'This policy and reverence of age makes
	the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps
	our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish
	them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage
	in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not
	as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to
	me, that of this I may speak more. If our father
	would sleep till I waked him, you should half his
	revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your
	brother,	EDGAR.'

	Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you
	should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar!
	Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain
	to breed it in?--When came this to you? who
	brought it?

EDMUND	It was not brought me, my lord; there's the
	cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the
	casement of my closet.

GLOUCESTER	You know the character to be your brother's?

EDMUND	If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear
	it were his; but, in respect of that, I would
	fain think it were not.

GLOUCESTER	It is his.

EDMUND	It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is
	not in the contents.

GLOUCESTER	Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?

EDMUND	Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft
	maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age,
	and fathers declining, the father should be as
	ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.

GLOUCESTER	O villain, villain! His very opinion in the
	letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested,
	brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah,
	seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain!
	Where is he?

EDMUND	I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please
	you to suspend your indignation against my
	brother till you can derive from him better
	testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain
	course; where, if you violently proceed against
	him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great
	gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the
	heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life
	for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my
	affection to your honour, and to no further
	pretence of danger.

GLOUCESTER	Think you so?

EDMUND	If your honour judge it meet, I will place you
	where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an
	auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and
	that without any further delay than this very evening.

GLOUCESTER	He cannot be such a monster--

EDMUND	Nor is not, sure.

GLOUCESTER	To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
	loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him
	out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the
	business after your own wisdom. I would unstate
	myself, to be in a due resolution.

EDMUND	I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the
	business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal.

GLOUCESTER	These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend
	no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can
	reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself
	scourged by the sequent effects: love cools,
	friendship falls off, brothers divide: in
	cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in
	palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son
	and father. This villain of mine comes under the
	prediction; there's son against father: the king
	falls from bias of nature; there's father against
	child. We have seen the best of our time:
	machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all
	ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our
	graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall
	lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the
	noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his
	offence, honesty! 'Tis strange.

	[Exit]

EDMUND	This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
	when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit
	of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our
	disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as
	if we were villains by necessity; fools by
	heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and
	treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards,
	liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of
	planetary influence; and all that we are evil in,
	by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion
	of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish
	disposition to the charge of a star! My
	father compounded with my mother under the
	dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa
	major; so that it follows, I am rough and
	lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am,
	had the maidenliest star in the firmament
	twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar--

	[Enter EDGAR]

	And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old
	comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a
	sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do
	portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.

EDGAR	How now, brother Edmund! what serious
	contemplation are you in?

EDMUND	I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read
	this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

EDGAR	Do you busy yourself about that?

EDMUND	I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed
	unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child
	and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of
	ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and
	maledictions against king and nobles; needless
	diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation
	of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

EDGAR	How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

EDMUND	Come, come; when saw you my father last?

EDGAR	Why, the night gone by.

EDMUND	Spake you with him?

EDGAR	Ay, two hours together.

EDMUND	Parted you in good terms? Found you no
	displeasure in him by word or countenance?

EDGAR	None at all.

EDMUND	Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended
	him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence
	till some little time hath qualified the heat of
	his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth
	in him, that with the mischief of your person it
	would scarcely allay.

EDGAR	Some villain hath done me wrong.

EDMUND	That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent
	forbearance till the spied of his rage goes
	slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my
	lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to
	hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key:
	if you do stir abroad, go armed.

EDGAR	Armed, brother!

EDMUND	Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I
	am no honest man if there be any good meaning
	towards you: I have told you what I have seen
	and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image
	and horror of it: pray you, away.

EDGAR	Shall I hear from you anon?

EDMUND	I do serve you in this business.

	[Exit EDGAR]

	A credulous father! and a brother noble,
	Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
	That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty
	My practises ride easy! I see the business.
	Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
	All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE III	The Duke of Albany's palace.


	[Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward]

GONERIL	Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

OSWALD	Yes, madam.

GONERIL	By day and night he wrongs me; every hour
	He flashes into one gross crime or other,
	That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
	His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
	On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
	I will not speak with him; say I am sick:
	If you come slack of former services,
	You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

OSWALD	He's coming, madam; I hear him.

	[Horns within]

GONERIL	Put on what weary negligence you please,
	You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question:
	If he dislike it, let him to our sister,
	Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
	Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man,
	That still would manage those authorities
	That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
	Old fools are babes again; and must be used
	With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.
	Remember what I tell you.

OSWALD	Well, madam.

GONERIL	And let his knights have colder looks among you;
	What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
	I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
	That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister,
	To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE IV	A hall in the same.


	[Enter KENT, disguised]

KENT	If but as well I other accents borrow,
	That can my speech defuse, my good intent
	May carry through itself to that full issue
	For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,
	If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
	So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest,
	Shall find thee full of labours.

	[Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and
	Attendants]

KING LEAR	Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	How now! what art thou?

KENT	A man, sir.

KING LEAR	What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us?

KENT	I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve
	him truly that will put me in trust: to love him
	that is honest; to converse with him that is wise,
	and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I
	cannot choose; and to eat no fish.

KING LEAR	What art thou?

KENT	A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.

KING LEAR	If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a
	king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

KENT	Service.

KING LEAR	Who wouldst thou serve?

KENT	You.

KING LEAR	Dost thou know me, fellow?

KENT	No, sir; but you have that in your countenance
	which I would fain call master.

KING LEAR	What's that?

KENT	Authority.

KING LEAR	What services canst thou do?

KENT	I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious
	tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message
	bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am
	qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.

KING LEAR	How old art thou?

KENT	Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor
	so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years
	on my back forty eight.

KING LEAR	Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no
	worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.
	Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool?
	Go you, and call my fool hither.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	[Enter OSWALD]

	You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

OSWALD	So please you,--

	[Exit]

KING LEAR	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.

	[Exit a Knight]

	Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep.

	[Re-enter Knight]

	How now! where's that mongrel?

Knight	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

KING LEAR	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him.

Knight	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would
	not.

KING LEAR	He would not!

Knight	My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my
	judgment, your highness is not entertained with that
	ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a
	great abatement of kindness appears as well in the
	general dependants as in the duke himself also and
	your daughter.

KING LEAR	Ha! sayest thou so?

Knight	I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken;
	for my duty cannot be silent when I think your
	highness wronged.

KING LEAR	Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I
	have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I
	have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity
	than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness:
	I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I
	have not seen him this two days.

Knight	Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the
	fool hath much pined away.

KING LEAR	No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and
	tell my daughter I would speak with her.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	Go you, call hither my fool.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	[Re-enter OSWALD]

	O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I,
	sir?

OSWALD	My lady's father.

KING LEAR	'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your
	whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!

OSWALD	I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.

KING LEAR	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

	[Striking him]

OSWALD	I'll not be struck, my lord.

KENT	Nor tripped neither, you base football player.

	[Tripping up his heels]

KING LEAR	I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll
	love thee.

KENT	Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences:
	away, away! if you will measure your lubber's
	length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you
	wisdom? so.

	[Pushes OSWALD out]

KING LEAR	Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's
	earnest of thy service.

	[Giving KENT money]

	[Enter Fool]

Fool	Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb.

	[Offering KENT his cap]

KING LEAR	How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?

Fool	Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

KENT	Why, fool?

Fool	Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour:
	nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits,
	thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb:
	why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters,
	and did the third a blessing against his will; if
	thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.
	How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!

KING LEAR	Why, my boy?

Fool	If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs
	myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters.

KING LEAR	Take heed, sirrah; the whip.

Fool	Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped
	out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.

KING LEAR	A pestilent gall to me!

Fool	Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

KING LEAR	Do.

Fool	Mark it, nuncle:
	Have more than thou showest,
	Speak less than thou knowest,
	Lend less than thou owest,
	Ride more than thou goest,
	Learn more than thou trowest,
	Set less than thou throwest;
	Leave thy drink and thy whore,
	And keep in-a-door,
	And thou shalt have more
	Than two tens to a score.

KENT	This is nothing, fool.

Fool	Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you
	gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of
	nothing, nuncle?

KING LEAR	Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.

Fool	[To KENT]  Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of
	his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.

KING LEAR	A bitter fool!

Fool	Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a
	bitter fool and a sweet fool?

KING LEAR	No, lad; teach me.

Fool	That lord that counsell'd thee
	To give away thy land,
	Come place him here by me,
	Do thou for him stand:
	The sweet and bitter fool
	Will presently appear;
	The one in motley here,
	The other found out there.

KING LEAR	Dost thou call me fool, boy?

Fool	All thy other titles thou hast given away; that
	thou wast born with.

KENT	This is not altogether fool, my lord.

Fool	No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if
	I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't:
	and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool
	to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg,
	nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.

KING LEAR	What two crowns shall they be?

Fool	Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat
	up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou
	clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away
	both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er
	the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown,
	when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak
	like myself in this, let him be whipped that first
	finds it so.

	[Singing]

	Fools had ne'er less wit in a year;
	For wise men are grown foppish,
	They know not how their wits to wear,
	Their manners are so apish.

KING LEAR	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Fool	I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy
	daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them
	the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches,

	[Singing]

	Then they for sudden joy did weep,
	And I for sorrow sung,
	That such a king should play bo-peep,
	And go the fools among.

	Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach
	thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.

KING LEAR	An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.

Fool	I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are:
	they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt
	have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am
	whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any
	kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be
	thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides,
	and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o'
	the parings.

	[Enter GONERIL]

KING LEAR	How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on?
	Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown.

Fool	Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to
	care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a
	figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool,
	thou art nothing.

	[To GONERIL]

	Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face
	bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,
	He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
	Weary of all, shall want some.

	[Pointing to KING LEAR]

	That's a shealed peascod.

GONERIL	Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool,
	But other of your insolent retinue
	Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
	In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir,
	I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
	To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
	By what yourself too late have spoke and done.
	That you protect this course, and put it on
	By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
	Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
	Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
	Might in their working do you that offence,
	Which else were shame, that then necessity
	Will call discreet proceeding.

Fool	For, you trow, nuncle,
	The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
	That it's had it head bit off by it young.
	So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

KING LEAR	Are you our daughter?

GONERIL	Come, sir,
	I would you would make use of that good wisdom,
	Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away
	These dispositions, that of late transform you
	From what you rightly are.

Fool	May not an ass know when the cart
	draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.

KING LEAR	Doth any here know me? This is not Lear:
	Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?
	Either his notion weakens, his discernings
	Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so.
	Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Fool	Lear's shadow.

KING LEAR	I would learn that; for, by the
	marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason,
	I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

Fool	Which they will make an obedient father.

KING LEAR	Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONERIL	This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour
	Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
	To understand my purposes aright:
	As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
	Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
	Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold,
	That this our court, infected with their manners,
	Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust
	Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
	Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak
	For instant remedy: be then desired
	By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
	A little to disquantity your train;
	And the remainder, that shall still depend,
	To be such men as may besort your age,
	And know themselves and you.

KING LEAR	Darkness and devils!
	Saddle my horses; call my train together:
	Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee.
	Yet have I left a daughter.

GONERIL	You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
	Make servants of their betters.

	[Enter ALBANY]

KING LEAR	Woe, that too late repents,--

	[To ALBANY]

		        O, sir, are you come?
	Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.
	Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
	More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
	Than the sea-monster!

ALBANY	Pray, sir, be patient.

KING LEAR	[To GONERIL]  Detested kite! thou liest.
	My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
	That all particulars of duty know,
	And in the most exact regard support
	The worships of their name. O most small fault,
	How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
	That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
	From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love,
	And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
	Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,

	[Striking his head]

	And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.

ALBANY	My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
	Of what hath moved you.

KING LEAR	It may be so, my lord.
	Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!
	Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
	To make this creature fruitful!
	Into her womb convey sterility!
	Dry up in her the organs of increase;
	And from her derogate body never spring
	A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
	Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
	And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
	Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
	With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
	Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
	To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
	How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
	To have a thankless child! Away, away!

	[Exit]

ALBANY	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONERIL	Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
	But let his disposition have that scope
	That dotage gives it.

	[Re-enter KING LEAR]

KING LEAR	What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
	Within a fortnight!

ALBANY	What's the matter, sir?


KING LEAR	I'll tell thee:

	[To GONERIL]

	Life and death! I am ashamed
	That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
	That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
	Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
	The untented woundings of a father's curse
	Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,
	Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
	And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
	To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this?
	Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter,
	Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:
	When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
	She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
	That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
	I have cast off for ever: thou shalt,
	I warrant thee.

	[Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants]

GONERIL	Do you mark that, my lord?

ALBANY	I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
	To the great love I bear you,--

GONERIL	Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!

	[To the Fool]

	You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Fool	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool
	with thee.
	A fox, when one has caught her,
	And such a daughter,
	Should sure to the slaughter,
	If my cap would buy a halter:
	So the fool follows after.

	[Exit]

GONERIL	This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights!
	'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
	At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream,
	Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
	He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
	And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!

ALBANY	Well, you may fear too far.

GONERIL	Safer than trust too far:
	Let me still take away the harms I fear,
	Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
	What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister
	If she sustain him and his hundred knights
	When I have show'd the unfitness,--

	[Re-enter OSWALD]

		                  How now, Oswald!
	What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

OSWALD	Yes, madam.

GONERIL	Take you some company, and away to horse:
	Inform her full of my particular fear;
	And thereto add such reasons of your own
	As may compact it more. Get you gone;
	And hasten your return.

	[Exit OSWALD]

		  No, no, my lord,
	This milky gentleness and course of yours
	Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,
	You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom
	Than praised for harmful mildness.

ALBANY	How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:
	Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

GONERIL	Nay, then--

ALBANY	Well, well; the event.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE V	Court before the same.


	[Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]

KING LEAR	Go you before to Gloucester with these letters.
	Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you
	know than comes from her demand out of the letter.
	If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.

KENT	I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered
	your letter.

	[Exit]

Fool	If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in
	danger of kibes?

KING LEAR	Ay, boy.

Fool	Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go
	slip-shod.

KING LEAR	Ha, ha, ha!

Fool	Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly;
	for though she's as like this as a crab's like an
	apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

KING LEAR	Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

Fool	She will taste as like this as a crab does to a
	crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i'
	the middle on's face?

KING LEAR	No.

Fool	Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that
	what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.

KING LEAR	I did her wrong--

Fool	Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

KING LEAR	No.

Fool	Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

KING LEAR	Why?

Fool	Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his
	daughters, and leave his horns without a case.

KING LEAR	I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my
	horses ready?

Fool	Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the
	seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

KING LEAR	Because they are not eight?

Fool	Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

KING LEAR	To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude!

Fool	If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten
	for being old before thy time.

KING LEAR	How's that?

Fool	Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst
	been wise.

KING LEAR	O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven
	Keep me in temper: I would not be mad!

	[Enter Gentleman]

	How now! are the horses ready?

Gentleman	Ready, my lord.

KING LEAR	Come, boy.

Fool	She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
	Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE I	GLOUCESTER's castle.


	[Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him]

EDMUND	Save thee, Curan.

CURAN	And you, sir. I have been with your father, and
	given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan
	his duchess will be here with him this night.

EDMUND	How comes that?

CURAN	Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad;
	I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but
	ear-kissing arguments?

EDMUND	Not I	pray you, what are they?

CURAN	Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the
	Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

EDMUND	Not a word.

CURAN	You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

	[Exit]

EDMUND	The duke be here to-night? The better! best!
	This weaves itself perforce into my business.
	My father hath set guard to take my brother;
	And I have one thing, of a queasy question,
	Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work!
	Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say!

	[Enter EDGAR]

	My father watches: O sir, fly this place;
	Intelligence is given where you are hid;
	You have now the good advantage of the night:
	Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
	He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste,
	And Regan with him: have you nothing said
	Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
	Advise yourself.

EDGAR	                  I am sure on't, not a word.

EDMUND	I hear my father coming: pardon me:
	In cunning I must draw my sword upon you
	Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.
	Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!
	Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.

	[Exit EDGAR]

	Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.

	[Wounds his arm]

	Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
	Do more than this in sport. Father, father!
	Stop, stop! No help?

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches]

GLOUCESTER	Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

EDMUND	Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
	Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
	To stand auspicious mistress,--

GLOUCESTER	But where is he?

EDMUND	Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER	Where is the villain, Edmund?

EDMUND	Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could--

GLOUCESTER	Pursue him, ho! Go after.

	[Exeunt some Servants]

		     By no means what?

EDMUND	Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
	But that I told him, the revenging gods
	'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;
	Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
	The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,
	Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
	To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
	With his prepared sword, he charges home
	My unprovided body, lanced mine arm:
	But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
	Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter,
	Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
	Full suddenly he fled.

GLOUCESTER	Let him fly far:
	Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
	And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master,
	My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:
	By his authority I will proclaim it,
	That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
	Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
	He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND	When I dissuaded him from his intent,
	And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
	I threaten'd to discover him: he replied,
	'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
	If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
	Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
	Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,--
	As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce
	My very character,--I'ld turn it all
	To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:
	And thou must make a dullard of the world,
	If they not thought the profits of my death
	Were very pregnant and potential spurs
	To make thee seek it.'

GLOUCESTER	Strong and fasten'd villain
	Would he deny his letter? I never got him.

	[Tucket within]

	Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.
	All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
	The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture
	I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
	May have the due note of him; and of my land,
	Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
	To make thee capable.

	[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants]

CORNWALL	How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,
	Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

REGAN	If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
	Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!

REGAN	What, did my father's godson seek your life?
	He whom my father named? your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER	O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

REGAN	Was he not companion with the riotous knights
	That tend upon my father?

GLOUCESTER	I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.

EDMUND	Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

REGAN	No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:
	'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
	To have the expense and waste of his revenues.
	I have this present evening from my sister
	Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
	That if they come to sojourn at my house,
	I'll not be there.

CORNWALL	Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
	Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
	A child-like office.

EDMUND	'Twas my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER	He did bewray his practise; and received
	This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL	Is he pursued?

GLOUCESTER	                  Ay, my good lord.

CORNWALL	If he be taken, he shall never more
	Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
	How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,
	Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
	So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
	Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
	You we first seize on.

EDMUND	I shall serve you, sir,
	Truly, however else.

GLOUCESTER	For him I thank your grace.

CORNWALL	You know not why we came to visit you,--

REGAN	Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night:
	Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
	Wherein we must have use of your advice:
	Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
	Of differences, which I least thought it fit
	To answer from our home; the several messengers
	From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
	Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
	Your needful counsel to our business,
	Which craves the instant use.

GLOUCESTER	I serve you, madam:
	Your graces are right welcome.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE II	Before Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally]

OSWALD	Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

KENT	Ay.

OSWALD	Where may we set our horses?

KENT	I' the mire.

OSWALD	Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

KENT	I love thee not.

OSWALD	Why, then, I care not for thee.

KENT	If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee
	care for me.

OSWALD	Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

KENT	Fellow, I know thee.

OSWALD	What dost thou know me for?

KENT	A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
	base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
	hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
	lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
	glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
	one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
	bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
	the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
	and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I
	will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
	the least syllable of thy addition.

OSWALD	Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail
	on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

KENT	What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou
	knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up
	thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you
	rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon
	shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you:
	draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.

	[Drawing his sword]

OSWALD	Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

KENT	Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the
	king; and take vanity the puppet's part against the
	royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I'll so
	carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.

OSWALD	Help, ho! murder! help!

KENT	Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat
	slave, strike.

	[Beating him]

OSWALD	Help, ho! murder! murder!

	[Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL,
	REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]

EDMUND	How now! What's the matter?

KENT	With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll
	flesh ye; come on, young master.

GLOUCESTER	Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here?

CORNWALL	Keep peace, upon your lives:
	He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

REGAN	The messengers from our sister and the king.

CORNWALL	What is your difference? speak.

OSWALD	I am scarce in breath, my lord.

KENT	No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You
	cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a
	tailor made thee.

CORNWALL	Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

KENT	Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could
	not have made him so ill, though he had been but two
	hours at the trade.

CORNWALL	Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD	This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared
	at suit of his gray beard,--

KENT	Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My
	lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
	unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of
	a jakes with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?

CORNWALL	Peace, sirrah!
	You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

KENT	Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

CORNWALL	Why art thou angry?

KENT	That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
	Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
	Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain
	Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
	That in the natures of their lords rebel;
	Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
	Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
	With every gale and vary of their masters,
	Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
	A plague upon your epileptic visage!
	Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
	Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
	I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

CORNWALL	Why, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER	How fell you out? say that.

KENT	No contraries hold more antipathy
	Than I and such a knave.

CORNWALL	Why dost thou call him a knave?  What's his offence?

KENT	His countenance likes me not.

CORNWALL	No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.

KENT	Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain:
	I have seen better faces in my time
	Than stands on any shoulder that I see
	Before me at this instant.

CORNWALL	This is some fellow,
	Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
	A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb
	Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,
	An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!
	An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
	These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
	Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends
	Than twenty silly ducking observants
	That stretch their duties nicely.

KENT	Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
	Under the allowance of your great aspect,
	Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
	On flickering Phoebus' front,--

CORNWALL	What mean'st by this?

KENT	To go out of my dialect, which you
	discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no
	flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain
	accent was a plain knave; which for my part
	I will not be, though I should win your displeasure
	to entreat me to 't.

CORNWALL	What was the offence you gave him?

OSWALD	I never gave him any:
	It pleased the king his master very late
	To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
	When he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure,
	Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
	And put upon him such a deal of man,
	That worthied him, got praises of the king
	For him attempting who was self-subdued;
	And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
	Drew on me here again.

KENT	None of these rogues and cowards
	But Ajax is their fool.

CORNWALL	Fetch forth the stocks!
	You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
	We'll teach you--

KENT	                  Sir, I am too old to learn:
	Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
	On whose employment I was sent to you:
	You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
	Against the grace and person of my master,
	Stocking his messenger.

CORNWALL	Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,
	There shall he sit till noon.

REGAN	Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.

KENT	Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
	You should not use me so.

REGAN	Sir, being his knave, I will.

CORNWALL	This is a fellow of the self-same colour
	Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!

	[Stocks brought out]

GLOUCESTER	Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
	His fault is much, and the good king his master
	Will cheque him for 't: your purposed low correction
	Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches
	For pilferings and most common trespasses
	Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill,
	That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
	Should have him thus restrain'd.

CORNWALL	I'll answer that.

REGAN	My sister may receive it much more worse,
	To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,
	For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

	[KENT is put in the stocks]

	Come, my good lord, away.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT]

GLOUCESTER	I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
	Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
	Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.

KENT	Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travell'd hard;
	Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
	A good man's fortune may grow out at heels:
	Give you good morrow!

GLOUCESTER	The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.

	[Exit]

KENT	Good king, that must approve the common saw,
	Thou out of heaven's benediction comest
	To the warm sun!
	Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
	That by thy comfortable beams I may
	Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees miracles
	But misery: I know 'tis from Cordelia,
	Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
	Of my obscured course; and shall find time
	From this enormous state, seeking to give
	Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd,
	Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
	This shameful lodging.
	Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel!

	[Sleeps]




	KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE III	A wood.


	[Enter EDGAR]

EDGAR	I heard myself proclaim'd;
	And by the happy hollow of a tree
	Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place,
	That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
	Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,
	I will preserve myself: and am bethought
	To take the basest and most poorest shape
	That ever penury, in contempt of man,
	Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
	Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots;
	And with presented nakedness out-face
	The winds and persecutions of the sky.
	The country gives me proof and precedent
	Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
	Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
	Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
	And with this horrible object, from low farms,
	Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,
	Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
	Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!
	That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE IV	Before GLOUCESTER's castle. KENT in the stocks.


	[Enter KING LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman]

KING LEAR	'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
	And not send back my messenger.

Gentleman	As I learn'd,
	The night before there was no purpose in them
	Of this remove.

KENT	                  Hail to thee, noble master!

KING LEAR	Ha!
	Makest thou this shame thy pastime?

KENT	No, my lord.

Fool	Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied
	by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by
	the loins, and men by the legs: when a man's
	over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden
	nether-stocks.

KING LEAR	What's he that hath so much thy place mistook
	To set thee here?

KENT	                  It is both he and she;
	Your son and daughter.

KING LEAR	No.

KENT	Yes.

KING LEAR	No, I say.

KENT	I say, yea.

KING LEAR	No, no, they would not.

KENT	Yes, they have.

KING LEAR	By Jupiter, I swear, no.

KENT	By Juno, I swear, ay.

KING LEAR	They durst not do 't;
	They could not, would not do 't; 'tis worse than murder,
	To do upon respect such violent outrage:
	Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
	Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,
	Coming from us.

KENT	                  My lord, when at their home
	I did commend your highness' letters to them,
	Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
	My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
	Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
	From Goneril his mistress salutations;
	Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
	Which presently they read: on whose contents,
	They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse;
	Commanded me to follow, and attend
	The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
	And meeting here the other messenger,
	Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd mine,--
	Being the very fellow that of late
	Display'd so saucily against your highness,--
	Having more man than wit about me, drew:
	He raised the house with loud and coward cries.
	Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
	The shame which here it suffers.

Fool	Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way.
	Fathers that wear rags
	Do make their children blind;
	But fathers that bear bags
	Shall see their children kind.
	Fortune, that arrant whore,
	Ne'er turns the key to the poor.
	But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours
	for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

KING LEAR	O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
	Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,
	Thy element's below! Where is this daughter?

KENT	With the earl, sir, here within.

KING LEAR	Follow me not;
	Stay here.

	[Exit]

Gentleman	Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

KENT	None.
	How chance the king comes with so small a train?

Fool	And thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that
	question, thou hadst well deserved it.

KENT	Why, fool?

Fool	We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee
	there's no labouring i' the winter. All that follow
	their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and
	there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him
	that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel
	runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with
	following it: but the great one that goes up the
	hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man
	gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I
	would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
	That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
	And follows but for form,
	Will pack when it begins to rain,
	And leave thee in the storm,
	But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
	And let the wise man fly:
	The knave turns fool that runs away;
	The fool no knave, perdy.

KENT	Where learned you this, fool?

Fool	Not i' the stocks, fool.

	[Re-enter KING LEAR with GLOUCESTER]

KING LEAR	Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
	They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches;
	The images of revolt and flying off.
	Fetch me a better answer.

GLOUCESTER	My dear lord,
	You know the fiery quality of the duke;
	How unremoveable and fix'd he is
	In his own course.

KING LEAR	Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
	Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
	I'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

GLOUCESTER	Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

KING LEAR	Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.

KING LEAR	The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
	Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
	Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
	Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that--
	No, but not yet: may be he is not well:
	Infirmity doth still neglect all office
	Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves
	When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
	To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
	And am fall'n out with my more headier will,
	To take the indisposed and sickly fit
	For the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore

	[Looking on KENT]

	Should he sit here? This act persuades me
	That this remotion of the duke and her
	Is practise only. Give me my servant forth.
	Go tell the duke and 's wife I'ld speak with them,
	Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
	Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum
	Till it cry sleep to death.

GLOUCESTER	I would have all well betwixt you.

	[Exit]

KING LEAR	O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, down!

Fool	Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels
	when she put 'em i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em
	o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 'Down,
	wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure
	kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

	[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]

KING LEAR	Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL	Hail to your grace!

	[KENT is set at liberty]

REGAN	I am glad to see your highness.

KING LEAR	Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
	I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
	I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
	Sepulchring an adultress.

	[To KENT]

		    O, are you free?
	Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
	Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
	Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here:

	[Points to his heart]

	I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe
	With how depraved a quality--O Regan!

REGAN	I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope.
	You less know how to value her desert
	Than she to scant her duty.

KING LEAR	Say, how is that?

REGAN	I cannot think my sister in the least
	Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance
	She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
	'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
	As clears her from all blame.

KING LEAR	My curses on her!

REGAN	                  O, sir, you are old.
	Nature in you stands on the very verge
	Of her confine: you should be ruled and led
	By some discretion, that discerns your state
	Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you,
	That to our sister you do make return;
	Say you have wrong'd her, sir.

KING LEAR	Ask her forgiveness?
	Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
	'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

	[Kneeling]

	Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg
	That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.'

REGAN	Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
	Return you to my sister.

KING LEAR	[Rising]  Never, Regan:
	She hath abated me of half my train;
	Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
	Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:
	All the stored vengeances of heaven fall
	On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
	You taking airs, with lameness!

CORNWALL	Fie, sir, fie!

KING LEAR	You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
	Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
	You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
	To fall and blast her pride!

REGAN	O the blest gods! so will you wish on me,
	When the rash mood is on.

KING LEAR	No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
	Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
	Thee o'er to harshness: her eyes are fierce; but thine
	Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
	To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
	To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
	And in conclusion to oppose the bolt
	Against my coming in: thou better know'st
	The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
	Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
	Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
	Wherein I thee endow'd.

REGAN	Good sir, to the purpose.

KING LEAR	Who put my man i' the stocks?

	[Tucket within]

CORNWALL	What trumpet's that?

REGAN	I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
	That she would soon be here.

	[Enter OSWALD]

		       Is your lady come?

KING LEAR	This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
	Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
	Out, varlet, from my sight!

CORNWALL	What means your grace?

KING LEAR	Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
	Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? O heavens,

	[Enter GONERIL]

	If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
	Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,
	Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!

	[To GONERIL]

	Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?
	O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

GONERIL	Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
	All's not offence that indiscretion finds
	And dotage terms so.

KING LEAR	O sides, you are too tough;
	Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks?

CORNWALL	I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
	Deserved much less advancement.

KING LEAR	You! did you?

REGAN	I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
	If, till the expiration of your month,
	You will return and sojourn with my sister,
	Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
	I am now from home, and out of that provision
	Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

KING LEAR	Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
	No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
	To wage against the enmity o' the air;
	To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,--
	Necessity's sharp pinch! Return with her?
	Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
	Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
	To knee his throne, and, squire-like; pension beg
	To keep base life afoot. Return with her?
	Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
	To this detested groom.

	[Pointing at OSWALD]

GONERIL	At your choice, sir.

KING LEAR	I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad:
	I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
	We'll no more meet, no more see one another:
	But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
	Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
	Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,
	A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,
	In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
	Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
	I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
	Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
	Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:
	I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
	I and my hundred knights.

REGAN	Not altogether so:
	I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
	For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
	For those that mingle reason with your passion
	Must be content to think you old, and so--
	But she knows what she does.

KING LEAR	Is this well spoken?

REGAN	I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?
	Is it not well? What should you need of more?
	Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger
	Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house,
	Should many people, under two commands,
	Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.

GONERIL	Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
	From those that she calls servants or from mine?

REGAN	Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you,
	We could control them. If you will come to me,--
	For now I spy a danger,--I entreat you
	To bring but five and twenty: to no more
	Will I give place or notice.

KING LEAR	I gave you all--

REGAN	                  And in good time you gave it.

KING LEAR	Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
	But kept a reservation to be follow'd
	With such a number. What, must I come to you
	With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?

REGAN	And speak't again, my lord; no more with me.

KING LEAR	Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,
	When others are more wicked: not being the worst
	Stands in some rank of praise.

	[To GONERIL]

		         I'll go with thee:
	Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,
	And thou art twice her love.

GONERIL	Hear me, my lord;
	What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
	To follow in a house where twice so many
	Have a command to tend you?

REGAN	What need one?

KING LEAR	O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
	Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
	Allow not nature more than nature needs,
	Man's life's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;
	If only to go warm were gorgeous,
	Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
	Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,--
	You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
	You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
	As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
	If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
	Against their father, fool me not so much
	To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,
	And let not women's weapons, water-drops,
	Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,
	I will have such revenges on you both,
	That all the world shall--I will do such things,--
	What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
	The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep
	No, I'll not weep:
	I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
	Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
	Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!

	[Exeunt KING LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool]

	[Storm and tempest]

CORNWALL	Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

REGAN	This house is little: the old man and his people
	Cannot be well bestow'd.

GONERIL	'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest,
	And must needs taste his folly.

REGAN	For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
	But not one follower.

GONERIL	So am I purposed.
	Where is my lord of Gloucester?

CORNWALL	Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd.

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	The king is in high rage.

CORNWALL	Whither is he going?

GLOUCESTER	He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.

CORNWALL	'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.

GONERIL	My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
	Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
	There's scarce a bush.

REGAN	O, sir, to wilful men,
	The injuries that they themselves procure
	Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:
	He is attended with a desperate train;
	And what they may incense him to, being apt
	To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

CORNWALL	Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night:
	My Regan counsels well; come out o' the storm.

	[Exeunt]



	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE I	A heath.


	[Storm still. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting]

KENT	Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gentleman	One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

KENT	I know you. Where's the king?

Gentleman	Contending with the fretful element:
	Bids the winds blow the earth into the sea,
	Or swell the curled water 'bove the main,
	That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
	Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
	Catch in their fury, and make nothing of;
	Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
	The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
	This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
	The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
	Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
	And bids what will take all.

KENT	But who is with him?

Gentleman	None but the fool; who labours to out-jest
	His heart-struck injuries.

KENT	Sir, I do know you;
	And dare, upon the warrant of my note,
	Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,
	Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
	With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
	Who have--as who have not, that their great stars
	Throned and set high?--servants, who seem no less,
	Which are to France the spies and speculations
	Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen,
	Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,
	Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
	Against the old kind king; or something deeper,
	Whereof perchance these are but furnishings;
	But, true it is, from France there comes a power
	Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
	Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
	In some of our best ports, and are at point
	To show their open banner. Now to you:
	If on my credit you dare build so far
	To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
	Some that will thank you, making just report
	Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
	The king hath cause to plain.
	I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
	And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer
	This office to you.

Gentleman	I will talk further with you.

KENT	No, do not.
	For confirmation that I am much more
	Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take
	What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,--
	As fear not but you shall,--show her this ring;
	And she will tell you who your fellow is
	That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
	I will go seek the king.

Gentleman	Give me your hand: have you no more to say?

KENT	Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;
	That, when we have found the king,--in which your pain
	That way, I'll this,--he that first lights on him
	Holla the other.

	[Exeunt severally]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE II	Another part of the heath. Storm still.


	[Enter KING LEAR and Fool]

KING LEAR	Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
	You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
	Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
	You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
	Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
	Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
	Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
	Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,
	That make ingrateful man!

Fool	O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry
	house is better than this rain-water out o' door.
	Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing:
	here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

KING LEAR	Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
	Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
	I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
	I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
	You owe me no subscription: then let fall
	Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,
	A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:
	But yet I call you servile ministers,
	That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
	Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
	So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

Fool	He that has a house to put's head in has a good
	head-piece.
	The cod-piece that will house
	Before the head has any,
	The head and he shall louse;
	So beggars marry many.
	The man that makes his toe
	What he his heart should make
	Shall of a corn cry woe,
	And turn his sleep to wake.
	For there was never yet fair woman but she made
	mouths in a glass.

KING LEAR	No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
	I will say nothing.

	[Enter KENT]

KENT	Who's there?

Fool	Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise
	man and a fool.

KENT	Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night
	Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
	Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,
	And make them keep their caves: since I was man,
	Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
	Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
	Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry
	The affliction nor the fear.

KING LEAR	Let the great gods,
	That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
	Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
	That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
	Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
	Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue
	That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,
	That under covert and convenient seeming
	Hast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts,
	Rive your concealing continents, and cry
	These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
	More sinn'd against than sinning.

KENT	Alack, bare-headed!
	Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
	Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest:
	Repose you there; while I to this hard house--
	More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised;
	Which even but now, demanding after you,
	Denied me to come in--return, and force
	Their scanted courtesy.

KING LEAR	My wits begin to turn.
	Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold?
	I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?
	The art of our necessities is strange,
	That can make vile things precious. Come,
	your hovel.
	Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
	That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool	[Singing]

	He that has and a little tiny wit--
	With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,--
	Must make content with his fortunes fit,
	For the rain it raineth every day.

KING LEAR	True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.

	[Exeunt KING LEAR and KENT]

Fool	This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.
	I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:
	When priests are more in word than matter;
	When brewers mar their malt with water;
	When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
	No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;
	When every case in law is right;
	No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
	When slanders do not live in tongues;
	Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;
	When usurers tell their gold i' the field;
	And bawds and whores do churches build;
	Then shall the realm of Albion
	Come to great confusion:
	Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
	That going shall be used with feet.
	This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE III	Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural
	dealing. When I desire their leave that I might
	pity him, they took from me the use of mine own
	house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual
	displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for
	him, nor any way sustain him.

EDMUND	Most savage and unnatural!

GLOUCESTER	Go to; say you nothing. There's a division betwixt
	the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have
	received a letter this night; 'tis dangerous to be
	spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet:
	these injuries the king now bears will be revenged
	home; there's part of a power already footed: we
	must incline to the king. I will seek him, and
	privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with
	the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:
	if he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.
	Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me,
	the king my old master must be relieved. There is
	some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.

	[Exit]

EDMUND	This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
	Instantly know; and of that letter too:
	This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
	That which my father loses; no less than all:
	The younger rises when the old doth fall.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE IV	The heath. Before a hovel.


	[Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]

KENT	Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:
	The tyranny of the open night's too rough
	For nature to endure.

	[Storm still]

KING LEAR	Let me alone.

KENT	Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR	Wilt break my heart?

KENT	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

KING LEAR	Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
	Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
	But where the greater malady is fix'd,
	The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;
	But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
	Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the
	mind's free,
	The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
	Doth from my senses take all feeling else
	Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
	Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
	For lifting food to't? But I will punish home:
	No, I will weep no more. In such a night
	To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
	In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
	Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,--
	O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
	No more of that.

KENT	                  Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR	Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease:
	This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
	On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.

	[To the Fool]

	In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--
	Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

	[Fool goes in]

	Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
	That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
	How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
	Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
	From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
	Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
	Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
	That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
	And show the heavens more just.

EDGAR	[Within]  Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

	[The Fool runs out from the hovel]

Fool	Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit
	Help me, help me!

KENT	Give me thy hand. Who's there?

Fool	A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

KENT	What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?
	Come forth.

	[Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man]

EDGAR	Away! the foul fiend follows me!
	Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.
	Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

KING LEAR	Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?
	And art thou come to this?

EDGAR	Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul
	fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and
	through ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;
	that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters
	in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film
	proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over
	four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a
	traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,--O, do
	de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,
	star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some
	charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I
	have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.

	[Storm still]

KING LEAR	What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?
	Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?

Fool	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

KING LEAR	Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air
	Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

KENT	He hath no daughters, sir.

KING LEAR	Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature
	To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
	Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
	Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
	Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
	Those pelican daughters.

EDGAR	Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:
	Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

EDGAR	Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents;
	keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with
	man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud
	array. Tom's a-cold.

KING LEAR	What hast thou been?

EDGAR	A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled
	my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of
	my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with
	her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and
	broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that
	slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it:
	wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman
	out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of
	ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth,
	wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.
	Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of
	silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot
	out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen
	from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.
	Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:
	Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny.
	Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.

	[Storm still]

KING LEAR	Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer
	with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.
	Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou
	owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep
	no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on
	's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself:
	unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare,
	forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!
	come unbutton here.

	[Tearing off his clothes]

Fool	Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night
	to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were
	like an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all the
	rest on's body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, with a torch]

EDGAR	This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins
	at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives
	the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the
	hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the
	poor creature of earth.
	S. Withold footed thrice the old;
	He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
	Bid her alight,
	And her troth plight,
	And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

KENT	How fares your grace?

KING LEAR	What's he?

KENT	Who's there? What is't you seek?

GLOUCESTER	What are you there? Your names?

EDGAR	Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad,
	the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in
	the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,
	eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and
	the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the
	standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to
	tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who
	hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his
	body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;
	But mice and rats, and such small deer,
	Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
	Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

GLOUCESTER	What, hath your grace no better company?

EDGAR	The prince of darkness is a gentleman:
	Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.

GLOUCESTER	Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,
	That it doth hate what gets it.

EDGAR	Poor Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER	Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer
	To obey in all your daughters' hard commands:
	Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
	And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
	Yet have I ventured to come seek you out,
	And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

KING LEAR	First let me talk with this philosopher.
	What is the cause of thunder?

KENT	Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

KING LEAR	I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
	What is your study?

EDGAR	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

KING LEAR	Let me ask you one word in private.

KENT	Importune him once more to go, my lord;
	His wits begin to unsettle.

GLOUCESTER	Canst thou blame him?

	[Storm still]

	His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!
	He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man!
	Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,
	I am almost mad myself: I had a son,
	Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life,
	But lately, very late: I loved him, friend;
	No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,
	The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!
	I do beseech your grace,--

KING LEAR	O, cry your mercy, sir.
	Noble philosopher, your company.

EDGAR	Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER	In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.

KING LEAR	Come let's in all.

KENT	                  This way, my lord.

KING LEAR	With him;
	I will keep still with my philosopher.

KENT	Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

GLOUCESTER	Take him you on.

KENT	Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

KING LEAR	Come, good Athenian.

GLOUCESTER	No words, no words: hush.

EDGAR	      Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
	His word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum,
	I smell the blood of a British man.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE V	Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter CORNWALL and EDMUND]

CORNWALL	I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

EDMUND	How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus
	gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think
	of.

CORNWALL	I now perceive, it was not altogether your
	brother's evil disposition made him seek his death;
	but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable
	badness in himself.

EDMUND	How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to
	be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which
	approves him an intelligent party to the advantages
	of France: O heavens! that this treason were not,
	or not I the detector!

CORNWALL	o with me to the duchess.

EDMUND	If the matter of this paper be certain, you have
	mighty business in hand.

CORNWALL	True or false, it hath made thee earl of
	Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he
	may be ready for our apprehension.

EDMUND	[Aside]  If I find him comforting the king, it will
	stuff his suspicion more fully.--I will persevere in
	my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore
	between that and my blood.

CORNWALL	I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a
	dearer father in my love.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE VI	A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, KING LEAR, KENT, Fool, and EDGAR]

GLOUCESTER	Here is better than the open air; take it
	thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what
	addition I can: I will not be long from you.

KENT	All the power of his wits have given way to his
	impatience: the gods reward your kindness!

	[Exit GLOUCESTER]

EDGAR	Frateretto calls me; and tells me
	Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.
	Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Fool	Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a
	gentleman or a yeoman?

KING LEAR	A king, a king!

Fool	No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son;
	for he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman
	before him.

KING LEAR	To have a thousand with red burning spits
	Come hissing in upon 'em,--

EDGAR	The foul fiend bites my back.

Fool	He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a
	horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.

KING LEAR	It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.

	[To EDGAR]

	Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;

	[To the Fool]

	Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!

EDGAR	   Look, where he stands and glares!
	Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?
	Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me,--

Fool	   Her boat hath a leak,
	And she must not speak
	Why she dares not come over to thee.

EDGAR	The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a
	nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two
	white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no
	food for thee.

KENT	How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed:
	Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

KING LEAR	I'll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.

	[To EDGAR]

	Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;

	[To the Fool]

	And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,
	Bench by his side:

	[To KENT]

	you are o' the commission,
	Sit you too.

EDGAR	Let us deal justly.
	Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
	Thy sheep be in the corn;
	And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,
	Thy sheep shall take no harm.
	Pur! the cat is gray.

KING LEAR	Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take my
	oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the
	poor king her father.

Fool	Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?

KING LEAR	She cannot deny it.

Fool	Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.

KING LEAR	And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim
	What store her heart is made on. Stop her there!
	Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place!
	False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?

EDGAR	Bless thy five wits!

KENT	O pity! Sir, where is the patience now,
	That thou so oft have boasted to retain?

EDGAR	[Aside]  My tears begin to take his part so much,
	They'll mar my counterfeiting.

KING LEAR	The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and
	Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.

EDGAR	Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!
	Be thy mouth or black or white,
	Tooth that poisons if it bite;
	Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim,
	Hound or spaniel, brach or lym,
	Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail,
	Tom will make them weep and wail:
	For, with throwing thus my head,
	Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
	Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and
	fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

KING LEAR	Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds
	about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that
	makes these hard hearts?

	[To EDGAR]

	You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I
	do not like the fashion of your garments: you will
	say they are Persian attire: but let them be changed.

KENT	Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.

KING LEAR	Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains:
	so, so, so. We'll go to supper i' he morning. So, so, so.

Fool	And I'll go to bed at noon.

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?

KENT	Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.

GLOUCESTER	Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms;
	I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him:
	There is a litter ready; lay him in 't,
	And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
	Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master:
	If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,
	With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
	Stand in assured loss: take up, take up;
	And follow me, that will to some provision
	Give thee quick conduct.

KENT	Oppressed nature sleeps:
	This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses,
	Which, if convenience will not allow,
	Stand in hard cure.

	[To the Fool]

	Come, help to bear thy master;
	Thou must not stay behind.

GLOUCESTER	Come, come, away.

	[Exeunt all but EDGAR]

EDGAR	When we our betters see bearing our woes,
	We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
	Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind,
	Leaving free things and happy shows behind:
	But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er skip,
	When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
	How light and portable my pain seems now,
	When that which makes me bend makes the king bow,
	He childed as I father'd! Tom, away!
	Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray,
	When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,
	In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.
	What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king!
	Lurk, lurk.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE VII	Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, EDMUND, and Servants]

CORNWALL	Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him
	this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek
	out the villain Gloucester.

	[Exeunt some of the Servants]

REGAN	Hang him instantly.

GONERIL	Pluck out his eyes.

CORNWALL	Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our
	sister company: the revenges we are bound to take
	upon your traitorous father are not fit for your
	beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to
	a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the
	like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent
	betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my
	lord of Gloucester.

	[Enter OSWALD]

	How now! where's the king?

OSWALD	My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence:
	Some five or six and thirty of his knights,
	Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;
	Who, with some other of the lords dependants,
	Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast
	To have well-armed friends.

CORNWALL	Get horses for your mistress.

GONERIL	Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

CORNWALL	Edmund, farewell.

	[Exeunt GONERIL, EDMUND, and OSWALD]

	Go seek the traitor Gloucester,
	Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.

	[Exeunt other Servants]

	Though well we may not pass upon his life
	Without the form of justice, yet our power
	Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men
	May blame, but not control. Who's there? the traitor?

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, brought in by two or three]

REGAN	Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.

CORNWALL	Bind fast his corky arms.

GLOUCESTER	What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider
	You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.

CORNWALL	Bind him, I say.

	[Servants bind him]

REGAN	                  Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!

GLOUCESTER	Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.

CORNWALL	To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find--

	[REGAN plucks his beard]

GLOUCESTER	By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
	To pluck me by the beard.

REGAN	So white, and such a traitor!

GLOUCESTER	Naughty lady,
	These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,
	Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:
	With robbers' hands my hospitable favours
	You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

CORNWALL	Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

REGAN	Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.

CORNWALL	And what confederacy have you with the traitors
	Late footed in the kingdom?

REGAN	To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.

GLOUCESTER	I have a letter guessingly set down,
	Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
	And not from one opposed.

CORNWALL	Cunning.

REGAN	And false.

CORNWALL	Where hast thou sent the king?

GLOUCESTER	To Dover.

REGAN	Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril--

CORNWALL	Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.

GLOUCESTER	I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

REGAN	Wherefore to Dover, sir?

GLOUCESTER	Because I would not see thy cruel nails
	Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
	In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
	The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
	In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up,
	And quench'd the stelled fires:
	Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
	If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
	Thou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn the key,'
	All cruels else subscribed: but I shall see
	The winged vengeance overtake such children.

CORNWALL	See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.
	Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.

GLOUCESTER	He that will think to live till he be old,
	Give me some help! O cruel! O you gods!

REGAN	One side will mock another; the other too.

CORNWALL	If you see vengeance,--

First Servant	Hold your hand, my lord:
	I have served you ever since I was a child;
	But better service have I never done you
	Than now to bid you hold.

REGAN	How now, you dog!

First Servant	If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
	I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?

CORNWALL	My villain!

	[They draw and fight]

First Servant	Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

REGAN	Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!

	[Takes a sword, and runs at him behind]

First Servant	O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left
	To see some mischief on him. O!

	[Dies]

CORNWALL	Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
	Where is thy lustre now?

GLOUCESTER	All dark and comfortless. Where's my son Edmund?
	Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,
	To quit this horrid act.

REGAN	Out, treacherous villain!
	Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he
	That made the overture of thy treasons to us;
	Who is too good to pity thee.

GLOUCESTER	O my follies! then Edgar was abused.
	Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

REGAN	Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
	His way to Dover.

	[Exit one with GLOUCESTER]

	How is't, my lord? how look you?

CORNWALL	I have received a hurt: follow me, lady.
	Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave
	Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:
	Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.

	[Exit CORNWALL, led by REGAN]

Second Servant	I'll never care what wickedness I do,
	If this man come to good.

Third Servant	If she live long,
	And in the end meet the old course of death,
	Women will all turn monsters.

Second Servant	Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
	To lead him where he would: his roguish madness
	Allows itself to any thing.

Third Servant	Go thou: I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs
	To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!

	[Exeunt severally]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE I	The heath.


	[Enter EDGAR]

EDGAR	Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
	Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
	The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
	Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:
	The lamentable change is from the best;
	The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,
	Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
	The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst
	Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an Old Man]

	My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!
	But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
	Lie would not yield to age.

Old Man	O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and
	your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

GLOUCESTER	Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:
	Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
	Thee they may hurt.

Old Man	Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.

GLOUCESTER	I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
	I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen,
	Our means secure us, and our mere defects
	Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
	The food of thy abused father's wrath!
	Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
	I'ld say I had eyes again!

Old Man	How now! Who's there?

EDGAR	[Aside]  O gods! Who is't can say 'I am at
	the worst'?
	I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man	'Tis poor mad Tom.

EDGAR	[Aside]  And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
	So long as we can say  'This is the worst.'

Old Man	Fellow, where goest?

GLOUCESTER	Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man	Madman and beggar too.

GLOUCESTER	He has some reason, else he could not beg.
	I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
	Which made me think a man a worm: my son
	Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
	Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard
	more since.
	As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods.
	They kill us for their sport.

EDGAR	[Aside]	How should this be?
	Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
	Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER	Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man	Ay, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake,
	Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
	I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
	And bring some covering for this naked soul,
	Who I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man	Alack, sir, he is mad.

GLOUCESTER	'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
	Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;
	Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man	I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
	Come on't what will.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, naked fellow,--

EDGAR	Poor Tom's a-cold.

	[Aside]

	I cannot daub it further.

GLOUCESTER	Come hither, fellow.

EDGAR	[Aside]  And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

GLOUCESTER	Know'st thou the way to Dover?

EDGAR	Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor
	Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless
	thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! five
	fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as
	Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of
	stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of
	mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids
	and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER	Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues
	Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched
	Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still!
	Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
	That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
	Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
	So distribution should undo excess,
	And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

EDGAR	Ay, master.

GLOUCESTER	There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
	Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
	Bring me but to the very brim of it,
	And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
	With something rich about me: from that place
	I shall no leading need.

EDGAR	Give me thy arm:
	Poor Tom shall lead thee.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE II	Before ALBANY's palace.


	[Enter GONERIL and EDMUND]

GONERIL	Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband
	Not met us on the way.

	[Enter OSWALD]

		 Now, where's your master'?

OSWALD	Madam, within; but never man so changed.
	I told him of the army that was landed;
	He smiled at it: I told him you were coming:
	His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's treachery,
	And of the loyal service of his son,
	When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,
	And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:
	What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
	What like, offensive.

GONERIL	[To EDMUND]  Then shall you go no further.
	It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
	That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs
	Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
	May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
	Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:
	I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
	Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
	Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,
	If you dare venture in your own behalf,
	A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

	[Giving a favour]

	Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
	Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:
	Conceive, and fare thee well.

EDMUND	Yours in the ranks of death.

GONERIL	My most dear Gloucester!

	[Exit EDMUND]

	O, the difference of man and man!
	To thee a woman's services are due:
	My fool usurps my body.

OSWALD	Madam, here comes my lord.

	[Exit]

	[Enter ALBANY]

GONERIL	I have been worth the whistle.

ALBANY	O Goneril!
	You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
	Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:
	That nature, which contemns its origin,
	Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
	She that herself will sliver and disbranch
	From her material sap, perforce must wither
	And come to deadly use.

GONERIL	No more; the text is foolish.

ALBANY	Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:
	Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
	Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
	A father, and a gracious aged man,
	Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
	Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
	Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
	A man, a prince, by him so benefited!
	If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
	Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
	It will come,
	Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
	Like monsters of the deep.

GONERIL	Milk-liver'd man!
	That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
	Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
	Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st
	Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd
	Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
	France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
	With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
	Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest
	'Alack, why does he so?'

ALBANY	See thyself, devil!
	Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
	So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL	O vain fool!

ALBANY	Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,
	Be-monster not thy feature. Were't my fitness
	To let these hands obey my blood,
	They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
	Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend,
	A woman's shape doth shield thee.

GONERIL	Marry, your manhood now--

	[Enter a Messenger]

ALBANY	What news?

Messenger	O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:
	Slain by his servant, going to put out
	The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY	Gloucester's eye!

Messenger	A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
	Opposed against the act, bending his sword
	To his great master; who, thereat enraged,
	Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;
	But not without that harmful stroke, which since
	Hath pluck'd him after.

ALBANY	This shows you are above,
	You justicers, that these our nether crimes
	So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!
	Lost he his other eye?

Messenger	Both, both, my lord.
	This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
	'Tis from your sister.

GONERIL	[Aside]              One way I like this well;
	But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,
	May all the building in my fancy pluck
	Upon my hateful life: another way,
	The news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.

	[Exit]

ALBANY	Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Messenger	Come with my lady hither.

ALBANY	He is not here.

Messenger	No, my good lord; I met him back again.

ALBANY	Knows he the wickedness?

Messenger	Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him;
	And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment
	Might have the freer course.

ALBANY	Gloucester, I live
	To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
	And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:
	Tell me what more thou know'st.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE III	The French camp near Dover.


	[Enter KENT and a Gentleman]

KENT	Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back
	know you the reason?

Gentleman	Something he left imperfect in the
	state, which since his coming forth is thought
	of; which imports to the kingdom so much
	fear and danger, that his personal return was
	most required and necessary.

KENT	Who hath he left behind him general?

Gentleman	The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.

KENT	Did your letters pierce the queen to any
	demonstration of grief?

Gentleman	Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;
	And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
	Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen
	Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
	Sought to be king o'er her.

KENT	O, then it moved her.

Gentleman	Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove
	Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
	Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
	Were like a better way: those happy smilets,
	That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
	What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
	As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,
	Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
	If all could so become it.

KENT	Made she no verbal question?

Gentleman	'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'
	Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart:
	Cried 'Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!
	Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night?
	Let pity not be believed!' There she shook
	The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
	And clamour moisten'd: then away she started
	To deal with grief alone.

KENT	It is the stars,
	The stars above us, govern our conditions;
	Else one self mate and mate could not beget
	Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gentleman	No.

KENT	Was this before the king return'd?

Gentleman	No, since.

KENT	Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the town;
	Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
	What we are come about, and by no means
	Will yield to see his daughter.

Gentleman	Why, good sir?

KENT	A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,
	That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
	To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
	To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting
	His mind so venomously, that burning shame
	Detains him from Cordelia.

Gentleman	Alack, poor gentleman!

KENT	Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?

Gentleman	'Tis so, they are afoot.

KENT	Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
	And leave you to attend him: some dear cause
	Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;
	When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
	Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
	Along with me.

	[Exeunt]



	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The same. A tent.


	[Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers]

CORDELIA	Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now
	As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
	Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
	With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
	Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
	In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;
	Search every acre in the high-grown field,
	And bring him to our eye.

	[Exit an Officer]

		    What can man's wisdom
	In the restoring his bereaved sense?
	He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doctor	There is means, madam:
	Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
	The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
	Are many simples operative, whose power
	Will close the eye of anguish.

CORDELIA	All blest secrets,
	All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
	Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
	In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him;
	Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
	That wants the means to lead it.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	News, madam;
	The British powers are marching hitherward.

CORDELIA	'Tis known before; our preparation stands
	In expectation of them. O dear father,
	It is thy business that I go about;
	Therefore great France
	My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
	No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
	But love, dear love, and our aged father's right:
	Soon may I hear and see him!

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE V	Gloucester's castle.


	[Enter REGAN and OSWALD]

REGAN	But are my brother's powers set forth?

OSWALD	Ay, madam.

REGAN	Himself in person there?

OSWALD	Madam, with much ado:
	Your sister is the better soldier.

REGAN	Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

OSWALD	No, madam.

REGAN	What might import my sister's letter to him?

OSWALD	I know not, lady.

REGAN	'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
	It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out,
	To let him live: where he arrives he moves
	All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,
	In pity of his misery, to dispatch
	His nighted life: moreover, to descry
	The strength o' the enemy.

OSWALD	I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

REGAN	Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;
	The ways are dangerous.

OSWALD	I may not, madam:
	My lady charged my duty in this business.

REGAN	Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you
	Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
	Something--I know not what: I'll love thee much,
	Let me unseal the letter.

OSWALD	Madam, I had rather--

REGAN	I know your lady does not love her husband;
	I am sure of that: and at her late being here
	She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks
	To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.

OSWALD	I, madam?

REGAN	I speak in understanding; you are; I know't:
	Therefore I do advise you, take this note:
	My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd;
	And more convenient is he for my hand
	Than for your lady's: you may gather more.
	If you do find him, pray you, give him this;
	And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
	I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.
	So, fare you well.
	If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
	Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

OSWALD	Would I could meet him, madam! I should show
	What party I do follow.

REGAN	Fare thee well.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Fields near Dover.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant]

GLOUCESTER	When shall we come to the top of that same hill?

EDGAR	You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.

GLOUCESTER	Methinks the ground is even.

EDGAR	Horrible steep.
	Hark, do you hear the sea?

GLOUCESTER	No, truly.

EDGAR	Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
	By your eyes' anguish.

GLOUCESTER	So may it be, indeed:
	Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
	In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

EDGAR	You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed
	But in my garments.

GLOUCESTER	Methinks you're better spoken.

EDGAR	Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful
	And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
	The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
	Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
	Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
	Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
	The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
	Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
	Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
	Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
	That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
	Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
	Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
	Topple down headlong.

GLOUCESTER	Set me where you stand.

EDGAR	Give me your hand: you are now within a foot
	Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
	Would I not leap upright.

GLOUCESTER	Let go my hand.
	Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel
	Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods
	Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off;
	Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

EDGAR	Now fare you well, good sir.

GLOUCESTER	With all my heart.

EDGAR	Why I do trifle thus with his despair
	Is done to cure it.

GLOUCESTER	[Kneeling]  O you mighty gods!
	This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
	Shake patiently my great affliction off:
	If I could bear it longer, and not fall
	To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
	My snuff and loathed part of nature should
	Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
	Now, fellow, fare thee well.

	[He falls forward]

EDGAR	Gone, sir: farewell.
	And yet I know not how conceit may rob
	The treasury of life, when life itself
	Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
	By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead?
	Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak!
	Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.
	What are you, sir?

GLOUCESTER	                  Away, and let me die.

EDGAR	Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
	So many fathom down precipitating,
	Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
	Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
	Ten masts at each make not the altitude
	Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
	Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.

GLOUCESTER	But have I fall'n, or no?

EDGAR	From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
	Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far
	Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, I have no eyes.
	Is wretchedness deprived that benefit,
	To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
	When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
	And frustrate his proud will.

EDGAR	Give me your arm:
	Up: so. How is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand.

GLOUCESTER	Too well, too well.

EDGAR	This is above all strangeness.
	Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that
	Which parted from you?

GLOUCESTER	A poor unfortunate beggar.

EDGAR	As I stood here below, methought his eyes
	Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
	Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea:
	It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,
	Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours
	Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.

GLOUCESTER	I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
	Affliction till it do cry out itself
	'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,
	I took it for a man; often 'twould say
	'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that place.

EDGAR	Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?

	[Enter KING LEAR, fantastically dressed with wild flowers]

	The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
	His master thus.

KING LEAR	No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the
	king himself.

EDGAR	O thou side-piercing sight!

KING LEAR	Nature's above art in that respect. There's your
	press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
	crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look,
	look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted
	cheese will do 't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove
	it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well
	flown, bird! i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh!
	Give the word.

EDGAR	Sweet marjoram.

KING LEAR	Pass.

GLOUCESTER	I know that voice.

KING LEAR	Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered
	me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my
	beard ere the black ones were there. To say 'ay'
	and 'no' to every thing that I said!--'Ay' and 'no'
	too was no good divinity. When the rain came to
	wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when
	the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I
	found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are
	not men o' their words: they told me I was every
	thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

GLOUCESTER	The trick of that voice I do well remember:
	Is 't not the king?

KING LEAR	Ay, every inch a king:
	When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
	I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? Adultery?
	Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:
	The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly
	Does lecher in my sight.
	Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son
	Was kinder to his father than my daughters
	Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
	To 't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.
	Behold yond simpering dame,
	Whose face between her forks presages snow;
	That minces virtue, and does shake the head
	To hear of pleasure's name;
	The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't
	With a more riotous appetite.
	Down from the waist they are Centaurs,
	Though women all above:
	But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
	Beneath is all the fiends';
	There's hell, there's darkness, there's the
	sulphurous pit,
	Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie,
	fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet,
	good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:
	there's money for thee.

GLOUCESTER	O, let me kiss that hand!

KING LEAR	Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

GLOUCESTER	O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
	Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?

KING LEAR	I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny
	at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not
	love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the
	penning of it.

GLOUCESTER	Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

EDGAR	I would not take this from report; it is,
	And my heart breaks at it.

KING LEAR	Read.

GLOUCESTER	What, with the case of eyes?

KING LEAR	O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
	head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in
	a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how
	this world goes.

GLOUCESTER	I see it feelingly.

KING LEAR	What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes
	with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond
	justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in
	thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which
	is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen
	a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, sir.

KING LEAR	And the creature run from the cur? There thou
	mightst behold the great image of authority: a
	dog's obeyed in office.
	Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
	Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
	Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
	For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
	Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
	Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
	And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
	Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
	None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
	Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
	To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
	And like a scurvy politician, seem
	To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:
	Pull off my boots: harder, harder: so.

EDGAR	O, matter and impertinency mix'd! Reason in madness!

KING LEAR	If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
	I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester:
	Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
	Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
	We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack the day!

KING LEAR	When we are born, we cry that we are come
	To this great stage of fools: this a good block;
	It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
	A troop of horse with felt: I'll put 't in proof;
	And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,
	Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

	[Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants]

Gentleman	O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,
	Your most dear daughter--

KING LEAR	No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even
	The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;
	You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;
	I am cut to the brains.

Gentleman	You shall have any thing.

KING LEAR	No seconds? all myself?
	Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
	To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
	Ay, and laying autumn's dust.

Gentleman	Good sir,--

KING LEAR	I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!
	I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,
	My masters, know you that.

Gentleman	You are a royal one, and we obey you.

KING LEAR	Then there's life in't. Nay, if you get it, you
	shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

	[Exit running; Attendants follow]

Gentleman	A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
	Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,
	Who redeems nature from the general curse
	Which twain have brought her to.

EDGAR	Hail, gentle sir.

Gentleman	                  Sir, speed you: what's your will?

EDGAR	Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Gentleman	Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,
	Which can distinguish sound.

EDGAR	But, by your favour,
	How near's the other army?

Gentleman	Near and on speedy foot; the main descry
	Stands on the hourly thought.

EDGAR	I thank you, sir: that's all.

Gentleman	Though that the queen on special cause is here,
	Her army is moved on.

EDGAR	I thank you, sir.

	[Exit Gentleman]

GLOUCESTER	You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:
	Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
	To die before you please!

EDGAR	Well pray you, father.

GLOUCESTER	Now, good sir, what are you?

EDGAR	A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows;
	Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
	Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
	I'll lead you to some biding.

GLOUCESTER	Hearty thanks:
	The bounty and the benison of heaven
	To boot, and boot!

	[Enter OSWALD]

OSWALD	A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
	That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
	To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
	Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out
	That must destroy thee.

GLOUCESTER	Now let thy friendly hand
	Put strength enough to't.

	[EDGAR interposes]

OSWALD	Wherefore, bold peasant,
	Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;
	Lest that the infection of his fortune take
	Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

EDGAR	Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

OSWALD	Let go, slave, or thou diest!

EDGAR	Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk
	pass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered out of my life,
	'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.
	Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vor
	ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be
	the harder: ch'ill be plain with you.

OSWALD	Out, dunghill!

EDGAR	Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor
	your foins.

	[They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down]

OSWALD	Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse:
	If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
	And give the letters which thou find'st about me
	To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
	Upon the British party: O, untimely death!

	[Dies]

EDGAR	I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
	As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
	As badness would desire.

GLOUCESTER	What, is he dead?

EDGAR	Sit you down, father; rest you
	Let's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of
	May be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry
	He had no other death's-man. Let us see:
	Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
	To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts;
	Their papers, is more lawful.

	[Reads]

	'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
	many opportunities to cut him off: if your will
	want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
	There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror:
	then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from
	the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply
	the place for your labour.
		'Your--wife, so I would say--
		'Affectionate servant,
		'GONERIL.'
	O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
	A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
	And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,
	Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
	Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time
	With this ungracious paper strike the sight
	Of the death practised duke: for him 'tis well
	That of thy death and business I can tell.

GLOUCESTER	The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
	That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
	Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
	So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
	And woes by wrong imaginations lose
	The knowledge of themselves.

EDGAR	Give me your hand:

	[Drum afar off]

	Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:
	Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE VII	A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep,
	soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.


	[Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor]

CORDELIA	O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,
	To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
	And every measure fail me.

KENT	To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.
	All my reports go with the modest truth;
	Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

CORDELIA	Be better suited:
	These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
	I prithee, put them off.

KENT	Pardon me, dear madam;
	Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
	My boon I make it, that you know me not
	Till time and I think meet.

CORDELIA	Then be't so, my good lord.

	[To the Doctor]

		      How does the king?

Doctor	Madam, sleeps still.

CORDELIA	O you kind gods,
	Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
	The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
	Of this child-changed father!

Doctor	So please your majesty
	That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.

CORDELIA	Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
	I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gentleman	Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep
	We put fresh garments on him.

Doctor	Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
	I doubt not of his temperance.

CORDELIA	Very well.

Doctor	Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!

CORDELIA	O my dear father! Restoration hang
	Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
	Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
	Have in thy reverence made!

KENT	Kind and dear princess!

CORDELIA	Had you not been their father, these white flakes
	Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face
	To be opposed against the warring winds?
	To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
	In the most terrible and nimble stroke
	Of quick, cross lightning? to watch--poor perdu!--
	With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
	Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
	Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
	To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
	In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
	'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
	Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.

Doctor	Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

CORDELIA	How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

KING LEAR	You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:
	Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
	Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
	Do scald like moulten lead.

CORDELIA	Sir, do you know me?

KING LEAR	You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

CORDELIA	Still, still, far wide!

Doctor	He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

KING LEAR	Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
	I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity,
	To see another thus. I know not what to say.
	I will not swear these are my hands: let's see;
	I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured
	Of my condition!

CORDELIA	                  O, look upon me, sir,
	And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
	No, sir, you must not kneel.

KING LEAR	Pray, do not mock me:
	I am a very foolish fond old man,
	Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
	And, to deal plainly,
	I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
	Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
	Yet I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant
	What place this is; and all the skill I have
	Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
	Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
	For, as I am a man, I think this lady
	To be my child Cordelia.

CORDELIA	And so I am, I am.

KING LEAR	Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
	If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
	I know you do not love me; for your sisters
	Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
	You have some cause, they have not.

CORDELIA	No cause, no cause.

KING LEAR	Am I in France?

KENT	                  In your own kingdom, sir.

KING LEAR	Do not abuse me.

Doctor	Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
	You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger
	To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
	Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
	Till further settling.

CORDELIA	Will't please your highness walk?

KING LEAR	You must bear with me:
	Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.

	[Exeunt all but KENT and Gentleman]

Gentleman	Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

KENT	Most certain, sir.

Gentleman	Who is conductor of his people?

KENT	As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

Gentleman	They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl
	of Kent in Germany.

KENT	Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about; the
	powers of the kingdom approach apace.

Gentleman	The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you
	well, sir.

	[Exit]

KENT	My point and period will be throughly wrought,
	Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE I	The British camp, near Dover.


	[Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN,
	Gentlemen, and Soldiers.

EDMUND	Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,
	Or whether since he is advised by aught
	To change the course: he's full of alteration
	And self-reproving: bring his constant pleasure.

	[To a Gentleman, who goes out]

REGAN	Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

EDMUND	'Tis to be doubted, madam.

REGAN	Now, sweet lord,
	You know the goodness I intend upon you:
	Tell me--but truly--but then speak the truth,
	Do you not love my sister?

EDMUND	In honour'd love.

REGAN	But have you never found my brother's way
	To the forfended place?

EDMUND	That thought abuses you.

REGAN	I am doubtful that you have been conjunct
	And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.

EDMUND	No, by mine honour, madam.

REGAN	I never shall endure her: dear my lord,
	Be not familiar with her.

EDMUND	Fear me not:
	She and the duke her husband!

	[Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers]

GONERIL	[Aside]  I had rather lose the battle than that sister
	Should loosen him and me.

ALBANY	Our very loving sister, well be-met.
	Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daughter,
	With others whom the rigor of our state
	Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
	I never yet was valiant: for this business,
	It toucheth us, as France invades our land,
	Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,
	Most just and heavy causes make oppose.

EDMUND	Sir, you speak nobly.

REGAN	Why is this reason'd?

GONERIL	Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
	For these domestic and particular broils
	Are not the question here.

ALBANY	Let's then determine
	With the ancient of war on our proceedings.

EDMUND	I shall attend you presently at your tent.

REGAN	Sister, you'll go with us?

GONERIL	No.

REGAN	'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.

GONERIL	[Aside]  O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.

	[As they are going out, enter EDGAR disguised]

EDGAR	If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
	Hear me one word.

ALBANY	                  I'll overtake you. Speak.

	[Exeunt all but ALBANY and EDGAR]

EDGAR	Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
	If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
	For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,
	I can produce a champion that will prove
	What is avouched there. If you miscarry,
	Your business of the world hath so an end,
	And machination ceases. Fortune love you.

ALBANY	Stay till I have read the letter.

EDGAR	I was forbid it.
	When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
	And I'll appear again.

ALBANY	Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper.

	[Exit EDGAR]

	[Re-enter EDMUND]

EDMUND	The enemy's in view; draw up your powers.
	Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
	By diligent discovery; but your haste
	Is now urged on you.

ALBANY	We will greet the time.

	[Exit]

EDMUND	To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
	Each jealous of the other, as the stung
	Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
	Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd,
	If both remain alive: to take the widow
	Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
	And hardly shall I carry out my side,
	Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use
	His countenance for the battle; which being done,
	Let her who would be rid of him devise
	His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
	Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,
	The battle done, and they within our power,
	Shall never see his pardon; for my state
	Stands on me to defend, not to debate.

	[Exit]




	KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE II	A field between the two camps.


	[Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours,
	KING LEAR, CORDELIA, and Soldiers, over the stage;
	and exeunt]

	[Enter EDGAR and GLOUCESTER]

EDGAR	Here, father, take the shadow of this tree
	For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:
	If ever I return to you again,
	I'll bring you comfort.

GLOUCESTER	Grace go with you, sir!

	[Exit EDGAR]

	[Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR]

EDGAR	Away, old man; give me thy hand; away!
	King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:
	Give me thy hand; come on.

GLOUCESTER	No farther, sir; a man may rot even here.

EDGAR	What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
	Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
	Ripeness is all: come on.

GLOUCESTER	And that's true too.

	[Exeunt]




	KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE III	The British camp near Dover.


	[Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND,
	KING LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Captain,
	Soldiers, &c]

EDMUND	Some officers take them away: good guard,
	Until their greater pleasures first be known
	That are to censure them.

CORDELIA	We are not the first
	Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
	For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
	Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
	Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

KING LEAR	No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
	We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
	When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
	And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
	And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
	At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
	Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
	Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;
	And take upon's the mystery of things,
	As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
	In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
	That ebb and flow by the moon.

EDMUND	Take them away.

KING LEAR	Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
	The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
	He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,
	And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
	The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell,
	Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em starve
	first. Come.

	[Exeunt KING LEAR and CORDELIA, guarded]

EDMUND	Come hither, captain; hark.
	Take thou this note;

	[Giving a paper]

		go follow them to prison:
	One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost
	As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
	To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men
	Are as the time is: to be tender-minded
	Does not become a sword: thy great employment
	Will not bear question; either say thou'lt do 't,
	Or thrive by other means.

Captain	I'll do 't, my lord.

EDMUND	About it; and write happy when thou hast done.
	Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so
	As I have set it down.

Captain	I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;
	If it be man's work, I'll do 't.

	[Exit]

	[Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, another
	Captain, and Soldiers]

ALBANY	Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
	And fortune led you well: you have the captives
	That were the opposites of this day's strife:
	We do require them of you, so to use them
	As we shall find their merits and our safety
	May equally determine.

EDMUND	Sir, I thought it fit
	To send the old and miserable king
	To some retention and appointed guard;
	Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
	To pluck the common bosom on his side,
	An turn our impress'd lances in our eyes
	Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;
	My reason all the same; and they are ready
	To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
	Where you shall hold your session. At this time
	We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
	And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed
	By those that feel their sharpness:
	The question of Cordelia and her father
	Requires a fitter place.

ALBANY	Sir, by your patience,
	I hold you but a subject of this war,
	Not as a brother.

REGAN	                  That's as we list to grace him.
	Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded,
	Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;
	Bore the commission of my place and person;
	The which immediacy may well stand up,
	And call itself your brother.

GONERIL	Not so hot:
	In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
	More than in your addition.

REGAN	In my rights,
	By me invested, he compeers the best.

GONERIL	That were the most, if he should husband you.

REGAN	Jesters do oft prove prophets.

GONERIL	Holla, holla!
	That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.

REGAN	Lady, I am not well; else I should answer
	From a full-flowing stomach. General,
	Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;
	Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:
	Witness the world, that I create thee here
	My lord and master.

GONERIL	Mean you to enjoy him?

ALBANY	The let-alone lies not in your good will.

EDMUND	Nor in thine, lord.

ALBANY	Half-blooded fellow, yes.

REGAN	[To EDMUND]  Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

ALBANY	Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee
	On capital treason; and, in thine attaint,
	This gilded serpent

	[Pointing to Goneril]

	For your claim, fair sister,
	I bar it in the interest of my wife:
	'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
	And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
	If you will marry, make your loves to me,
	My lady is bespoke.

GONERIL	An interlude!

ALBANY	Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound:
	If none appear to prove upon thy head
	Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
	There is my pledge;

	[Throwing down a glove]

	I'll prove it on thy heart,
	Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
	Than I have here proclaim'd thee.

REGAN	Sick, O, sick!

GONERIL	[Aside]  If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.

EDMUND	There's my exchange:

	[Throwing down a glove]

		what in the world he is
	That names me traitor, villain-like he lies:
	Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,
	On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
	My truth and honour firmly.

ALBANY	A herald, ho!

EDMUND	                  A herald, ho, a herald!

ALBANY	Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
	All levied in my name, have in my name
	Took their discharge.

REGAN	My sickness grows upon me.

ALBANY	She is not well; convey her to my tent.

	[Exit Regan, led]

	[Enter a Herald]

	Come hither, herald,--Let the trumpet sound,
	And read out this.

Captain	Sound, trumpet!

	[A trumpet sounds]

Herald	[Reads]  'If any man of quality or degree within
	the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund,
	supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold
	traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the
	trumpet: he is bold in his defence.'

EDMUND	Sound!

	[First trumpet]

Herald	Again!

	[Second trumpet]

Herald	Again!

	[Third trumpet]

	[Trumpet answers within]

	[Enter EDGAR, at the third sound, armed, with a
	trumpet before him]

ALBANY	Ask him his purposes, why he appears
	Upon this call o' the trumpet.

Herald	What are you?
	Your name, your quality? and why you answer
	This present summons?

EDGAR	Know, my name is lost;
	By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:
	Yet am I noble as the adversary
	I come to cope.

ALBANY	                  Which is that adversary?

EDGAR	What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?

EDMUND	Himself: what say'st thou to him?

EDGAR	Draw thy sword,
	That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
	Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.
	Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
	My oath, and my profession: I protest,
	Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
	Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
	Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;
	False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
	Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince;
	And, from the extremest upward of thy head
	To the descent and dust below thy foot,
	A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,'
	This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
	To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
	Thou liest.

EDMUND	In wisdom I should ask thy name;
	But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
	And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
	What safe and nicely I might well delay
	By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:
	Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;
	With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
	Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,
	This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
	Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!

	[Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls]

ALBANY	Save him, save him!

GONERIL	This is practise, Gloucester:
	By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
	An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
	But cozen'd and beguiled.

ALBANY	Shut your mouth, dame,
	Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:
	Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:
	No tearing, lady: I perceive you know it.

	[Gives the letter to EDMUND]

GONERIL	Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
	Who can arraign me for't.

ALBANY	Most monstrous! oh!
	Know'st thou this paper?

GONERIL	Ask me not what I know.

	[Exit]

ALBANY	Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.

EDMUND	What you have charged me with, that have I done;
	And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
	'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
	That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
	I do forgive thee.

EDGAR	                  Let's exchange charity.
	I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
	If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
	My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
	The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
	Make instruments to plague us:
	The dark and vicious place where thee he got
	Cost him his eyes.

EDMUND	                  Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;
	The wheel is come full circle: I am here.

ALBANY	Methought thy very gait did prophesy
	A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee:
	Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
	Did hate thee or thy father!

EDGAR	Worthy prince, I know't.

ALBANY	Where have you hid yourself?
	How have you known the miseries of your father?

EDGAR	By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;
	And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!
	The bloody proclamation to escape,
	That follow'd me so near,--O, our lives' sweetness!
	That we the pain of death would hourly die
	Rather than die at once!--taught me to shift
	Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
	That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
	Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
	Their precious stones new lost: became his guide,
	Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair;
	Never,--O fault!--reveal'd myself unto him,
	Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd:
	Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
	I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
	Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
	Alack, too weak the conflict to support!
	'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
	Burst smilingly.

EDMUND	This speech of yours hath moved me,
	And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;
	You look as you had something more to say.

ALBANY	If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;
	For I am almost ready to dissolve,
	Hearing of this.

EDGAR	                  This would have seem'd a period
	To such as love not sorrow; but another,
	To amplify too much, would make much more,
	And top extremity.
	Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,
	Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
	Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
	Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms
	He fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out
	As he'ld burst heaven; threw him on my father;
	Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
	That ever ear received: which in recounting
	His grief grew puissant and the strings of life
	Began to crack: twice then the trumpets sounded,
	And there I left him tranced.

ALBANY	But who was this?

EDGAR	Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
	Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
	Improper for a slave.

	[Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife]

Gentleman	Help, help, O, help!

EDGAR	What kind of help?

ALBANY	Speak, man.

EDGAR	What means that bloody knife?

Gentleman	'Tis hot, it smokes;
	It came even from the heart of--O, she's dead!

ALBANY	Who dead? speak, man.

Gentleman	Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
	By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.

EDMUND	I was contracted to them both: all three
	Now marry in an instant.

EDGAR	Here comes Kent.

ALBANY	Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:
	This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
	Touches us not with pity.

	[Exit Gentleman]

	[Enter KENT]

		    O, is this he?
	The time will not allow the compliment
	Which very manners urges.

KENT	I am come
	To bid my king and master aye good night:
	Is he not here?

ALBANY	                  Great thing of us forgot!
	Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?
	See'st thou this object, Kent?

	[The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in]

KENT	Alack, why thus?

EDMUND	                  Yet Edmund was beloved:
	The one the other poison'd for my sake,
	And after slew herself.

ALBANY	Even so. Cover their faces.

EDMUND	I pant for life: some good I mean to do,
	Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,
	Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ
	Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:
	Nay, send in time.

ALBANY	                  Run, run, O, run!

EDGAR	To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send
	Thy token of reprieve.

EDMUND	Well thought on: take my sword,
	Give it the captain.

ALBANY	Haste thee, for thy life.

	[Exit EDGAR]

EDMUND	He hath commission from thy wife and me
	To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
	To lay the blame upon her own despair,
	That she fordid herself.

ALBANY	The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.

	[EDMUND is borne off]

	[Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms;
	EDGAR, Captain, and others following]

KING LEAR	Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:
	Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
	That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
	I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
	She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
	If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
	Why, then she lives.

KENT	Is this the promised end

EDGAR	Or image of that horror?

ALBANY	Fall, and cease!

KING LEAR	This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
	It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
	That ever I have felt.

KENT	[Kneeling]  O my good master!

KING LEAR	Prithee, away.

EDGAR	'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

KING LEAR	A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
	I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!
	Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
	What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
	Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
	I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.

Captain	'Tis true, my lords, he did.

KING LEAR	Did I not, fellow?
	I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
	I would have made them skip: I am old now,
	And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
	Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.

KENT	If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,
	One of them we behold.

KING LEAR	This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?

KENT	The same,
	Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?

KING LEAR	He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
	He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.

KENT	No, my good lord; I am the very man,--

KING LEAR	I'll see that straight.

KENT	That, from your first of difference and decay,
	Have follow'd your sad steps.

KING LEAR	You are welcome hither.

KENT	Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark, and deadly.
	Your eldest daughters have fordone them selves,
	And desperately are dead.

KING LEAR	Ay, so I think.

ALBANY	He knows not what he says: and vain it is
	That we present us to him.

EDGAR	Very bootless.

	[Enter a Captain]

Captain	Edmund is dead, my lord.

ALBANY	That's but a trifle here.
	You lords and noble friends, know our intent.
	What comfort to this great decay may come
	Shall be applied: for us we will resign,
	During the life of this old majesty,
	To him our absolute power:

	[To EDGAR and KENT]

		     you, to your rights:
	With boot, and such addition as your honours
	Have more than merited. All friends shall taste
	The wages of their virtue, and all foes
	The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

KING LEAR	And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!
	Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
	And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
	Never, never, never, never, never!
	Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
	Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
	Look there, look there!

	[Dies]

EDGAR	He faints! My lord, my lord!

KENT	Break, heart; I prithee, break!

EDGAR	Look up, my lord.

KENT	Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him much
	That would upon the rack of this tough world
	Stretch him out longer.

EDGAR	He is gone, indeed.

KENT	The wonder is, he hath endured so long:
	He but usurp'd his life.

ALBANY	Bear them from hence. Our present business
	Is general woe.

	[To KENT and EDGAR]

	Friends of my soul, you twain
	Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.

KENT	I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
	My master calls me, I must not say no.

ALBANY	The weight of this sad time we must obey;
	Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
	The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
	Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

	[Exeunt, with a dead march]
	MACBETH


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUNCAN	king of Scotland.


MALCOLM	|
	|  his sons.
DONALBAIN	|


MACBETH	|
	|  generals of the king's army.
BANQUO	|


MACDUFF	|
	|
LENNOX	|
	|
ROSS	|
	|  noblemen of Scotland.
MENTEITH	|
	|
ANGUS	|
	|
CAITHNESS	|


FLEANCE	son to Banquo.

SIWARD	Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces.

YOUNG SIWARD	his son.

SEYTON	an officer attending on Macbeth.

	Boy, son to Macduff. (Son:)

	An English Doctor. (Doctor:)

	A Scotch Doctor. (Doctor:)

	A Soldier.
	A Porter.

	An Old Man

LADY MACBETH:

LADY MACDUFF:

	Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. (Gentlewoman:)

HECATE:

	Three Witches.
	(First Witch:)
	(Second Witch:)
	(Third Witch:)

	Apparitions.
	(First Apparition:)
	(Second Apparition:)
	(Third Apparition:)

	Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers,
	Attendants, and Messengers. (Lord:)
	(Sergeant:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)
	(Third Murderer:)
	(Messenger:)

SCENE	Scotland: England.




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE I	A desert place.


	[Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches]

First Witch	When shall we three meet again
	In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Second Witch	When the hurlyburly's done,
	When the battle's lost and won.

Third Witch	That will be ere the set of sun.

First Witch	Where the place?

Second Witch	                  Upon the heath.

Third Witch	There to meet with Macbeth.

First Witch	I come, Graymalkin!

Second Witch	Paddock calls.

Third Witch	Anon.

ALL	Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
	Hover through the fog and filthy air.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE II	A camp near Forres.


	[Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN,
	LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant]

DUNCAN	What bloody man is that? He can report,
	As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
	The newest state.

MALCOLM	                  This is the sergeant
	Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
	'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
	Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
	As thou didst leave it.

Sergeant	Doubtful it stood;
	As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
	And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald--
	Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
	The multiplying villanies of nature
	Do swarm upon him--from the western isles
	Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
	And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
	Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:
	For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name--
	Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
	Which smoked with bloody execution,
	Like valour's minion carved out his passage
	Till he faced the slave;
	Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
	Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
	And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN	O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

Sergeant	As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
	Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
	So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come
	Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
	No sooner justice had with valour arm'd
	Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
	But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,
	With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men
	Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN	Dismay'd not this
	Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sergeant	Yes;
	As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
	If I say sooth, I must report they were
	As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they
	Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
	Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
	Or memorise another Golgotha,
	I cannot tell.
	But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

DUNCAN	So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
	They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.

	[Exit Sergeant, attended]

	Who comes here?

	[Enter ROSS]

MALCOLM	                  The worthy thane of Ross.

LENNOX	What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look
	That seems to speak things strange.

ROSS	God save the king!

DUNCAN	Whence camest thou, worthy thane?

ROSS	From Fife, great king;
	Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
	And fan our people cold. Norway himself,
	With terrible numbers,
	Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
	The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
	Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
	Confronted him with self-comparisons,
	Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.
	Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,
	The victory fell on us.

DUNCAN	Great happiness!

ROSS	That now
	Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition:
	Nor would we deign him burial of his men
	Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch
	Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

DUNCAN	No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
	Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,
	And with his former title greet Macbeth.

ROSS	I'll see it done.

DUNCAN	What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE III	A heath near Forres.


	[Thunder. Enter the three Witches]

First Witch	Where hast thou been, sister?

Second Witch	Killing swine.

Third Witch	Sister, where thou?

First Witch	A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
	And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:--
	'Give me,' quoth I:
	'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
	Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:
	But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
	And, like a rat without a tail,
	I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Second Witch	I'll give thee a wind.

First Witch	Thou'rt kind.

Third Witch	And I another.

First Witch	I myself have all the other,
	And the very ports they blow,
	All the quarters that they know
	I' the shipman's card.
	I will drain him dry as hay:
	Sleep shall neither night nor day
	Hang upon his pent-house lid;
	He shall live a man forbid:
	Weary se'nnights nine times nine
	Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
	Though his bark cannot be lost,
	Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
	Look what I have.

Second Witch	Show me, show me.

First Witch	Here I have a pilot's thumb,
	Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

	[Drum within]

Third Witch	A drum, a drum!
	Macbeth doth come.

ALL	The weird sisters, hand in hand,
	Posters of the sea and land,
	Thus do go about, about:
	Thrice to thine and thrice to mine
	And thrice again, to make up nine.
	Peace! the charm's wound up.

	[Enter MACBETH and BANQUO]

MACBETH	So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

BANQUO	How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these
	So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
	That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
	And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
	That man may question? You seem to understand me,
	By each at once her chappy finger laying
	Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
	And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
	That you are so.

MACBETH	                  Speak, if you can: what are you?

First Witch	All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!

Second Witch	All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!

Third Witch	All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!

BANQUO	Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
	Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
	Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
	Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
	You greet with present grace and great prediction
	Of noble having and of royal hope,
	That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.
	If you can look into the seeds of time,
	And say which grain will grow and which will not,
	Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
	Your favours nor your hate.

First Witch	Hail!

Second Witch	Hail!

Third Witch	Hail!

First Witch	Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Second Witch	Not so happy, yet much happier.

Third Witch	Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
	So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

First Witch	Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

MACBETH	Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
	By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis;
	But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,
	A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
	Stands not within the prospect of belief,
	No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
	You owe this strange intelligence? or why
	Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
	With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

	[Witches vanish]

BANQUO	The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
	And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?

MACBETH	Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
	As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!

BANQUO	Were such things here as we do speak about?
	Or have we eaten on the insane root
	That takes the reason prisoner?

MACBETH	Your children shall be kings.

BANQUO	You shall be king.

MACBETH	And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?

BANQUO	To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

	[Enter ROSS and ANGUS]

ROSS	The king hath happily received, Macbeth,
	The news of thy success; and when he reads
	Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
	His wonders and his praises do contend
	Which should be thine or his: silenced with that,
	In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,
	He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
	Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
	Strange images of death. As thick as hail
	Came post with post; and every one did bear
	Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
	And pour'd them down before him.

ANGUS	We are sent
	To give thee from our royal master thanks;
	Only to herald thee into his sight,
	Not pay thee.

ROSS	And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
	He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:
	In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!
	For it is thine.

BANQUO	                  What, can the devil speak true?

MACBETH	The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me
	In borrow'd robes?

ANGUS	                  Who was the thane lives yet;
	But under heavy judgment bears that life
	Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
	With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
	With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
	He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
	But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
	Have overthrown him.

MACBETH	[Aside]  Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!
	The greatest is behind.

	[To ROSS and ANGUS]

		  Thanks for your pains.

	[To BANQUO]

	Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
	When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me
	Promised no less to them?

BANQUO	That trusted home
	Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
	Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
	And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
	The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
	Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
	In deepest consequence.
	Cousins, a word, I pray you.

MACBETH	[Aside]	Two truths are told,
	As happy prologues to the swelling act
	Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen.

	[Aside]  This supernatural soliciting
	Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill,
	Why hath it given me earnest of success,
	Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:
	If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
	Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
	And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
	Against the use of nature? Present fears
	Are less than horrible imaginings:
	My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
	Shakes so my single state of man that function
	Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is
	But what is not.

BANQUO	                  Look, how our partner's rapt.

MACBETH	[Aside]  If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me,
	Without my stir.

BANQUO	                  New horrors come upon him,
	Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
	But with the aid of use.

MACBETH	[Aside]                Come what come may,
	Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

BANQUO	Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

MACBETH	Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought
	With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
	Are register'd where every day I turn
	The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.
	Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time,
	The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
	Our free hearts each to other.

BANQUO	Very gladly.

MACBETH	Till then, enough. Come, friends.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE IV	Forres. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX,
	and Attendants]

DUNCAN	Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
	Those in commission yet return'd?

MALCOLM	My liege,
	They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
	With one that saw him die: who did report
	That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
	Implored your highness' pardon and set forth
	A deep repentance: nothing in his life
	Became him like the leaving it; he died
	As one that had been studied in his death
	To throw away the dearest thing he owed,
	As 'twere a careless trifle.

DUNCAN	There's no art
	To find the mind's construction in the face:
	He was a gentleman on whom I built
	An absolute trust.

	[Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS]

	O worthiest cousin!
	The sin of my ingratitude even now
	Was heavy on me: thou art so far before
	That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
	To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,
	That the proportion both of thanks and payment
	Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
	More is thy due than more than all can pay.

MACBETH	The service and the loyalty I owe,
	In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
	Is to receive our duties; and our duties
	Are to your throne and state children and servants,
	Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
	Safe toward your love and honour.

DUNCAN	Welcome hither:
	I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
	To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
	That hast no less deserved, nor must be known
	No less to have done so, let me enfold thee
	And hold thee to my heart.

BANQUO	There if I grow,
	The harvest is your own.

DUNCAN	My plenteous joys,
	Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
	In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
	And you whose places are the nearest, know
	We will establish our estate upon
	Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter
	The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must
	Not unaccompanied invest him only,
	But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
	On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
	And bind us further to you.

MACBETH	The rest is labour, which is not used for you:
	I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful
	The hearing of my wife with your approach;
	So humbly take my leave.

DUNCAN	My worthy Cawdor!

MACBETH	[Aside]  The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step
	On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,
	For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;
	Let not light see my black and deep desires:
	The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,
	Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

	[Exit]

DUNCAN	True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,
	And in his commendations I am fed;
	It is a banquet to me. Let's after him,
	Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
	It is a peerless kinsman.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE V	Inverness. Macbeth's castle.


	[Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter]

LADY MACBETH	'They met me in the day of success: and I have
	learned by the perfectest report, they have more in
	them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire
	to question them further, they made themselves air,
	into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in
	the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who
	all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,
	before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred
	me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that
	shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver
	thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou
	mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being
	ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it
	to thy heart, and farewell.'
	Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
	What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature;
	It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
	To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;
	Art not without ambition, but without
	The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,
	That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
	And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis,
	That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;
	And that which rather thou dost fear to do
	Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither,
	That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
	And chastise with the valour of my tongue
	All that impedes thee from the golden round,
	Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
	To have thee crown'd withal.

	[Enter a Messenger]

		       What is your tidings?

Messenger	The king comes here to-night.

LADY MACBETH	Thou'rt mad to say it:
	Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,
	Would have inform'd for preparation.

Messenger	So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:
	One of my fellows had the speed of him,
	Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
	Than would make up his message.

LADY MACBETH	Give him tending;
	He brings great news.

	[Exit Messenger]

		The raven himself is hoarse
	That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
	Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
	That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
	And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
	Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
	Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
	That no compunctious visitings of nature
	Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
	The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
	And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
	Wherever in your sightless substances
	You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
	And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
	That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
	Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
	To cry 'Hold, hold!'

	[Enter MACBETH]

		Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!
	Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
	Thy letters have transported me beyond
	This ignorant present, and I feel now
	The future in the instant.

MACBETH	My dearest love,
	Duncan comes here to-night.

LADY MACBETH	And when goes hence?

MACBETH	To-morrow, as he purposes.

LADY MACBETH	O, never
	Shall sun that morrow see!
	Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
	May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
	Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
	Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
	But be the serpent under't. He that's coming
	Must be provided for: and you shall put
	This night's great business into my dispatch;
	Which shall to all our nights and days to come
	Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

MACBETH	We will speak further.

LADY MACBETH	Only look up clear;
	To alter favour ever is to fear:
	Leave all the rest to me.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE VI	Before Macbeth's castle.


	[Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM,
	DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS,
	and Attendants]

DUNCAN	This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
	Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
	Unto our gentle senses.

BANQUO	This guest of summer,
	The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,
	By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath
	Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,
	Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird
	Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:
	Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,
	The air is delicate.

	[Enter LADY MACBETH]

DUNCAN	See, see, our honour'd hostess!
	The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,
	Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you
	How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains,
	And thank us for your trouble.

LADY MACBETH	All our service
	In every point twice done and then done double
	Were poor and single business to contend
	Against those honours deep and broad wherewith
	Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,
	And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
	We rest your hermits.

DUNCAN	Where's the thane of Cawdor?
	We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose
	To be his purveyor: but he rides well;
	And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
	To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
	We are your guest to-night.

LADY MACBETH	Your servants ever
	Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt,
	To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
	Still to return your own.

DUNCAN	Give me your hand;
	Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,
	And shall continue our graces towards him.
	By your leave, hostess.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE VII	Macbeth's castle.


	[Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers
	Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the
	stage. Then enter MACBETH]

MACBETH	If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
	It were done quickly: if the assassination
	Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
	With his surcease success; that but this blow
	Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
	But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
	We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases
	We still have judgment here; that we but teach
	Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
	To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
	Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
	To our own lips. He's here in double trust;
	First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
	Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
	Who should against his murderer shut the door,
	Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
	Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
	So clear in his great office, that his virtues
	Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
	The deep damnation of his taking-off;
	And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
	Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
	Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
	Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
	That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
	To prick the sides of my intent, but only
	Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
	And falls on the other.

	[Enter LADY MACBETH]

		  How now! what news?

LADY MACBETH	He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?

MACBETH	Hath he ask'd for me?

LADY MACBETH	Know you not he has?

MACBETH	We will proceed no further in this business:
	He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought
	Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
	Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
	Not cast aside so soon.

LADY MACBETH	Was the hope drunk
	Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?
	And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
	At what it did so freely? From this time
	Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
	To be the same in thine own act and valour
	As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
	Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,
	And live a coward in thine own esteem,
	Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'
	Like the poor cat i' the adage?

MACBETH	Prithee, peace:
	I dare do all that may become a man;
	Who dares do more is none.
LADY MACBETH	What beast was't, then,
	That made you break this enterprise to me?
	When you durst do it, then you were a man;
	And, to be more than what you were, you would
	Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
	Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
	They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
	Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
	How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
	I would, while it was smiling in my face,
	Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
	And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
	Have done to this.

MACBETH	                  If we should fail?

LADY MACBETH	We fail!
	But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
	And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep--
	Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
	Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains
	Will I with wine and wassail so convince
	That memory, the warder of the brain,
	Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
	A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep
	Their drenched natures lie as in a death,
	What cannot you and I perform upon
	The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon
	His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt
	Of our great quell?

MACBETH	Bring forth men-children only;
	For thy undaunted mettle should compose
	Nothing but males. Will it not be received,
	When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two
	Of his own chamber and used their very daggers,
	That they have done't?

LADY MACBETH	Who dares receive it other,
	As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
	Upon his death?

MACBETH	                  I am settled, and bend up
	Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
	Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
	False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT II



SCENE I	Court of Macbeth's castle.


	[Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him]

BANQUO	How goes the night, boy?

FLEANCE	The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

BANQUO	And she goes down at twelve.

FLEANCE	I take't, 'tis later, sir.

BANQUO	Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven;
	Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
	A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
	And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers,
	Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
	Gives way to in repose!

	[Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch]

		  Give me my sword.
	Who's there?

MACBETH	A friend.

BANQUO	What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:
	He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
	Sent forth great largess to your offices.
	This diamond he greets your wife withal,
	By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up
	In measureless content.

MACBETH	Being unprepared,
	Our will became the servant to defect;
	Which else should free have wrought.

BANQUO	All's well.
	I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
	To you they have show'd some truth.

MACBETH	I think not of them:
	Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
	We would spend it in some words upon that business,
	If you would grant the time.

BANQUO	At your kind'st leisure.

MACBETH	If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
	It shall make honour for you.

BANQUO	So I lose none
	In seeking to augment it, but still keep
	My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,
	I shall be counsell'd.

MACBETH	Good repose the while!

BANQUO	Thanks, sir: the like to you!

	[Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE]

MACBETH	Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
	She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

	[Exit Servant]

	Is this a dagger which I see before me,
	The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
	I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
	Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
	To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
	A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
	Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
	I see thee yet, in form as palpable
	As this which now I draw.
	Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
	And such an instrument I was to use.
	Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
	Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
	And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
	Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
	It is the bloody business which informs
	Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld
	Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
	The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates
	Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,
	Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
	Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
	With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
	Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
	Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
	Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
	And take the present horror from the time,
	Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
	Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

	[A bell rings]

	I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
	Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
	That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

	[Exit]




	MACBETH


ACT II



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter LADY MACBETH]

LADY MACBETH	That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;
	What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.
	Hark! Peace!
	It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,
	Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it:
	The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms
	Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd
	their possets,
	That death and nature do contend about them,
	Whether they live or die.

MACBETH	[Within]  Who's there? what, ho!

LADY MACBETH	Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,
	And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed
	Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
	He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled
	My father as he slept, I had done't.

	[Enter MACBETH]

		                  My husband!

MACBETH	I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?

LADY MACBETH	I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
	Did not you speak?

MACBETH	                  When?

LADY MACBETH	Now.

MACBETH	As I descended?

LADY MACBETH	Ay.

MACBETH	Hark!
	Who lies i' the second chamber?

LADY MACBETH	Donalbain.

MACBETH	This is a sorry sight.

	[Looking on his hands]

LADY MACBETH	A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

MACBETH	There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried
	'Murder!'
	That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:
	But they did say their prayers, and address'd them
	Again to sleep.

LADY MACBETH	                  There are two lodged together.

MACBETH	One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;
	As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
	Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'
	When they did say 'God bless us!'

LADY MACBETH	Consider it not so deeply.

MACBETH	But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?
	I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'
	Stuck in my throat.

LADY MACBETH	These deeds must not be thought
	After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

MACBETH	Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!
	Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep,
	Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
	The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
	Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
	Chief nourisher in life's feast,--

LADY MACBETH	What do you mean?

MACBETH	Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:
	'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
	Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'

LADY MACBETH	Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,
	You do unbend your noble strength, to think
	So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,
	And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
	Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
	They must lie there: go carry them; and smear
	The sleepy grooms with blood.

MACBETH	I'll go no more:
	I am afraid to think what I have done;
	Look on't again I dare not.

LADY MACBETH	Infirm of purpose!
	Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead
	Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
	That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
	I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
	For it must seem their guilt.

	[Exit. Knocking within]

MACBETH	Whence is that knocking?
	How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
	What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.
	Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
	Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
	The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,
	Making the green one red.

	[Re-enter LADY MACBETH]

LADY MACBETH	My hands are of your colour; but I shame
	To wear a heart so white.

	[Knocking within]

		    I hear a knocking
	At the south entry: retire we to our chamber;
	A little water clears us of this deed:
	How easy is it, then! Your constancy
	Hath left you unattended.

	[Knocking within]

		   Hark! more knocking.
	Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,
	And show us to be watchers. Be not lost
	So poorly in your thoughts.

MACBETH	To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.

	[Knocking within]

	Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!

	[Exeunt]



	MACBETH


ACT II



SCENE III	The same.


	[Knocking within. Enter a Porter]

Porter	Here's a knocking indeed! If a
	man were porter of hell-gate, he should have
	old turning the key.

	[Knocking within]
		Knock,
	knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of
	Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged
	himself on the expectation of plenty: come in
	time; have napkins enow about you; here
	you'll sweat for't.

	[Knocking within]
	Knock,
	knock! Who's there, in the other devil's
	name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could
	swear in both the scales against either scale;
	who committed treason enough for God's sake,
	yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come
	in, equivocator.

	[Knocking within]
	Knock,
	knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an
	English tailor come hither, for stealing out of
	a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may
	roast your goose.

	[Knocking within]
	Knock,
	knock; never at quiet! What are you? But
	this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter
	it no further: I had thought to have let in
	some of all professions that go the primrose
	way to the everlasting bonfire.

	[Knocking within]

	Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.

	[Opens the gate]

	[Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX]

MACDUFF	Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
	That you do lie so late?

Porter	'Faith sir, we were carousing till the
	second cock: and drink, sir, is a great
	provoker of three things.

MACDUFF	What three things does drink especially provoke?

Porter	Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and
	urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;
	it provokes the desire, but it takes
	away the performance: therefore, much drink
	may be said to be an equivocator with lechery:
	it makes him, and it mars him; it sets
	him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him,
	and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and
	not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him
	in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

MACDUFF	I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.

Porter	That it did, sir, i' the very throat on
	me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I
	think, being too strong for him, though he took
	up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast
	him.

MACDUFF	Is thy master stirring?

	[Enter MACBETH]

	Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes.

LENNOX	Good morrow, noble sir.

MACBETH	Good morrow, both.

MACDUFF	Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

MACBETH	Not yet.

MACDUFF	He did command me to call timely on him:
	I have almost slipp'd the hour.

MACBETH	I'll bring you to him.

MACDUFF	I know this is a joyful trouble to you;
	But yet 'tis one.

MACBETH	The labour we delight in physics pain.
	This is the door.

MACDUFF	                  I'll make so bold to call,
	For 'tis my limited service.

	[Exit]

LENNOX	Goes the king hence to-day?

MACBETH	He does: he did appoint so.

LENNOX	The night has been unruly: where we lay,
	Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,
	Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death,
	And prophesying with accents terrible
	Of dire combustion and confused events
	New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird
	Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth
	Was feverous and did shake.

MACBETH	'Twas a rough night.

LENNOX	My young remembrance cannot parallel
	A fellow to it.

	[Re-enter MACDUFF]

MACDUFF	O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart
	Cannot conceive nor name thee!


MACBETH	|
	|	What's the matter.
LENNOX	|


MACDUFF	Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!
	Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
	The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
	The life o' the building!

MACBETH	What is 't you say? the life?

LENNOX	Mean you his majesty?

MACDUFF	Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
	With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak;
	See, and then speak yourselves.

	[Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX]

		          Awake, awake!
	Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason!
	Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!
	Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
	And look on death itself! up, up, and see
	The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo!
	As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites,
	To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.

	[Bell rings]

	[Enter LADY MACBETH]

LADY MACBETH	What's the business,
	That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
	The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!

MACDUFF	O gentle lady,
	'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
	The repetition, in a woman's ear,
	Would murder as it fell.

	[Enter BANQUO]

		   O Banquo, Banquo,
	Our royal master 's murder'd!

LADY MACBETH	Woe, alas!
	What, in our house?

BANQUO	Too cruel any where.
	Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,
	And say it is not so.

	[Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS]

MACBETH	Had I but died an hour before this chance,
	I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant,
	There 's nothing serious in mortality:
	All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;
	The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
	Is left this vault to brag of.

	[Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN]

DONALBAIN	What is amiss?

MACBETH	                  You are, and do not know't:
	The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
	Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.

MACDUFF	Your royal father 's murder'd.

MALCOLM	O, by whom?

LENNOX	Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't:
	Their hands and faces were an badged with blood;
	So were their daggers, which unwiped we found
	Upon their pillows:
	They stared, and were distracted; no man's life
	Was to be trusted with them.

MACBETH	O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
	That I did kill them.

MACDUFF	Wherefore did you so?

MACBETH	Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,
	Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
	The expedition my violent love
	Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,
	His silver skin laced with his golden blood;
	And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature
	For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,
	Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
	Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain,
	That had a heart to love, and in that heart
	Courage to make 's love known?

LADY MACBETH	Help me hence, ho!

MACDUFF	Look to the lady.

MALCOLM	[Aside to DONALBAIN]  Why do we hold our tongues,
	That most may claim this argument for ours?

DONALBAIN	[Aside to MALCOLM]  What should be spoken here,
	where our fate,
	Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us?
	Let 's away;
	Our tears are not yet brew'd.

MALCOLM	[Aside to DONALBAIN]        Nor our strong sorrow
	Upon the foot of motion.

BANQUO	Look to the lady:

	[LADY MACBETH is carried out]

	And when we have our naked frailties hid,
	That suffer in exposure, let us meet,
	And question this most bloody piece of work,
	To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:
	In the great hand of God I stand; and thence
	Against the undivulged pretence I fight
	Of treasonous malice.

MACDUFF	And so do I.

ALL	So all.

MACBETH	Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
	And meet i' the hall together.

ALL	Well contented.

	[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain.

MALCOLM	What will you do? Let's not consort with them:
	To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
	Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.

DONALBAIN	To Ireland, I; our separated fortune
	Shall keep us both the safer: where we are,
	There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood,
	The nearer bloody.

MALCOLM	                  This murderous shaft that's shot
	Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way
	Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;
	And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,
	But shift away: there's warrant in that theft
	Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT II



SCENE IV	Outside Macbeth's castle.


	[Enter ROSS and an old Man]

Old Man	Threescore and ten I can remember well:
	Within the volume of which time I have seen
	Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night
	Hath trifled former knowings.

ROSS	Ah, good father,
	Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
	Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day,
	And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
	Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
	That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
	When living light should kiss it?

Old Man	'Tis unnatural,
	Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
	A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
	Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

ROSS	And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain--
	Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
	Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
	Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
	War with mankind.

Old Man	'Tis said they eat each other.

ROSS	They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes
	That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.

	[Enter MACDUFF]

	How goes the world, sir, now?

MACDUFF	Why, see you not?

ROSS	Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?

MACDUFF	Those that Macbeth hath slain.

ROSS	Alas, the day!
	What good could they pretend?

MACDUFF	They were suborn'd:
	Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,
	Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
	Suspicion of the deed.

ROSS	'Gainst nature still!
	Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
	Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like
	The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

MACDUFF	He is already named, and gone to Scone
	To be invested.

ROSS	                  Where is Duncan's body?

MACDUFF	Carried to Colmekill,
	The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
	And guardian of their bones.

ROSS	Will you to Scone?

MACDUFF	No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

ROSS	Well, I will thither.

MACDUFF	Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!
	Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!

ROSS	Farewell, father.

Old Man	God's benison go with you; and with those
	That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE I	Forres. The palace.


	[Enter BANQUO]

BANQUO	Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
	As the weird women promised, and, I fear,
	Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said
	It should not stand in thy posterity,
	But that myself should be the root and father
	Of many kings. If there come truth from them--
	As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine--
	Why, by the verities on thee made good,
	May they not be my oracles as well,
	And set me up in hope? But hush! no more.

	[Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY
	MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and
	Attendants]

MACBETH	Here's our chief guest.

LADY MACBETH	If he had been forgotten,
	It had been as a gap in our great feast,
	And all-thing unbecoming.

MACBETH	To-night we hold a solemn supper sir,
	And I'll request your presence.

BANQUO	Let your highness
	Command upon me; to the which my duties
	Are with a most indissoluble tie
	For ever knit.

MACBETH	                  Ride you this afternoon?

BANQUO	Ay, my good lord.

MACBETH	We should have else desired your good advice,
	Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,
	In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.
	Is't far you ride?

BANQUO	As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
	'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
	I must become a borrower of the night
	For a dark hour or twain.

MACBETH	Fail not our feast.

BANQUO	My lord, I will not.

MACBETH	We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd
	In England and in Ireland, not confessing
	Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
	With strange invention: but of that to-morrow,
	When therewithal we shall have cause of state
	Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,
	Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?

BANQUO	Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's.

MACBETH	I wish your horses swift and sure of foot;
	And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell.

	[Exit BANQUO]

	Let every man be master of his time
	Till seven at night: to make society
	The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
	Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you!

	[Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant]

	Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men
	Our pleasure?

ATTENDANT	They are, my lord, without the palace gate.

MACBETH	Bring them before us.

	[Exit Attendant]

		To be thus is nothing;
	But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo
	Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature
	Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;
	And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
	He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour
	To act in safety. There is none but he
	Whose being I do fear: and, under him,
	My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said,
	Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters
	When first they put the name of king upon me,
	And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like
	They hail'd him father to a line of kings:
	Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
	And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
	Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
	No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so,
	For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind;
	For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd;
	Put rancours in the vessel of my peace
	Only for them; and mine eternal jewel
	Given to the common enemy of man,
	To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!
	Rather than so, come fate into the list.
	And champion me to the utterance! Who's there!

	[Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers]

	Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.

	[Exit Attendant]

	Was it not yesterday we spoke together?

First Murderer	It was, so please your highness.

MACBETH	Well then, now
	Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know
	That it was he in the times past which held you
	So under fortune, which you thought had been
	Our innocent self: this I made good to you
	In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you,
	How you were borne in hand, how cross'd,
	the instruments,
	Who wrought with them, and all things else that might
	To half a soul and to a notion crazed
	Say 'Thus did Banquo.'

First Murderer	You made it known to us.

MACBETH	I did so, and went further, which is now
	Our point of second meeting. Do you find
	Your patience so predominant in your nature
	That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd
	To pray for this good man and for his issue,
	Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave
	And beggar'd yours for ever?

First Murderer	We are men, my liege.

MACBETH	Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;
	As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
	Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept
	All by the name of dogs: the valued file
	Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
	The housekeeper, the hunter, every one
	According to the gift which bounteous nature
	Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive
	Particular addition. from the bill
	That writes them all alike: and so of men.
	Now, if you have a station in the file,
	Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't;
	And I will put that business in your bosoms,
	Whose execution takes your enemy off,
	Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
	Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
	Which in his death were perfect.

Second Murderer	I am one, my liege,
	Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
	Have so incensed that I am reckless what
	I do to spite the world.

First Murderer	And I another
	So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
	That I would set my lie on any chance,
	To mend it, or be rid on't.

MACBETH	Both of you
	Know Banquo was your enemy.

Both Murderers	True, my lord.

MACBETH	So is he mine; and in such bloody distance,
	That every minute of his being thrusts
	Against my near'st of life: and though I could
	With barefaced power sweep him from my sight
	And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
	For certain friends that are both his and mine,
	Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
	Who I myself struck down; and thence it is,
	That I to your assistance do make love,
	Masking the business from the common eye
	For sundry weighty reasons.

Second Murderer	We shall, my lord,
	Perform what you command us.

First Murderer	Though our lives--

MACBETH	Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most
	I will advise you where to plant yourselves;
	Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,
	The moment on't; for't must be done to-night,
	And something from the palace; always thought
	That I require a clearness: and with him--
	To leave no rubs nor botches in the work--
	Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
	Whose absence is no less material to me
	Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
	Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:
	I'll come to you anon.

Both Murderers	We are resolved, my lord.

MACBETH	I'll call upon you straight: abide within.

	[Exeunt Murderers]

	It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight,
	If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

	[Exit]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE II	The palace.


	[Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant]

LADY MACBETH	Is Banquo gone from court?

Servant	Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

LADY MACBETH	Say to the king, I would attend his leisure
	For a few words.

Servant	                  Madam, I will.

	[Exit]

LADY MACBETH	Nought's had, all's spent,
	Where our desire is got without content:
	'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
	Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

	[Enter MACBETH]

	How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,
	Of sorriest fancies your companions making,
	Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
	With them they think on? Things without all remedy
	Should be without regard: what's done is done.

MACBETH	We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it:
	She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
	Remains in danger of her former tooth.
	But let the frame of things disjoint, both the
	worlds suffer,
	Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep
	In the affliction of these terrible dreams
	That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,
	Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
	Than on the torture of the mind to lie
	In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
	After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;
	Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
	Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
	Can touch him further.

LADY MACBETH	Come on;
	Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
	Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

MACBETH	So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you:
	Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;
	Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
	Unsafe the while, that we
	Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,
	And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
	Disguising what they are.

LADY MACBETH	You must leave this.

MACBETH	O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
	Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.

LADY MACBETH	But in them nature's copy's not eterne.

MACBETH	There's comfort yet; they are assailable;
	Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown
	His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons
	The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
	Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
	A deed of dreadful note.

LADY MACBETH	What's to be done?

MACBETH	Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
	Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,
	Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;
	And with thy bloody and invisible hand
	Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
	Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow
	Makes wing to the rooky wood:
	Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
	While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
	Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
	Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
	So, prithee, go with me.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE III	A park near the palace.


	[Enter three Murderers]

First Murderer	But who did bid thee join with us?

Third Murderer	Macbeth.

Second Murderer	He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers
	Our offices and what we have to do
	To the direction just.

First Murderer	Then stand with us.
	The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
	Now spurs the lated traveller apace
	To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
	The subject of our watch.

Third Murderer	Hark! I hear horses.

BANQUO	[Within]  Give us a light there, ho!

Second Murderer	Then 'tis he: the rest
	That are within the note of expectation
	Already are i' the court.

First Murderer	His horses go about.

Third Murderer	Almost a mile: but he does usually,
	So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
	Make it their walk.

Second Murderer	A light, a light!

	[Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch]

Third Murderer	'Tis he.

First Murderer	Stand to't.

BANQUO	It will be rain to-night.

First Murderer	Let it come down.

	[They set upon BANQUO]

BANQUO	O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
	Thou mayst revenge. O slave!

	[Dies. FLEANCE escapes]

Third Murderer	Who did strike out the light?

First Murderer	Wast not the way?

Third Murderer	There's but one down; the son is fled.

Second Murderer	We have lost
	Best half of our affair.

First Murderer	Well, let's away, and say how much is done.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE IV	The same. Hall in the palace.


	[A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH,
	ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants]

MACBETH	You know your own degrees; sit down: at first
	And last the hearty welcome.
Lords	Thanks to your majesty.

MACBETH	Ourself will mingle with society,
	And play the humble host.
	Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time
	We will require her welcome.

LADY MACBETH	Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;
	For my heart speaks they are welcome.

	[First Murderer appears at the door]

MACBETH	See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
	Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst:
	Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
	The table round.

	[Approaching the door]

	There's blood on thy face.

First Murderer	'Tis Banquo's then.

MACBETH	'Tis better thee without than he within.
	Is he dispatch'd?

First Murderer	My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

MACBETH	Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good
	That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
	Thou art the nonpareil.

First Murderer	Most royal sir,
	Fleance is 'scaped.

MACBETH	Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect,
	Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,
	As broad and general as the casing air:
	But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in
	To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?

First Murderer	Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,
	With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
	The least a death to nature.

MACBETH	Thanks for that:
	There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled
	Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
	No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow
	We'll hear, ourselves, again.

	[Exit Murderer]

LADY MACBETH	My royal lord,
	You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold
	That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,
	'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home;
	From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;
	Meeting were bare without it.

MACBETH	Sweet remembrancer!
	Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
	And health on both!

LENNOX	May't please your highness sit.

	[The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in
	MACBETH's place]

MACBETH	Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,
	Were the graced person of our Banquo present;
	Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
	Than pity for mischance!

ROSS	His absence, sir,
	Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness
	To grace us with your royal company.

MACBETH	The table's full.

LENNOX	                  Here is a place reserved, sir.

MACBETH	Where?

LENNOX	Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?

MACBETH	Which of you have done this?

Lords	What, my good lord?

MACBETH	Thou canst not say I did it: never shake
	Thy gory locks at me.

ROSS	Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.

LADY MACBETH	Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,
	And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;
	The fit is momentary; upon a thought
	He will again be well: if much you note him,
	You shall offend him and extend his passion:
	Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

MACBETH	Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
	Which might appal the devil.

LADY MACBETH	O proper stuff!
	This is the very painting of your fear:
	This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,
	Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,
	Impostors to true fear, would well become
	A woman's story at a winter's fire,
	Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!
	Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
	You look but on a stool.

MACBETH	Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo!
	how say you?
	Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.
	If charnel-houses and our graves must send
	Those that we bury back, our monuments
	Shall be the maws of kites.

	[GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes]

LADY MACBETH	What, quite unmann'd in folly?

MACBETH	If I stand here, I saw him.

LADY MACBETH	Fie, for shame!

MACBETH	Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,
	Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;
	Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
	Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,
	That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
	And there an end; but now they rise again,
	With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
	And push us from our stools: this is more strange
	Than such a murder is.

LADY MACBETH	My worthy lord,
	Your noble friends do lack you.

MACBETH	I do forget.
	Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends,
	I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
	To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;
	Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full.
	I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,
	And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;
	Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
	And all to all.

Lords	                  Our duties, and the pledge.

	[Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO]

MACBETH	Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!
	Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
	Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
	Which thou dost glare with!

LADY MACBETH	Think of this, good peers,
	But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
	Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

MACBETH	What man dare, I dare:
	Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
	The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;
	Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
	Shall never tremble: or be alive again,
	And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
	If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
	The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
	Unreal mockery, hence!

	[GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes]

		 Why, so: being gone,
	I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.

LADY MACBETH	You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,
	With most admired disorder.

MACBETH	Can such things be,
	And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
	Without our special wonder? You make me strange
	Even to the disposition that I owe,
	When now I think you can behold such sights,
	And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
	When mine is blanched with fear.

ROSS	What sights, my lord?

LADY MACBETH	I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;
	Question enrages him. At once, good night:
	Stand not upon the order of your going,
	But go at once.

LENNOX	                  Good night; and better health
	Attend his majesty!

LADY MACBETH	A kind good night to all!

	[Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH]

MACBETH	It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:
	Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;
	Augurs and understood relations have
	By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
	The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

LADY MACBETH	Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

MACBETH	How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person
	At our great bidding?

LADY MACBETH	Did you send to him, sir?

MACBETH	I hear it by the way; but I will send:
	There's not a one of them but in his house
	I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,
	And betimes I will, to the weird sisters:
	More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
	By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,
	All causes shall give way: I am in blood
	Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
	Returning were as tedious as go o'er:
	Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
	Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.

LADY MACBETH	You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

MACBETH	Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse
	Is the initiate fear that wants hard use:
	We are yet but young in deed.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE V	A Heath.


	[Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE]

First Witch	Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.

HECATE	Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
	Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
	To trade and traffic with Macbeth
	In riddles and affairs of death;
	And I, the mistress of your charms,
	The close contriver of all harms,
	Was never call'd to bear my part,
	Or show the glory of our art?
	And, which is worse, all you have done
	Hath been but for a wayward son,
	Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,
	Loves for his own ends, not for you.
	But make amends now: get you gone,
	And at the pit of Acheron
	Meet me i' the morning: thither he
	Will come to know his destiny:
	Your vessels and your spells provide,
	Your charms and every thing beside.
	I am for the air; this night I'll spend
	Unto a dismal and a fatal end:
	Great business must be wrought ere noon:
	Upon the corner of the moon
	There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
	I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
	And that distill'd by magic sleights
	Shall raise such artificial sprites
	As by the strength of their illusion
	Shall draw him on to his confusion:
	He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
	He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:
	And you all know, security
	Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

	[Music and a song within: 'Come away, come
	away,' &c]

	Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
	Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

	[Exit]

First Witch	Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT III



SCENE VI	Forres. The palace.


	[Enter LENNOX and another Lord]

LENNOX	My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
	Which can interpret further: only, I say,
	Things have been strangely borne. The
	gracious Duncan
	Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead:
	And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late;
	Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,
	For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.
	Who cannot want the thought how monstrous
	It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
	To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
	How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight
	In pious rage the two delinquents tear,
	That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?
	Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;
	For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
	To hear the men deny't. So that, I say,
	He has borne all things well: and I do think
	That had he Duncan's sons under his key--
	As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they
	should find
	What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
	But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd
	His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear
	Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell
	Where he bestows himself?

Lord	The son of Duncan,
	From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth
	Lives in the English court, and is received
	Of the most pious Edward with such grace
	That the malevolence of fortune nothing
	Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff
	Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid
	To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:
	That, by the help of these--with Him above
	To ratify the work--we may again
	Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights,
	Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,
	Do faithful homage and receive free honours:
	All which we pine for now: and this report
	Hath so exasperate the king that he
	Prepares for some attempt of war.

LENNOX	Sent he to Macduff?

Lord	He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,'
	The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
	And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time
	That clogs me with this answer.'

LENNOX	And that well might
	Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
	His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
	Fly to the court of England and unfold
	His message ere he come, that a swift blessing
	May soon return to this our suffering country
	Under a hand accursed!

Lord	I'll send my prayers with him.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT IV



SCENE I	A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron.


	[Thunder. Enter the three Witches]


First Witch	Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Witch	Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

Third Witch	Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.

First Witch	Round about the cauldron go;
	In the poison'd entrails throw.
	Toad, that under cold stone
	Days and nights has thirty-one
	Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
	Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

ALL	Double, double toil and trouble;
	Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch	Fillet of a fenny snake,
	In the cauldron boil and bake;
	Eye of newt and toe of frog,
	Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
	Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
	Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,
	For a charm of powerful trouble,
	Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

ALL	Double, double toil and trouble;
	Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Third Witch	Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
	Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
	Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
	Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
	Liver of blaspheming Jew,
	Gall of goat, and slips of yew
	Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,
	Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
	Finger of birth-strangled babe
	Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
	Make the gruel thick and slab:
	Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
	For the ingredients of our cauldron.

ALL	Double, double toil and trouble;
	Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch	Cool it with a baboon's blood,
	Then the charm is firm and good.

	[Enter HECATE to the other three Witches]

HECATE	O well done! I commend your pains;
	And every one shall share i' the gains;
	And now about the cauldron sing,
	Live elves and fairies in a ring,
	Enchanting all that you put in.

	[Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' &c]

	[HECATE retires]

Second Witch	By the pricking of my thumbs,
	Something wicked this way comes.
	Open, locks,
	Whoever knocks!

	[Enter MACBETH]

MACBETH	How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!
	What is't you do?

ALL	                  A deed without a name.

MACBETH	I conjure you, by that which you profess,
	Howe'er you come to know it, answer me:
	Though you untie the winds and let them fight
	Against the churches; though the yesty waves
	Confound and swallow navigation up;
	Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down;
	Though castles topple on their warders' heads;
	Though palaces and pyramids do slope
	Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
	Of nature's germens tumble all together,
	Even till destruction sicken; answer me
	To what I ask you.

First Witch	                  Speak.

Second Witch	Demand.

Third Witch	We'll answer.

First Witch	Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,
	Or from our masters?

MACBETH	Call 'em; let me see 'em.

First Witch	Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
	Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten
	From the murderer's gibbet throw
	Into the flame.

ALL	                  Come, high or low;
	Thyself and office deftly show!

	[Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head]

MACBETH	Tell me, thou unknown power,--

First Witch	He knows thy thought:
	Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

First Apparition	Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;
	Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.

	[Descends]

MACBETH	Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;
	Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one
	word more,--

First Witch	He will not be commanded: here's another,
	More potent than the first.

	[Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child]

Second Apparition	Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

MACBETH	Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee.

Second Apparition	Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn
	The power of man, for none of woman born
	Shall harm Macbeth.

	[Descends]

MACBETH	Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?
	But yet I'll make assurance double sure,
	And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;
	That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,
	And sleep in spite of thunder.

	[Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned,
	with a tree in his hand]

		         What is this
	That rises like the issue of a king,
	And wears upon his baby-brow the round
	And top of sovereignty?

ALL	Listen, but speak not to't.

Third Apparition	Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
	Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
	Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until
	Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
	Shall come against him.

	[Descends]

MACBETH	That will never be
	Who can impress the forest, bid the tree
	Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good!
	Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood
	Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth
	Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
	To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart
	Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art
	Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever
	Reign in this kingdom?

ALL	Seek to know no more.

MACBETH	I will be satisfied: deny me this,
	And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.
	Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?

	[Hautboys]

First Witch	Show!

Second Witch	Show!

Third Witch	Show!

ALL	Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
	Come like shadows, so depart!

	[A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in
	his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following]

MACBETH	Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down!
	Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair,
	Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.
	A third is like the former. Filthy hags!
	Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes!
	What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
	Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more:
	And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
	Which shows me many more; and some I see
	That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:
	Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;
	For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
	And points at them for his.

	[Apparitions vanish]

		      What, is this so?

First Witch	Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
	Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
	Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
	And show the best of our delights:
	I'll charm the air to give a sound,
	While you perform your antic round:
	That this great king may kindly say,
	Our duties did his welcome pay.

	[Music. The witches dance and then vanish,
	with HECATE]

MACBETH	Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
	Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
	Come in, without there!

	[Enter LENNOX]

LENNOX	What's your grace's will?

MACBETH	Saw you the weird sisters?

LENNOX	No, my lord.

MACBETH	Came they not by you?

LENNOX	No, indeed, my lord.

MACBETH	Infected be the air whereon they ride;
	And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear
	The galloping of horse: who was't came by?

LENNOX	'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word
	Macduff is fled to England.

MACBETH	Fled to England!

LENNOX	Ay, my good lord.

MACBETH	Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits:
	The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
	Unless the deed go with it; from this moment
	The very firstlings of my heart shall be
	The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
	To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:
	The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
	Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword
	His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
	That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;
	This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.
	But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen?
	Come, bring me where they are.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT IV



SCENE II	Fife. Macduff's castle.


	[Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS]

LADY MACDUFF	What had he done, to make him fly the land?

ROSS	You must have patience, madam.

LADY MACDUFF	He had none:
	His flight was madness: when our actions do not,
	Our fears do make us traitors.

ROSS	You know not
	Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

LADY MACDUFF	Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
	His mansion and his titles in a place
	From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
	He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
	The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
	Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
	All is the fear and nothing is the love;
	As little is the wisdom, where the flight
	So runs against all reason.

ROSS	My dearest coz,
	I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,
	He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
	The fits o' the season. I dare not speak
	much further;
	But cruel are the times, when we are traitors
	And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour
	From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
	But float upon a wild and violent sea
	Each way and move. I take my leave of you:
	Shall not be long but I'll be here again:
	Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
	To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
	Blessing upon you!

LADY MACDUFF	Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

ROSS	I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
	It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:
	I take my leave at once.

	[Exit]

LADY MACDUFF	Sirrah, your father's dead;
	And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son	As birds do, mother.

LADY MACDUFF	What, with worms and flies?

Son	With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

LADY MACDUFF	Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,
	The pitfall nor the gin.

Son	Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
	My father is not dead, for all your saying.

LADY MACDUFF	Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

Son	Nay, how will you do for a husband?

LADY MACDUFF	Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.

Son	Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

LADY MACDUFF	Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith,
	With wit enough for thee.

Son	Was my father a traitor, mother?

LADY MACDUFF	Ay, that he was.

Son	What is a traitor?

LADY MACDUFF	Why, one that swears and lies.

Son	And be all traitors that do so?

LADY MACDUFF	Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.

Son	And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?

LADY MACDUFF	Every one.

Son	Who must hang them?

LADY MACDUFF	Why, the honest men.

Son	Then the liars and swearers are fools,
	for there are liars and swearers enow to beat
	the honest men and hang up them.

LADY MACDUFF	Now, God help thee, poor monkey!
	But how wilt thou do for a father?

Son	If he were dead, you'ld weep for
	him: if you would not, it were a good sign
	that I should quickly have a new father.

LADY MACDUFF	Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
	Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
	I doubt some danger does approach you nearly:
	If you will take a homely man's advice,
	Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
	To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
	To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
	Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
	I dare abide no longer.

	[Exit]

LADY MACDUFF	Whither should I fly?
	I have done no harm. But I remember now
	I am in this earthly world; where to do harm
	Is often laudable, to do good sometime
	Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,
	Do I put up that womanly defence,
	To say I have done no harm?

	[Enter Murderers]

		      What are these faces?

First Murderer	Where is your husband?

LADY MACDUFF	I hope, in no place so unsanctified
	Where such as thou mayst find him.

First Murderer	He's a traitor.

Son	Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!

First Murderer	What, you egg!

	[Stabbing him]

	Young fry of treachery!

Son	He has kill'd me, mother:
	Run away, I pray you!

	[Dies]

	[Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt
	Murderers, following her]



	MACBETH


ACT IV



SCENE III	England. Before the King's palace.


	[Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF]

MALCOLM	Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
	Weep our sad bosoms empty.

MACDUFF	Let us rather
	Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
	Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn
	New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
	Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
	As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
	Like syllable of dolour.

MALCOLM	What I believe I'll wail,
	What know believe, and what I can redress,
	As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
	What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
	This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
	Was once thought honest: you have loved him well.
	He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;
	but something
	You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
	To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb
	To appease an angry god.

MACDUFF	I am not treacherous.

MALCOLM	But Macbeth is.
	A good and virtuous nature may recoil
	In an imperial charge. But I shall crave
	your pardon;
	That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:
	Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell;
	Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
	Yet grace must still look so.

MACDUFF	I have lost my hopes.

MALCOLM	Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
	Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
	Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
	Without leave-taking? I pray you,
	Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
	But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
	Whatever I shall think.

MACDUFF	Bleed, bleed, poor country!
	Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure,
	For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou
	thy wrongs;
	The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord:
	I would not be the villain that thou think'st
	For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
	And the rich East to boot.

MALCOLM	Be not offended:
	I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
	I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
	It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
	Is added to her wounds: I think withal
	There would be hands uplifted in my right;
	And here from gracious England have I offer
	Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
	When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
	Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
	Shall have more vices than it had before,
	More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
	By him that shall succeed.

MACDUFF	What should he be?

MALCOLM	It is myself I mean: in whom I know
	All the particulars of vice so grafted
	That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
	Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
	Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
	With my confineless harms.

MACDUFF	Not in the legions
	Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
	In evils to top Macbeth.

MALCOLM	I grant him bloody,
	Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
	Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
	That has a name: but there's no bottom, none,
	In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
	Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up
	The cistern of my lust, and my desire
	All continent impediments would o'erbear
	That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
	Than such an one to reign.

MACDUFF	Boundless intemperance
	In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
	The untimely emptying of the happy throne
	And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
	To take upon you what is yours: you may
	Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
	And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.
	We have willing dames enough: there cannot be
	That vulture in you, to devour so many
	As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
	Finding it so inclined.

MALCOLM	With this there grows
	In my most ill-composed affection such
	A stanchless avarice that, were I king,
	I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
	Desire his jewels and this other's house:
	And my more-having would be as a sauce
	To make me hunger more; that I should forge
	Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
	Destroying them for wealth.

MACDUFF	This avarice
	Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root
	Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been
	The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;
	Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.
	Of your mere own: all these are portable,
	With other graces weigh'd.

MALCOLM	But I have none: the king-becoming graces,
	As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
	Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
	Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
	I have no relish of them, but abound
	In the division of each several crime,
	Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
	Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
	Uproar the universal peace, confound
	All unity on earth.

MACDUFF	O Scotland, Scotland!

MALCOLM	If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
	I am as I have spoken.

MACDUFF	Fit to govern!
	No, not to live. O nation miserable,
	With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
	When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
	Since that the truest issue of thy throne
	By his own interdiction stands accursed,
	And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
	Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee,
	Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
	Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
	These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
	Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
	Thy hope ends here!

MALCOLM	Macduff, this noble passion,
	Child of integrity, hath from my soul
	Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts
	To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
	By many of these trains hath sought to win me
	Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me
	From over-credulous haste: but God above
	Deal between thee and me! for even now
	I put myself to thy direction, and
	Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure
	The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
	For strangers to my nature. I am yet
	Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,
	Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,
	At no time broke my faith, would not betray
	The devil to his fellow and delight
	No less in truth than life: my first false speaking
	Was this upon myself: what I am truly,
	Is thine and my poor country's to command:
	Whither indeed, before thy here-approach,
	Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
	Already at a point, was setting forth.
	Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness
	Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?

MACDUFF	Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
	'Tis hard to reconcile.

	[Enter a Doctor]

MALCOLM	Well; more anon.--Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doctor	Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls
	That stay his cure: their malady convinces
	The great assay of art; but at his touch--
	Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand--
	They presently amend.

MALCOLM	I thank you, doctor.

	[Exit Doctor]

MACDUFF	What's the disease he means?

MALCOLM	'Tis call'd the evil:
	A most miraculous work in this good king;
	Which often, since my here-remain in England,
	I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
	Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
	All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
	The mere despair of surgery, he cures,
	Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
	Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
	To the succeeding royalty he leaves
	The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
	He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,
	And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
	That speak him full of grace.

	[Enter ROSS]

MACDUFF	See, who comes here?

MALCOLM	My countryman; but yet I know him not.

MACDUFF	My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

MALCOLM	I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
	The means that makes us strangers!

ROSS	Sir, amen.

MACDUFF	Stands Scotland where it did?

ROSS	Alas, poor country!
	Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
	Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
	But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
	Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air
	Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
	A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell
	Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives
	Expire before the flowers in their caps,
	Dying or ere they sicken.

MACDUFF	O, relation
	Too nice, and yet too true!

MALCOLM	What's the newest grief?

ROSS	That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker:
	Each minute teems a new one.

MACDUFF	How does my wife?

ROSS	Why, well.

MACDUFF	         And all my children?

ROSS	Well too.

MACDUFF	The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

ROSS	No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.

MACDUFF	But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't?

ROSS	When I came hither to transport the tidings,
	Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
	Of many worthy fellows that were out;
	Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
	For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:
	Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
	Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
	To doff their dire distresses.

MALCOLM	Be't their comfort
	We are coming thither: gracious England hath
	Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
	An older and a better soldier none
	That Christendom gives out.

ROSS	Would I could answer
	This comfort with the like! But I have words
	That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
	Where hearing should not latch them.

MACDUFF	What concern they?
	The general cause? or is it a fee-grief
	Due to some single breast?

ROSS	No mind that's honest
	But in it shares some woe; though the main part
	Pertains to you alone.

MACDUFF	If it be mine,
	Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

ROSS	Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
	Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
	That ever yet they heard.

MACDUFF	Hum! I guess at it.

ROSS	Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes
	Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
	Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
	To add the death of you.

MALCOLM	Merciful heaven!
	What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
	Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
	Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

MACDUFF	My children too?

ROSS	                  Wife, children, servants, all
	That could be found.

MACDUFF	And I must be from thence!
	My wife kill'd too?

ROSS	I have said.

MALCOLM	Be comforted:
	Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
	To cure this deadly grief.

MACDUFF	He has no children. All my pretty ones?
	Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
	What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
	At one fell swoop?

MALCOLM	Dispute it like a man.

MACDUFF	I shall do so;
	But I must also feel it as a man:
	I cannot but remember such things were,
	That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,
	And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
	They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
	Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
	Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!

MALCOLM	Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
	Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

MACDUFF	O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
	And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,
	Cut short all intermission; front to front
	Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
	Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
	Heaven forgive him too!

MALCOLM	This tune goes manly.
	Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
	Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth
	Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
	Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may:
	The night is long that never finds the day.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE I	Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle.


	[Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman]

Doctor	I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive
	no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gentlewoman	Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen
	her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon
	her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it,
	write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again
	return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doctor	A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once
	the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of
	watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her
	walking and other actual performances, what, at any
	time, have you heard her say?

Gentlewoman	That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doctor	You may to me: and 'tis most meet you should.

Gentlewoman	Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to
	confirm my speech.

	[Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper]

	Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise;
	and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doctor	How came she by that light?

Gentlewoman	Why, it stood by her: she has light by her
	continually; 'tis her command.

Doctor	You see, her eyes are open.

Gentlewoman	Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doctor	What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gentlewoman	It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus
	washing her hands: I have known her continue in
	this a quarter of an hour.

LADY MACBETH	Yet here's a spot.

Doctor	Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from
	her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

LADY MACBETH	Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why,
	then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my
	lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we
	fear who knows it, when none can call our power to
	account?--Yet who would have thought the old man
	to have had so much blood in him.

Doctor	Do you mark that?

LADY MACBETH	The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?--
	What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o'
	that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with
	this starting.

Doctor	Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gentlewoman	She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of
	that: heaven knows what she has known.

LADY MACBETH	Here's the smell of the blood still: all the
	perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little
	hand. Oh, oh, oh!

Doctor	What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gentlewoman	I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the
	dignity of the whole body.

Doctor	Well, well, well,--

Gentlewoman	Pray God it be, sir.

Doctor	This disease is beyond my practise: yet I have known
	those which have walked in their sleep who have died
	holily in their beds.

LADY MACBETH	Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so
	pale.--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he
	cannot come out on's grave.

Doctor	Even so?

LADY MACBETH	To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate:
	come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's
	done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed!

	[Exit]

Doctor	Will she go now to bed?

Gentlewoman	Directly.

Doctor	Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds
	Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds
	To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets:
	More needs she the divine than the physician.
	God, God forgive us all! Look after her;
	Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
	And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:
	My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.
	I think, but dare not speak.

Gentlewoman	Good night, good doctor.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH

ACT V



SCENE II	The country near Dunsinane.


	[Drum and colours. Enter MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS,
	LENNOX, and Soldiers]

MENTEITH	The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
	His uncle Siward and the good Macduff:
	Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes
	Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
	Excite the mortified man.

ANGUS	Near Birnam wood
	Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.

CAITHNESS	Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

LENNOX	For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
	Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,
	And many unrough youths that even now
	Protest their first of manhood.

MENTEITH	What does the tyrant?

CAITHNESS	Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:
	Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him
	Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,
	He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
	Within the belt of rule.

ANGUS	Now does he feel
	His secret murders sticking on his hands;
	Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
	Those he commands move only in command,
	Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
	Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
	Upon a dwarfish thief.

MENTEITH	Who then shall blame
	His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
	When all that is within him does condemn
	Itself for being there?

CAITHNESS	Well, march we on,
	To give obedience where 'tis truly owed:
	Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,
	And with him pour we in our country's purge
	Each drop of us.

LENNOX	                  Or so much as it needs,
	To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds.
	Make we our march towards Birnam.

	[Exeunt, marching]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE III	Dunsinane. A room in the castle.


	[Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants]

MACBETH	Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:
	Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
	I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
	Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
	All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:
	'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
	Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly,
	false thanes,
	And mingle with the English epicures:
	The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
	Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

	[Enter a Servant]

	The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
	Where got'st thou that goose look?

Servant	There is ten thousand--

MACBETH	Geese, villain!

Servant	Soldiers, sir.

MACBETH	Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
	Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
	Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
	Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

Servant	The English force, so please you.

MACBETH	Take thy face hence.

	[Exit Servant]

		Seyton!--I am sick at heart,
	When I behold--Seyton, I say!--This push
	Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
	I have lived long enough: my way of life
	Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
	And that which should accompany old age,
	As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
	I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
	Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
	Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton!

	[Enter SEYTON]

SEYTON	What is your gracious pleasure?

MACBETH	What news more?

SEYTON	All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

MACBETH	I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
	Give me my armour.

SEYTON	'Tis not needed yet.

MACBETH	I'll put it on.
	Send out more horses; skirr the country round;
	Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
	How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor	Not so sick, my lord,
	As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
	That keep her from her rest.

MACBETH	Cure her of that.
	Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
	Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
	Raze out the written troubles of the brain
	And with some sweet oblivious antidote
	Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
	Which weighs upon the heart?

Doctor	Therein the patient
	Must minister to himself.

MACBETH	Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.
	Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.
	Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.
	Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast
	The water of my land, find her disease,
	And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
	I would applaud thee to the very echo,
	That should applaud again.--Pull't off, I say.--
	What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug,
	Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?

Doctor	Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
	Makes us hear something.

MACBETH	Bring it after me.
	I will not be afraid of death and bane,
	Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

Doctor	[Aside]  Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
	Profit again should hardly draw me here.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE IV	Country near Birnam wood.


	[Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD and YOUNG
	SIWARD, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS,
	LENNOX, ROSS, and Soldiers, marching]

MALCOLM	Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand
	That chambers will be safe.

MENTEITH	We doubt it nothing.

SIWARD	What wood is this before us?

MENTEITH	The wood of Birnam.

MALCOLM	Let every soldier hew him down a bough
	And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow
	The numbers of our host and make discovery
	Err in report of us.

Soldiers	It shall be done.

SIWARD	We learn no other but the confident tyrant
	Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
	Our setting down before 't.

MALCOLM	'Tis his main hope:
	For where there is advantage to be given,
	Both more and less have given him the revolt,
	And none serve with him but constrained things
	Whose hearts are absent too.

MACDUFF	Let our just censures
	Attend the true event, and put we on
	Industrious soldiership.

SIWARD	The time approaches
	That will with due decision make us know
	What we shall say we have and what we owe.
	Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,
	But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:
	Towards which advance the war.

	[Exeunt, marching]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE V	Dunsinane. Within the castle.


	[Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum
	and colours]

MACBETH	Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
	The cry is still 'They come:' our castle's strength
	Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie
	Till famine and the ague eat them up:
	Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
	We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
	And beat them backward home.

	[A cry of women within]

		       What is that noise?

SEYTON	It is the cry of women, my good lord.

	[Exit]

MACBETH	I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
	The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
	To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
	Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
	As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
	Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
	Cannot once start me.

	[Re-enter SEYTON]

		Wherefore was that cry?

SEYTON	The queen, my lord, is dead.

MACBETH	She should have died hereafter;
	There would have been a time for such a word.
	To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
	Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
	To the last syllable of recorded time,
	And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
	The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
	Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
	That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
	And then is heard no more: it is a tale
	Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
	Signifying nothing.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Messenger	Gracious my lord,
	I should report that which I say I saw,
	But know not how to do it.

MACBETH	Well, say, sir.

Messenger	As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
	I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
	The wood began to move.

MACBETH	Liar and slave!

Messenger	Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
	Within this three mile may you see it coming;
	I say, a moving grove.

MACBETH	If thou speak'st false,
	Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
	Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
	I care not if thou dost for me as much.
	I pull in resolution, and begin
	To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
	That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood
	Do come to Dunsinane:'  and now a wood
	Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
	If this which he avouches does appear,
	There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
	I gin to be aweary of the sun,
	And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
	Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
	At least we'll die with harness on our back.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE VI	Dunsinane. Before the castle.


	[Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD, MACDUFF,
	and their Army, with boughs]

MALCOLM	Now near enough: your leafy screens throw down.
	And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle,
	Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
	Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we
	Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
	According to our order.

SIWARD	Fare you well.
	Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
	Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

MACDUFF	Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
	Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE VII	Another part of the field.


	[Alarums. Enter MACBETH]

MACBETH	They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
	But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's he
	That was not born of woman? Such a one
	Am I to fear, or none.

	[Enter YOUNG SIWARD]

YOUNG SIWARD	What is thy name?

MACBETH	                  Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

YOUNG SIWARD	No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
	Than any is in hell.

MACBETH	My name's Macbeth.

YOUNG SIWARD	The devil himself could not pronounce a title
	More hateful to mine ear.

MACBETH	No, nor more fearful.

YOUNG SIWARD	Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
	I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

	[They fight and YOUNG SIWARD is slain]

MACBETH	Thou wast born of woman
	But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
	Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

	[Exit]

	[Alarums. Enter MACDUFF]

MACDUFF	That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face!
	If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine,
	My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
	I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
	Are hired to bear their staves: either thou, Macbeth,
	Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge
	I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
	By this great clatter, one of greatest note
	Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
	And more I beg not.

	[Exit. Alarums]

	[Enter MALCOLM and SIWARD]

SIWARD	This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd:
	The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;
	The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
	The day almost itself professes yours,
	And little is to do.

MALCOLM	We have met with foes
	That strike beside us.

SIWARD	Enter, sir, the castle.

	[Exeunt. Alarums]




	MACBETH


ACT V



SCENE VIII	Another part of the field.


	[Enter MACBETH]

MACBETH	Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
	On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
	Do better upon them.

	[Enter MACDUFF]

MACDUFF	Turn, hell-hound, turn!

MACBETH	Of all men else I have avoided thee:
	But get thee back; my soul is too much charged
	With blood of thine already.

MACDUFF	I have no words:
	My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain
	Than terms can give thee out!

	[They fight]

MACBETH	Thou losest labour:
	As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
	With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed:
	Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
	I bear a charmed life, which must not yield,
	To one of woman born.

MACDUFF	Despair thy charm;
	And let the angel whom thou still hast served
	Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
	Untimely ripp'd.

MACBETH	Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
	For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
	And be these juggling fiends no more believed,
	That palter with us in a double sense;
	That keep the word of promise to our ear,
	And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.

MACDUFF	Then yield thee, coward,
	And live to be the show and gaze o' the time:
	We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
	Painted on a pole, and underwrit,
	'Here may you see the tyrant.'

MACBETH	I will not yield,
	To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
	And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
	Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
	And thou opposed, being of no woman born,
	Yet I will try the last. Before my body
	I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,
	And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'

	[Exeunt, fighting. Alarums]

	[Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours,
	MALCOLM, SIWARD, ROSS, the other Thanes, and Soldiers]

MALCOLM	I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.

SIWARD	Some must go off: and yet, by these I see,
	So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

MALCOLM	Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

ROSS	Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:
	He only lived but till he was a man;
	The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
	In the unshrinking station where he fought,
	But like a man he died.

SIWARD	Then he is dead?

ROSS	Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow
	Must not be measured by his worth, for then
	It hath no end.

SIWARD	                  Had he his hurts before?

ROSS	Ay, on the front.

SIWARD	                  Why then, God's soldier be he!
	Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
	I would not wish them to a fairer death:
	And so, his knell is knoll'd.

MALCOLM	He's worth more sorrow,
	And that I'll spend for him.

SIWARD	He's worth no more
	They say he parted well, and paid his score:
	And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

	[Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head]

MACDUFF	Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands
	The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:
	I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
	That speak my salutation in their minds;
	Whose voices I desire aloud with mine:
	Hail, King of Scotland!

ALL	Hail, King of Scotland!

	[Flourish]

MALCOLM	We shall not spend a large expense of time
	Before we reckon with your several loves,
	And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,
	Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
	In such an honour named. What's more to do,
	Which would be planted newly with the time,
	As calling home our exiled friends abroad
	That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
	Producing forth the cruel ministers
	Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,
	Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
	Took off her life; this, and what needful else
	That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
	We will perform in measure, time and place:
	So, thanks to all at once and to each one,
	Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]
	OTHELLO


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE OF VENICE:

BRABANTIO	a senator.

	Other Senators.
	(Senator:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)

GRATIANO	brother to Brabantio.

LODOVICO	kinsman to Brabantio.

OTHELLO	a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state.

CASSIO	his lieutenant.

IAGO	his ancient.

RODERIGO	a Venetian gentleman.

MONTANO	Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus.

	Clown, servant to Othello. (Clown:)

DESDEMONA	daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello.

EMILIA	wife to Iago.

BIANCA	mistress to Cassio.

	Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen,
	Musicians, and Attendants.
	(Sailor:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Gentleman:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)
	(First Musician:)


SCENE	Venice: a Sea-port in Cyprus.




	OTHELLO


ACT I



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter RODERIGO and IAGO]

RODERIGO	Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly
	That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
	As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

IAGO	'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
	If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.

RODERIGO	Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.

IAGO	Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
	In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
	Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
	I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
	But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,
	Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
	Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
	And, in conclusion,
	Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,
	'I have already chose my officer.'
	And what was he?
	Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
	One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
	A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
	That never set a squadron in the field,
	Nor the division of a battle knows
	More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
	Wherein the toged consuls can propose
	As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,
	Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
	And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
	At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
	Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd
	By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,
	He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
	And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient.

RODERIGO	By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

IAGO	Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service,
	Preferment goes by letter and affection,
	And not by old gradation, where each second
	Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
	Whether I in any just term am affined
	To love the Moor.

RODERIGO	I would not follow him then.

IAGO	O, sir, content you;
	I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
	We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
	Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
	Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
	That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
	Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
	For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:
	Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
	Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
	Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
	And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
	Do well thrive by them and when they have lined
	their coats
	Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
	And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
	It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
	Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
	In following him, I follow but myself;
	Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
	But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
	For when my outward action doth demonstrate
	The native act and figure of my heart
	In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
	But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
	For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

RODERIGO	What a full fortune does the thicklips owe
	If he can carry't thus!

IAGO	Call up her father,
	Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,
	Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
	And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
	Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
	Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
	As it may lose some colour.

RODERIGO	Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.

IAGO	Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
	As when, by night and negligence, the fire
	Is spied in populous cities.

RODERIGO	What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

IAGO	Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
	Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
	Thieves! thieves!

	[BRABANTIO appears above, at a window]

BRABANTIO	What is the reason of this terrible summons?
	What is the matter there?

RODERIGO	Signior, is all your family within?

IAGO	Are your doors lock'd?

BRABANTIO	Why, wherefore ask you this?

IAGO	'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on
	your gown;
	Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
	Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
	Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
	Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
	Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
	Arise, I say.

BRABANTIO	                  What, have you lost your wits?

RODERIGO	Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

BRABANTIO	Not I	what are you?

RODERIGO	My name is Roderigo.

BRABANTIO	The worser welcome:
	I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
	In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
	My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
	Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
	Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
	To start my quiet.

RODERIGO	Sir, sir, sir,--

BRABANTIO	                  But thou must needs be sure
	My spirit and my place have in them power
	To make this bitter to thee.

RODERIGO	Patience, good sir.

BRABANTIO	What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
	My house is not a grange.

RODERIGO	Most grave Brabantio,
	In simple and pure soul I come to you.

IAGO	'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not
	serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to
	do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll
	have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse;
	you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have
	coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.

BRABANTIO	What profane wretch art thou?

IAGO	I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
	and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

BRABANTIO	Thou art a villain.

IAGO	You are--a senator.

BRABANTIO	This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

RODERIGO	Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,
	If't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
	As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
	At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
	Transported, with no worse nor better guard
	But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
	To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor--
	If this be known to you and your allowance,
	We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
	But if you know not this, my manners tell me
	We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
	That, from the sense of all civility,
	I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
	Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
	I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
	Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
	In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
	Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
	If she be in her chamber or your house,
	Let loose on me the justice of the state
	For thus deluding you.

BRABANTIO	Strike on the tinder, ho!
	Give me a taper! call up all my people!
	This accident is not unlike my dream:
	Belief of it oppresses me already.
	Light, I say! light!

	[Exit above]

IAGO	Farewell; for I must leave you:
	It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
	To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall--
	Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,
	However this may gall him with some cheque,
	Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd
	With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
	Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,
	Another of his fathom they have none,
	To lead their business: in which regard,
	Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains.
	Yet, for necessity of present life,
	I must show out a flag and sign of love,
	Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
	Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;
	And there will I be with him. So, farewell.

	[Exit]

	[Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches]

BRABANTIO	It is too true an evil: gone she is;
	And what's to come of my despised time
	Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
	Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
	With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!
	How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me
	Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:
	Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?

RODERIGO	Truly, I think they are.

BRABANTIO	O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
	Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
	By what you see them act. Is there not charms
	By which the property of youth and maidhood
	May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
	Of some such thing?

RODERIGO	Yes, sir, I have indeed.

BRABANTIO	Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
	Some one way, some another. Do you know
	Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

RODERIGO	I think I can discover him, if you please,
	To get good guard and go along with me.

BRABANTIO	Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
	I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
	And raise some special officers of night.
	On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT I



SCENE II	Another street.


	[Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches]

IAGO	Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
	Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
	To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity
	Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times
	I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.

OTHELLO	'Tis better as it is.

IAGO	Nay, but he prated,

	And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
	Against your honour
	That, with the little godliness I have,
	I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir,
	Are you fast married? Be assured of this,
	That the magnifico is much beloved,
	And hath in his effect a voice potential
	As double as the duke's: he will divorce you;
	Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
	The law, with all his might to enforce it on,
	Will give him cable.

OTHELLO	Let him do his spite:
	My services which I have done the signiory
	Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,--
	Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,
	I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being
	From men of royal siege, and my demerits
	May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
	As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago,
	But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
	I would not my unhoused free condition
	Put into circumscription and confine
	For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond?

IAGO	Those are the raised father and his friends:
	You were best go in.

OTHELLO	Not I	I must be found:
	My parts, my title and my perfect soul
	Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

IAGO	By Janus, I think no.

	[Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches]

OTHELLO	The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.
	The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
	What is the news?

CASSIO	                  The duke does greet you, general,
	And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,
	Even on the instant.

OTHELLO	What is the matter, think you?

CASSIO	Something from Cyprus as I may divine:
	It is a business of some heat: the galleys
	Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
	This very night at one another's heels,
	And many of the consuls, raised and met,
	Are at the duke's already: you have been
	hotly call'd for;
	When, being not at your lodging to be found,
	The senate hath sent about three several guests
	To search you out.

OTHELLO	'Tis well I am found by you.
	I will but spend a word here in the house,
	And go with you.

	[Exit]

CASSIO	                  Ancient, what makes he here?

IAGO	'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack:
	If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.

CASSIO	I do not understand.

IAGO	He's married.

CASSIO	To who?

	[Re-enter OTHELLO]

IAGO	Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go?

OTHELLO	Have with you.

CASSIO	Here comes another troop to seek for you.

IAGO	It is Brabantio. General, be advised;
	He comes to bad intent.

	[Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with
	torches and weapons]

OTHELLO	Holla! stand there!

RODERIGO	Signior, it is the Moor.

BRABANTIO	Down with him, thief!

	[They draw on both sides]

IAGO	You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you.

OTHELLO	Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
	Good signior, you shall more command with years
	Than with your weapons.

BRABANTIO	O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter?
	Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her;
	For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
	If she in chains of magic were not bound,
	Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy,
	So opposite to marriage that she shunned
	The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,
	Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
	Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
	Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight.
	Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense
	That thou hast practised on her with foul charms,
	Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
	That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on;
	'Tis probable and palpable to thinking.
	I therefore apprehend and do attach thee
	For an abuser of the world, a practiser
	Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.
	Lay hold upon him: if he do resist,
	Subdue him at his peril.

OTHELLO	Hold your hands,
	Both you of my inclining, and the rest:
	Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
	Without a prompter. Where will you that I go
	To answer this your charge?

BRABANTIO	To prison, till fit time
	Of law and course of direct session
	Call thee to answer.

OTHELLO	What if I do obey?
	How may the duke be therewith satisfied,
	Whose messengers are here about my side,
	Upon some present business of the state
	To bring me to him?

First Officer	'Tis true, most worthy signior;
	The duke's in council and your noble self,
	I am sure, is sent for.

BRABANTIO	How! the duke in council!
	In this time of the night! Bring him away:
	Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself,
	Or any of my brothers of the state,
	Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;
	For if such actions may have passage free,
	Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT I



SCENE III	A council-chamber.


	[The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers
	attending]

DUKE OF VENICE	There is no composition in these news
	That gives them credit.

First Senator	Indeed, they are disproportion'd;
	My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

DUKE OF VENICE	And mine, a hundred and forty.

Second Senator	And mine, two hundred:
	But though they jump not on a just account,--
	As in these cases, where the aim reports,
	'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm
	A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

DUKE OF VENICE	Nay, it is possible enough to judgment:
	I do not so secure me in the error,
	But the main article I do approve
	In fearful sense.

Sailor	[Within]  What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!

First Officer	A messenger from the galleys.

	[Enter a Sailor]

DUKE OF VENICE	Now, what's the business?

Sailor	The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes;
	So was I bid report here to the state
	By Signior Angelo.

DUKE OF VENICE	How say you by this change?

First Senator	This cannot be,
	By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant,
	To keep us in false gaze. When we consider
	The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,
	And let ourselves again but understand,
	That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
	So may he with more facile question bear it,
	For that it stands not in such warlike brace,
	But altogether lacks the abilities
	That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this,
	We must not think the Turk is so unskilful
	To leave that latest which concerns him first,
	Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
	To wake and wage a danger profitless.

DUKE OF VENICE	Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.

First Officer	Here is more news.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
	Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes,
	Have there injointed them with an after fleet.

First Senator	Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

Messenger	Of thirty sail: and now they do restem
	Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
	Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,
	Your trusty and most valiant servitor,
	With his free duty recommends you thus,
	And prays you to believe him.

DUKE OF VENICE	'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.
	Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?

First Senator	He's now in Florence.

DUKE OF VENICE	Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.

First Senator	Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.

	[Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers]

DUKE OF VENICE	Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
	Against the general enemy Ottoman.

	[To BRABANTIO]

	I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;
	We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight.

BRABANTIO	So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me;
	Neither my place nor aught I heard of business
	Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care
	Take hold on me, for my particular grief
	Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
	That it engluts and swallows other sorrows
	And it is still itself.

DUKE OF VENICE	Why, what's the matter?

BRABANTIO	My daughter! O, my daughter!


DUKE OF VENICE	|	Dead?
Senator	|


BRABANTIO	Ay, to me;
	She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted
	By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
	For nature so preposterously to err,
	Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
	Sans witchcraft could not.

DUKE OF VENICE	Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding
	Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself
	And you of her, the bloody book of law
	You shall yourself read in the bitter letter
	After your own sense, yea, though our proper son
	Stood in your action.

BRABANTIO	Humbly I thank your grace.
	Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems,
	Your special mandate for the state-affairs
	Hath hither brought.


DUKE OF VENICE	|
	|                 We are very sorry for't.
Senator	|


DUKE OF VENICE	[To OTHELLO]  What, in your own part, can you say to this?

BRABANTIO	Nothing, but this is so.

OTHELLO	Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
	My very noble and approved good masters,
	That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
	It is most true; true, I have married her:
	The very head and front of my offending
	Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
	And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace:
	For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
	Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
	Their dearest action in the tented field,
	And little of this great world can I speak,
	More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,
	And therefore little shall I grace my cause
	In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
	I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
	Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
	What conjuration and what mighty magic,
	For such proceeding I am charged withal,
	I won his daughter.

BRABANTIO	A maiden never bold;
	Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
	Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature,
	Of years, of country, credit, every thing,
	To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!
	It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect
	That will confess perfection so could err
	Against all rules of nature, and must be driven
	To find out practises of cunning hell,
	Why this should be. I therefore vouch again
	That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
	Or with some dram conjured to this effect,
	He wrought upon her.

DUKE OF VENICE	To vouch this, is no proof,
	Without more wider and more overt test
	Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
	Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

First Senator	But, Othello, speak:
	Did you by indirect and forced courses
	Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
	Or came it by request and such fair question
	As soul to soul affordeth?

OTHELLO	I do beseech you,
	Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
	And let her speak of me before her father:
	If you do find me foul in her report,
	The trust, the office I do hold of you,
	Not only take away, but let your sentence
	Even fall upon my life.

DUKE OF VENICE	Fetch Desdemona hither.

OTHELLO	Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place.

	[Exeunt IAGO and Attendants]

	And, till she come, as truly as to heaven
	I do confess the vices of my blood,
	So justly to your grave ears I'll present
	How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
	And she in mine.

DUKE OF VENICE	Say it, Othello.

OTHELLO	Her father loved me; oft invited me;
	Still question'd me the story of my life,
	From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
	That I have passed.
	I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
	To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
	Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
	Of moving accidents by flood and field
	Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
	Of being taken by the insolent foe
	And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
	And portance in my travels' history:
	Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
	Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven
	It was my hint to speak,--such was the process;
	And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
	The Anthropophagi and men whose heads
	Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
	Would Desdemona seriously incline:
	But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:
	Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
	She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
	Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
	Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
	To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
	That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
	Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
	But not intentively: I did consent,
	And often did beguile her of her tears,
	When I did speak of some distressful stroke
	That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
	She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
	She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
	'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
	She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
	That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,
	And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
	I should but teach him how to tell my story.
	And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
	She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
	And I loved her that she did pity them.
	This only is the witchcraft I have used:
	Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

	[Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants]

DUKE OF VENICE	I think this tale would win my daughter too.
	Good Brabantio,
	Take up this mangled matter at the best:
	Men do their broken weapons rather use
	Than their bare hands.

BRABANTIO	I pray you, hear her speak:
	If she confess that she was half the wooer,
	Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
	Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress:
	Do you perceive in all this noble company
	Where most you owe obedience?

DESDEMONA	My noble father,
	I do perceive here a divided duty:
	To you I am bound for life and education;
	My life and education both do learn me
	How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;
	I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband,
	And so much duty as my mother show'd
	To you, preferring you before her father,
	So much I challenge that I may profess
	Due to the Moor my lord.

BRABANTIO	God be wi' you! I have done.
	Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs:
	I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
	Come hither, Moor:
	I here do give thee that with all my heart
	Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
	I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
	I am glad at soul I have no other child:
	For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
	To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.

DUKE OF VENICE	Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,
	Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
	Into your favour.
	When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
	By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
	To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
	Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
	What cannot be preserved when fortune takes
	Patience her injury a mockery makes.
	The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief;
	He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

BRABANTIO	So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;
	We lose it not, so long as we can smile.
	He bears the sentence well that nothing bears
	But the free comfort which from thence he hears,
	But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
	That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
	These sentences, to sugar, or to gall,
	Being strong on both sides, are equivocal:
	But words are words; I never yet did hear
	That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.
	I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.

DUKE OF VENICE	The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for
	Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best
	known to you; and though we have there a substitute
	of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a
	sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer
	voice on you: you must therefore be content to
	slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this
	more stubborn and boisterous expedition.

OTHELLO	The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
	Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
	My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise
	A natural and prompt alacrity
	I find in hardness, and do undertake
	These present wars against the Ottomites.
	Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
	I crave fit disposition for my wife.
	Due reference of place and exhibition,
	With such accommodation and besort
	As levels with her breeding.

DUKE OF VENICE	If you please,
	Be't at her father's.

BRABANTIO	I'll not have it so.

OTHELLO	Nor I.

DESDEMONA	     Nor I; I would not there reside,
	To put my father in impatient thoughts
	By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,
	To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear;
	And let me find a charter in your voice,
	To assist my simpleness.

DUKE OF VENICE	What would You, Desdemona?

DESDEMONA	That I did love the Moor to live with him,
	My downright violence and storm of fortunes
	May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued
	Even to the very quality of my lord:
	I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
	And to his honour and his valiant parts
	Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
	So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
	A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
	The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
	And I a heavy interim shall support
	By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

OTHELLO	Let her have your voices.
	Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not,
	To please the palate of my appetite,
	Nor to comply with heat--the young affects
	In me defunct--and proper satisfaction.
	But to be free and bounteous to her mind:
	And heaven defend your good souls, that you think
	I will your serious and great business scant
	For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys
	Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness
	My speculative and officed instruments,
	That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
	Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
	And all indign and base adversities
	Make head against my estimation!

DUKE OF VENICE	Be it as you shall privately determine,
	Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste,
	And speed must answer it.

First Senator	You must away to-night.

OTHELLO	With all my heart.

DUKE OF VENICE	At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again.
	Othello, leave some officer behind,
	And he shall our commission bring to you;
	With such things else of quality and respect
	As doth import you.

OTHELLO	So please your grace, my ancient;
	A man he is of honest and trust:
	To his conveyance I assign my wife,
	With what else needful your good grace shall think
	To be sent after me.

DUKE OF VENICE	Let it be so.
	Good night to every one.

	[To BRABANTIO]

		   And, noble signior,
	If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
	Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.

First Senator	Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.

BRABANTIO	Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:
	She has deceived her father, and may thee.

	[Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, &c]

OTHELLO	My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,
	My Desdemona must I leave to thee:
	I prithee, let thy wife attend on her:
	And bring them after in the best advantage.

	Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour
	Of love, of worldly matters and direction,
	To spend with thee: we must obey the time.

	[Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA]

RODERIGO	Iago,--

IAGO	What say'st thou, noble heart?

RODERIGO	What will I do, thinkest thou?

IAGO	Why, go to bed, and sleep.

RODERIGO	I will incontinently drown myself.

IAGO	If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why,
	thou silly gentleman!

RODERIGO	It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and
	then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

IAGO	O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four
	times seven years; and since I could distinguish
	betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man
	that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I
	would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I
	would change my humanity with a baboon.

RODERIGO	What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so
	fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it.

IAGO	Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus
	or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which
	our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant
	nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up
	thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or
	distract it with many, either to have it sterile
	with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the
	power and corrigible authority of this lies in our
	wills. If the balance of our lives had not one
	scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the
	blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us
	to most preposterous conclusions: but we have
	reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal
	stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that
	you call love to be a sect or scion.

RODERIGO	It cannot be.

IAGO	It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of
	the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown
	cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy
	friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with
	cables of perdurable toughness; I could never
	better stead thee than now. Put money in thy
	purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with
	an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It
	cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her
	love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he
	his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou
	shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but
	money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in
	their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food
	that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be
	to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must
	change for youth: when she is sated with his body,
	she will find the error of her choice: she must
	have change, she must: therefore put money in thy
	purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a
	more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money
	thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt
	an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not
	too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou
	shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of
	drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek
	thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than
	to be drowned and go without her.

RODERIGO	Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on
	the issue?

IAGO	Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told
	thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I
	hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no
	less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge
	against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost
	thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many
	events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
	Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more
	of this to-morrow. Adieu.

RODERIGO	Where shall we meet i' the morning?

IAGO	At my lodging.

RODERIGO	I'll be with thee betimes.

IAGO	Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

RODERIGO	What say you?

IAGO	No more of drowning, do you hear?

RODERIGO	I am changed: I'll go sell all my land.

	[Exit]

IAGO	Thus do I ever make my fool my purse:
	For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,
	If I would time expend with such a snipe.
	But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor:
	And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
	He has done my office: I know not if't be true;
	But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
	Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;
	The better shall my purpose work on him.
	Cassio's a proper man: let me see now:
	To get his place and to plume up my will
	In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:--
	After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
	That he is too familiar with his wife.
	He hath a person and a smooth dispose
	To be suspected, framed to make women false.
	The Moor is of a free and open nature,
	That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
	And will as tenderly be led by the nose
	As asses are.
	I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
	Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

	[Exit]




	OTHELLO


ACT II



SCENE I	A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay.


	[Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen]

MONTANO	What from the cape can you discern at sea?

First Gentleman	Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood;
	I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,
	Descry a sail.

MONTANO	Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;
	A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements:
	If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
	What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,
	Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?

Second Gentleman	A segregation of the Turkish fleet:

	For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
	The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;
	The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,
	seems to cast water on the burning bear,
	And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole:
	I never did like molestation view
	On the enchafed flood.

MONTANO	If that the Turkish fleet
	Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd:
	It is impossible they bear it out.

	[Enter a third Gentleman]

Third Gentleman	News, lads! our wars are done.
	The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,
	That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice
	Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
	On most part of their fleet.

MONTANO	How! is this true?

Third Gentleman	The ship is here put in,
	A Veronesa; Michael Cassio,
	Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
	Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea,
	And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

MONTANO	I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.

Third Gentleman	But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort
	Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,
	And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted
	With foul and violent tempest.

MONTANO	Pray heavens he be;
	For I have served him, and the man commands
	Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho!
	As well to see the vessel that's come in
	As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
	Even till we make the main and the aerial blue
	An indistinct regard.

Third Gentleman	Come, let's do so:
	For every minute is expectancy
	Of more arrivance.

	[Enter CASSIO]

CASSIO	Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle,
	That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens
	Give him defence against the elements,
	For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea.

MONTANO	Is he well shipp'd?

CASSIO	His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot
	Of very expert and approved allowance;
	Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
	Stand in bold cure.

	[A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!']

	[Enter a fourth Gentleman]

CASSIO	What noise?

Fourth Gentleman	The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea
	Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!'

CASSIO	My hopes do shape him for the governor.

	[Guns heard]

Second Gentlemen	They do discharge their shot of courtesy:
	Our friends at least.

CASSIO	I pray you, sir, go forth,
	And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.

Second Gentleman	I shall.

	[Exit]

MONTANO	But, good lieutenant, is your general wived?

CASSIO	Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid
	That paragons description and wild fame;
	One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
	And in the essential vesture of creation
	Does tire the ingener.

	[Re-enter second Gentleman]

	How now! who has put in?

Second Gentleman	'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.

CASSIO	Has had most favourable and happy speed:
	Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
	The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands--
	Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,--
	As having sense of beauty, do omit
	Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
	The divine Desdemona.

MONTANO	What is she?

CASSIO	She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,
	Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,
	Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts
	A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,
	And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
	That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
	Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
	Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits
	And bring all Cyprus comfort!

	[Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and
	Attendants]

		        O, behold,
	The riches of the ship is come on shore!
	Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
	Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,
	Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
	Enwheel thee round!

DESDEMONA	I thank you, valiant Cassio.
	What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

CASSIO	He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught
	But that he's well and will be shortly here.

DESDEMONA	O, but I fear--How lost you company?

CASSIO	The great contention of the sea and skies
	Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail.

	[Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard]

Second Gentleman	They give their greeting to the citadel;
	This likewise is a friend.

CASSIO	See for the news.

	[Exit Gentleman]

	Good ancient, you are welcome.

	[To EMILIA]

		         Welcome, mistress.
	Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,
	That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
	That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

	[Kissing her]

IAGO	Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
	As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
	You'll have enough.

DESDEMONA	Alas, she has no speech.

IAGO	In faith, too much;
	I find it still, when I have list to sleep:
	Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
	She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
	And chides with thinking.

EMILIA	You have little cause to say so.

IAGO	Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,
	Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens,
	Saints m your injuries, devils being offended,
	Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds.

DESDEMONA	O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

IAGO	Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
	You rise to play and go to bed to work.

EMILIA	You shall not write my praise.

IAGO	No, let me not.

DESDEMONA	What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst
	praise me?

IAGO	O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
	For I am nothing, if not critical.

DESDEMONA	Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour?

IAGO	Ay, madam.

DESDEMONA	I am not merry; but I do beguile
	The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
	Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

IAGO	I am about it; but indeed my invention
	Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize;
	It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,
	And thus she is deliver'd.
	If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
	The one's for use, the other useth it.

DESDEMONA	Well praised! How if she be black and witty?

IAGO	If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
	She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

DESDEMONA	Worse and worse.

EMILIA	How if fair and foolish?

IAGO	She never yet was foolish that was fair;
	For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

DESDEMONA	These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i'
	the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for
	her that's foul and foolish?

IAGO	There's none so foul and foolish thereunto,
	But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

DESDEMONA	O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best.
	But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving
	woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her
	merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?

IAGO	She that was ever fair and never proud,
	Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,
	Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,
	Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,'
	She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
	Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly,
	She that in wisdom never was so frail
	To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
	She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,
	See suitors following and not look behind,
	She was a wight, if ever such wight were,--

DESDEMONA	To do what?

IAGO	To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

DESDEMONA	O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn
	of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say
	you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal
	counsellor?

CASSIO	He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in
	the soldier than in the scholar.

IAGO	[Aside]  He takes her by the palm: ay, well said,
	whisper: with as little a web as this will I
	ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon
	her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship.
	You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as
	these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had
	been better you had not kissed your three fingers so
	oft, which now again you are most apt to play the
	sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent
	courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers
	to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!

	[Trumpet within]

	The Moor! I know his trumpet.

CASSIO	'Tis truly so.

DESDEMONA	Let's meet him and receive him.

CASSIO	Lo, where he comes!

	[Enter OTHELLO and Attendants]

OTHELLO	O my fair warrior!

DESDEMONA	                  My dear Othello!

OTHELLO	It gives me wonder great as my content
	To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
	If after every tempest come such calms,
	May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
	And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
	Olympus-high and duck again as low
	As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
	'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
	My soul hath her content so absolute
	That not another comfort like to this
	Succeeds in unknown fate.

DESDEMONA	The heavens forbid
	But that our loves and comforts should increase,
	Even as our days do grow!

OTHELLO	Amen to that, sweet powers!
	I cannot speak enough of this content;
	It stops me here; it is too much of joy:
	And this, and this, the greatest discords be

	[Kissing her]

	That e'er our hearts shall make!

IAGO	[Aside]  O, you are well tuned now!
	But I'll set down the pegs that make this music,
	As honest as I am.

OTHELLO	                  Come, let us to the castle.
	News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks
	are drown'd.
	How does my old acquaintance of this isle?
	Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus;
	I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,
	I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
	In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago,
	Go to the bay and disembark my coffers:
	Bring thou the master to the citadel;
	He is a good one, and his worthiness
	Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,
	Once more, well met at Cyprus.

	[Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants]

IAGO	Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come
	hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base
	men being in love have then a nobility in their
	natures more than is native to them--list me. The
	lieutenant tonight watches on the court of
	guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is
	directly in love with him.


RODERIGO	With him! why, 'tis not possible.

IAGO	Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed.
	Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor,
	but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies:
	and will she love him still for prating? let not
	thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed;
	and what delight shall she have to look on the
	devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of
	sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to
	give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour,
	sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which
	the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these
	required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will
	find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge,
	disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will
	instruct her in it and compel her to some second
	choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most
	pregnant and unforced position--who stands so
	eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio
	does? a knave very voluble; no further
	conscionable than in putting on the mere form of
	civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing
	of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why,
	none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a
	finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and
	counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never
	present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the
	knave is handsome, young, and hath all those
	requisites in him that folly and green minds look
	after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman
	hath found him already.

RODERIGO	I cannot believe that in her; she's full of
	most blessed condition.

IAGO	Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of
	grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never
	have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou
	not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst
	not mark that?

RODERIGO	Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.

IAGO	Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue
	to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met
	so near with their lips that their breaths embraced
	together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these
	mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes
	the master and main exercise, the incorporate
	conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I
	have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night;
	for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows
	you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find
	some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking
	too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what
	other course you please, which the time shall more
	favourably minister.

RODERIGO	Well.

IAGO	Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply
	may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for
	even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to
	mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true
	taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So
	shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by
	the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the
	impediment most profitably removed, without the
	which there were no expectation of our prosperity.

RODERIGO	I will do this, if I can bring it to any
	opportunity.

IAGO	I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel:
	I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.

RODERIGO	Adieu.

	[Exit]

IAGO	That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
	That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit:
	The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
	Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,
	And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
	A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;
	Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure
	I stand accountant for as great a sin,
	But partly led to diet my revenge,
	For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
	Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof
	Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;
	And nothing can or shall content my soul
	Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife,
	Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
	At least into a jealousy so strong
	That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
	If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash
	For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
	I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
	Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb--
	For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too--
	Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me.
	For making him egregiously an ass
	And practising upon his peace and quiet
	Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:
	Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used.

	[Exit]




	OTHELLO


ACT II



SCENE II	A street.


	[Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People
	following]

Herald	It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant
	general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived,
	importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet,
	every man put himself into triumph; some to dance,
	some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and
	revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these
	beneficial news, it is the celebration of his
	nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be
	proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full
	liberty of feasting from this present hour of five
	till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the
	isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello!

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT II



SCENE III	A hall in the castle.


	[Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants]

OTHELLO	Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night:
	Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,
	Not to outsport discretion.

CASSIO	Iago hath direction what to do;
	But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
	Will I look to't.

OTHELLO	                  Iago is most honest.
	Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest
	Let me have speech with you.

	[To DESDEMONA]

		       Come, my dear love,
	The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;
	That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
	Good night.

	[Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants]

	[Enter IAGO]

CASSIO	Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch.

IAGO	Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the
	clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love
	of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame:
	he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and
	she is sport for Jove.

CASSIO	She's a most exquisite lady.

IAGO	And, I'll warrant her, fun of game.

CASSIO	Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature.

IAGO	What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of
	provocation.

CASSIO	An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest.

IAGO	And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love?

CASSIO	She is indeed perfection.

IAGO	Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I
	have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace
	of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to
	the health of black Othello.

CASSIO	Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and
	unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish
	courtesy would invent some other custom of
	entertainment.

IAGO	O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for
	you.

CASSIO	I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was
	craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation
	it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity,
	and dare not task my weakness with any more.

IAGO	What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants
	desire it.

CASSIO	Where are they?

IAGO	Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.

CASSIO	I'll do't; but it dislikes me.

	[Exit]

IAGO	If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
	With that which he hath drunk to-night already,
	He'll be as full of quarrel and offence
	As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo,
	Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,
	To Desdemona hath to-night caroused
	Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch:
	Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
	That hold their honours in a wary distance,
	The very elements of this warlike isle,
	Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,
	And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,
	Am I to put our Cassio in some action
	That may offend the isle.--But here they come:
	If consequence do but approve my dream,
	My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

	[Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen;
	servants following with wine]

CASSIO	'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.

MONTANO	Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am
	a soldier.

IAGO	Some wine, ho!

	[Sings]

	And let me the canakin clink, clink;
	And let me the canakin clink
	A soldier's a man;
	A life's but a span;
	Why, then, let a soldier drink.
	Some wine, boys!

CASSIO	'Fore God, an excellent song.

IAGO	I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are
	most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and
	your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing
	to your English.

CASSIO	Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

IAGO	Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead
	drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he
	gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle
	can be filled.

CASSIO	To the health of our general!

MONTANO	I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice.

IAGO	O sweet England!
	King Stephen was a worthy peer,
	His breeches cost him but a crown;
	He held them sixpence all too dear,
	With that he call'd the tailor lown.
	He was a wight of high renown,
	And thou art but of low degree:
	'Tis pride that pulls the country down;
	Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
	Some wine, ho!

CASSIO	Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

IAGO	Will you hear't again?

CASSIO	No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that
	does those things. Well, God's above all; and there
	be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

IAGO	It's true, good lieutenant.

CASSIO	For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor
	any man of quality,--I hope to be saved.

IAGO	And so do I too, lieutenant.

CASSIO	Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the
	lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's
	have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive
	us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business.
	Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my
	ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left:
	I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and
	speak well enough.

All	Excellent well.

CASSIO	Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk.

	[Exit]

MONTANO	To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch.

IAGO	You see this fellow that is gone before;
	He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar
	And give direction: and do but see his vice;
	'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
	The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him.
	I fear the trust Othello puts him in.
	On some odd time of his infirmity,
	Will shake this island.

MONTANO	But is he often thus?

IAGO	'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:
	He'll watch the horologe a double set,
	If drink rock not his cradle.

MONTANO	It were well
	The general were put in mind of it.
	Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature
	Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
	And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

	[Enter RODERIGO]

IAGO	[Aside to him]  How now, Roderigo!
	I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.

	[Exit RODERIGO]

MONTANO	And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor
	Should hazard such a place as his own second
	With one of an ingraft infirmity:
	It were an honest action to say
	So to the Moor.

IAGO	                  Not I, for this fair island:
	I do love Cassio well; and would do much
	To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise?

	[Cry within: 'Help! help!']

	[Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO]

CASSIO	You rogue! you rascal!

MONTANO	What's the matter, lieutenant?

CASSIO	A knave teach me my duty!
	I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

RODERIGO	Beat me!

CASSIO	       Dost thou prate, rogue?

	[Striking RODERIGO]

MONTANO	Nay, good lieutenant;

	[Staying him]

	I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

CASSIO	Let me go, sir,
	Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.

MONTANO	Come, come,
		                  you're drunk.

CASSIO	Drunk!

	[They fight]

IAGO	[Aside to RODERIGO]  Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny.

	[Exit RODERIGO]

	Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;--
	Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir;
	Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed!

	[Bell rings]

	Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho!
	The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold!
	You will be shamed for ever.

	[Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants]

OTHELLO	What is the matter here?

MONTANO	'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death.

	[Faints]

OTHELLO	Hold, for your lives!

IAGO	Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,--
	Have you forgot all sense of place and duty?
	Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!

OTHELLO	Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this?
	Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that
	Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
	For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:
	He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
	Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.
	Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle
	From her propriety. What is the matter, masters?
	Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving,
	Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.

IAGO	I do not know: friends all but now, even now,
	In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
	Devesting them for bed; and then, but now--
	As if some planet had unwitted men--
	Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast,
	In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
	Any beginning to this peevish odds;
	And would in action glorious I had lost
	Those legs that brought me to a part of it!

OTHELLO	How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

CASSIO	I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.

OTHELLO	Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil;
	The gravity and stillness of your youth
	The world hath noted, and your name is great
	In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter,
	That you unlace your reputation thus
	And spend your rich opinion for the name
	Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it.

MONTANO	Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger:
	Your officer, Iago, can inform you,--
	While I spare speech, which something now
	offends me,--
	Of all that I do know: nor know I aught
	By me that's said or done amiss this night;
	Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
	And to defend ourselves it be a sin
	When violence assails us.

OTHELLO	Now, by heaven,
	My blood begins my safer guides to rule;
	And passion, having my best judgment collied,
	Assays to lead the way: if I once stir,
	Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
	Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
	How this foul rout began, who set it on;
	And he that is approved in this offence,
	Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
	Shall lose me. What! in a town of war,
	Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear,
	To manage private and domestic quarrel,
	In night, and on the court and guard of safety!
	'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't?

MONTANO	If partially affined, or leagued in office,
	Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
	Thou art no soldier.

IAGO	Touch me not so near:
	I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth
	Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio;
	Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth
	Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general.
	Montano and myself being in speech,
	There comes a fellow crying out for help:
	And Cassio following him with determined sword,
	To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
	Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause:
	Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
	Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out--
	The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,
	Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather
	For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
	And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night
	I ne'er might say before. When I came back--
	For this was brief--I found them close together,
	At blow and thrust; even as again they were
	When you yourself did part them.
	More of this matter cannot I report:
	But men are men; the best sometimes forget:
	Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,
	As men in rage strike those that wish them best,
	Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received
	From him that fled some strange indignity,
	Which patience could not pass.

OTHELLO	I know, Iago,
	Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
	Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee
	But never more be officer of mine.

	[Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended]

	Look, if my gentle love be not raised up!
	I'll make thee an example.

DESDEMONA	What's the matter?

OTHELLO	All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed.
	Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon:
	Lead him off.

	[To MONTANO, who is led off]

	Iago, look with care about the town,
	And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
	Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life
	To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.

	[Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO]

IAGO	What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

CASSIO	Ay, past all surgery.

IAGO	Marry, heaven forbid!

CASSIO	Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost
	my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of
	myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation,
	Iago, my reputation!

IAGO	As I am an honest man, I thought you had received
	some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than
	in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false
	imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without
	deserving: you have lost no reputation at all,
	unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man!
	there are ways to recover the general again: you
	are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in
	policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his
	offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue
	to him again, and he's yours.

CASSIO	I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so
	good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so
	indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot?
	and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse
	fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible
	spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by,
	let us call thee devil!

IAGO	What was he that you followed with your sword? What
	had he done to you?

CASSIO	I know not.

IAGO	Is't possible?

CASSIO	I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly;
	a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men
	should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away
	their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance
	revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

IAGO	Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus
	recovered?

CASSIO	It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place
	to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me
	another, to make me frankly despise myself.

IAGO	Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time,
	the place, and the condition of this country
	stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen;
	but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

CASSIO	I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me
	I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra,
	such an answer would stop them all. To be now a
	sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a
	beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is
	unblessed and the ingredient is a devil.

IAGO	Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature,
	if it be well used: exclaim no more against it.
	And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you.

CASSIO	I have well approved it, sir. I drunk!

IAGO	You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man.
	I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife
	is now the general: may say so in this respect, for
	that he hath devoted and given up himself to the
	contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and
	graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune
	her help to put you in your place again: she is of
	so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,
	she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more
	than she is requested: this broken joint between
	you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my
	fortunes against any lay worth naming, this
	crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before.

CASSIO	You advise me well.

IAGO	I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.

CASSIO	I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will
	beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me:
	I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here.

IAGO	You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I
	must to the watch.

CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago.

	[Exit]

IAGO	And what's he then that says I play the villain?
	When this advice is free I give and honest,
	Probal to thinking and indeed the course
	To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy
	The inclining Desdemona to subdue
	In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful
	As the free elements. And then for her
	To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism,
	All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
	His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,
	That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
	Even as her appetite shall play the god
	With his weak function. How am I then a villain
	To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
	Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
	When devils will the blackest sins put on,
	They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,
	As I do now: for whiles this honest fool
	Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes
	And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
	I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
	That she repeals him for her body's lust;
	And by how much she strives to do him good,
	She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
	So will I turn her virtue into pitch,
	And out of her own goodness make the net
	That shall enmesh them all.

	[Re-enter RODERIGO]

		      How now, Roderigo!

RODERIGO	I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that
	hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is
	almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well
	cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall
	have so much experience for my pains, and so, with
	no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

IAGO	How poor are they that have not patience!
	What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
	Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft;
	And wit depends on dilatory time.
	Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee.
	And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio:
	Though other things grow fair against the sun,
	Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe:
	Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning;
	Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
	Retire thee; go where thou art billeted:
	Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter:
	Nay, get thee gone.

	[Exit RODERIGO]

	Two things are to be done:
	My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress;
	I'll set her on;
	Myself the while to draw the Moor apart,
	And bring him jump when he may Cassio find
	Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way
	Dull not device by coldness and delay.

	[Exit]




	OTHELLO


ACT III



SCENE I	Before the castle.


	[Enter CASSIO and some Musicians]

CASSIO	Masters, play here; I will content your pains;
	Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.'

	[Music]

	[Enter Clown]

Clown	Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples,
	that they speak i' the nose thus?

First Musician	How, sir, how!

Clown	Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments?

First Musician	Ay, marry, are they, sir.

Clown	O, thereby hangs a tail.

First Musician	Whereby hangs a tale, sir?

Clown	Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know.
	But, masters, here's money for you: and the general
	so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's
	sake, to make no more noise with it.

First Musician	Well, sir, we will not.

Clown	If you have any music that may not be heard, to't
	again: but, as they say to hear music the general
	does not greatly care.

First Musician	We have none such, sir.

Clown	Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away:
	go; vanish into air; away!

	[Exeunt Musicians]

CASSIO	Dost thou hear, my honest friend?

Clown	No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.

CASSIO	Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece
	of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends
	the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's
	one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech:
	wilt thou do this?

Clown	She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I
	shall seem to notify unto her.

CASSIO	Do, good my friend.

	[Exit Clown]

	[Enter IAGO]

	In happy time, Iago.

IAGO	You have not been a-bed, then?

CASSIO	Why, no; the day had broke
	Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
	To send in to your wife: my suit to her
	Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona
	Procure me some access.

IAGO	I'll send her to you presently;
	And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor
	Out of the way, that your converse and business
	May be more free.

CASSIO	I humbly thank you for't.

	[Exit IAGO]

		    I never knew
	A Florentine more kind and honest.

	[Enter EMILIA]

EMILIA	Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry
	For your displeasure; but all will sure be well.
	The general and his wife are talking of it;
	And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies,
	That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus,
	And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom
	He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you
	And needs no other suitor but his likings
	To take the safest occasion by the front
	To bring you in again.

CASSIO	Yet, I beseech you,
	If you think fit, or that it may be done,
	Give me advantage of some brief discourse
	With Desdemona alone.

EMILIA	Pray you, come in;
	I will bestow you where you shall have time
	To speak your bosom freely.

CASSIO	I am much bound to you.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT III



SCENE II	A room in the castle.


	[Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen]

OTHELLO	These letters give, Iago, to the pilot;
	And by him do my duties to the senate:
	That done, I will be walking on the works;
	Repair there to me.

IAGO	Well, my good lord, I'll do't.

OTHELLO	This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't?

Gentleman	We'll wait upon your lordship.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT III



SCENE III	The garden of the castle.


	[Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA]

DESDEMONA	Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do
	All my abilities in thy behalf.

EMILIA	Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband,
	As if the case were his.

DESDEMONA	O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,
	But I will have my lord and you again
	As friendly as you were.

CASSIO	Bounteous madam,
	Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
	He's never any thing but your true servant.

DESDEMONA	I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord:
	You have known him long; and be you well assured
	He shall in strangeness stand no further off
	Than in a polite distance.

CASSIO	Ay, but, lady,
	That policy may either last so long,
	Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,
	Or breed itself so out of circumstance,
	That, I being absent and my place supplied,
	My general will forget my love and service.

DESDEMONA	Do not doubt that; before Emilia here
	I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee,
	If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it
	To the last article: my lord shall never rest;
	I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;
	His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
	I'll intermingle every thing he does
	With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio;
	For thy solicitor shall rather die
	Than give thy cause away.

EMILIA	Madam, here comes my lord.

CASSIO	Madam, I'll take my leave.

DESDEMONA	Why, stay, and hear me speak.

CASSIO	Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease,
	Unfit for mine own purposes.

DESDEMONA	Well, do your discretion.

	[Exit CASSIO]

	[Enter OTHELLO and IAGO]

IAGO	Ha! I like not that.

OTHELLO	What dost thou say?

IAGO	Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what.

OTHELLO	Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?

IAGO	Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it,
	That he would steal away so guilty-like,
	Seeing you coming.

OTHELLO	                  I do believe 'twas he.

DESDEMONA	How now, my lord!
	I have been talking with a suitor here,
	A man that languishes in your displeasure.

OTHELLO	Who is't you mean?

DESDEMONA	Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,
	If I have any grace or power to move you,
	His present reconciliation take;
	For if he be not one that truly loves you,
	That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,
	I have no judgment in an honest face:
	I prithee, call him back.

OTHELLO	Went he hence now?

DESDEMONA	Ay, sooth; so humbled
	That he hath left part of his grief with me,
	To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

OTHELLO	Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.

DESDEMONA	But shall't be shortly?

OTHELLO	The sooner, sweet, for you.

DESDEMONA	Shall't be to-night at supper?

OTHELLO	No, not to-night.

DESDEMONA	To-morrow dinner, then?

OTHELLO	I shall not dine at home;
	I meet the captains at the citadel.

DESDEMONA	Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn;
	On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn:
	I prithee, name the time, but let it not
	Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent;
	And yet his trespass, in our common reason--
	Save that, they say, the wars must make examples
	Out of their best--is not almost a fault
	To incur a private cheque. When shall he come?
	Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,
	What you would ask me, that I should deny,
	Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio,
	That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,
	When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
	Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do
	To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,--

OTHELLO	Prithee, no more: let him come when he will;
	I will deny thee nothing.

DESDEMONA	Why, this is not a boon;
	'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
	Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
	Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
	To your own person: nay, when I have a suit
	Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
	It shall be full of poise and difficult weight
	And fearful to be granted.

OTHELLO	I will deny thee nothing:
	Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
	To leave me but a little to myself.

DESDEMONA	Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord.

OTHELLO	Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight.

DESDEMONA	Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;
	Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

	[Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

OTHELLO	Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
	But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
	Chaos is come again.

IAGO	My noble lord--

OTHELLO	                  What dost thou say, Iago?

IAGO	Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,
	Know of your love?

OTHELLO	He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask?

IAGO	But for a satisfaction of my thought;
	No further harm.

OTHELLO	                  Why of thy thought, Iago?

IAGO	I did not think he had been acquainted with her.

OTHELLO	O, yes; and went between us very oft.

IAGO	Indeed!

OTHELLO	Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that?
	Is he not honest?

IAGO	Honest, my lord!

OTHELLO	                  Honest! ay, honest.

IAGO	My lord, for aught I know.

OTHELLO	What dost thou think?

IAGO	Think, my lord!

OTHELLO	Think, my lord!
	By heaven, he echoes me,
	As if there were some monster in his thought
	Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:
	I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that,
	When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like?
	And when I told thee he was of my counsel
	In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!'
	And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
	As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
	Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
	Show me thy thought.

IAGO	My lord, you know I love you.

OTHELLO	I think thou dost;
	And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,
	And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath,
	Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:
	For such things in a false disloyal knave
	Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just
	They are close delations, working from the heart
	That passion cannot rule.

IAGO	For Michael Cassio,
	I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

OTHELLO	I think so too.

IAGO	                  Men should be what they seem;
	Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

OTHELLO	Certain, men should be what they seem.

IAGO	Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man.

OTHELLO	Nay, yet there's more in this:
	I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
	As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
	The worst of words.

IAGO	Good my lord, pardon me:
	Though I am bound to every act of duty,
	I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
	Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false;
	As where's that palace whereinto foul things
	Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure,
	But some uncleanly apprehensions
	Keep leets and law-days and in session sit
	With meditations lawful?

OTHELLO	Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
	If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear
	A stranger to thy thoughts.

IAGO	I do beseech you--
	Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
	As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
	To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
	Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet,
	From one that so imperfectly conceits,
	Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble
	Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
	It were not for your quiet nor your good,
	Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
	To let you know my thoughts.

OTHELLO	What dost thou mean?

IAGO	Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
	Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
	Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
	'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
	But he that filches from me my good name
	Robs me of that which not enriches him
	And makes me poor indeed.

OTHELLO	By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.

IAGO	You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;
	Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

OTHELLO	Ha!

IAGO	O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
	It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
	The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss
	Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
	But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
	Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

OTHELLO	O misery!

IAGO	Poor and content is rich and rich enough,
	But riches fineless is as poor as winter
	To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
	Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
	From jealousy!

OTHELLO	                  Why, why is this?
	Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy,
	To follow still the changes of the moon
	With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt
	Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat,
	When I shall turn the business of my soul
	To such exsufflicate and blown surmises,
	Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous
	To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
	Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well;
	Where virtue is, these are more virtuous:
	Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
	The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt;
	For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago;
	I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
	And on the proof, there is no more but this,--
	Away at once with love or jealousy!

IAGO	I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason
	To show the love and duty that I bear you
	With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,
	Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.
	Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;
	Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure:
	I would not have your free and noble nature,
	Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't:
	I know our country disposition well;
	In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
	They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience
	Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown.

OTHELLO	Dost thou say so?

IAGO	She did deceive her father, marrying you;
	And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks,
	She loved them most.

OTHELLO	And so she did.

IAGO	Why, go to then;
	She that, so young, could give out such a seeming,
	To seal her father's eyes up close as oak-
	He thought 'twas witchcraft--but I am much to blame;
	I humbly do beseech you of your pardon
	For too much loving you.

OTHELLO	I am bound to thee for ever.

IAGO	I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits.

OTHELLO	Not a jot, not a jot.

IAGO	I' faith, I fear it has.
	I hope you will consider what is spoke
	Comes from my love. But I do see you're moved:
	I am to pray you not to strain my speech
	To grosser issues nor to larger reach
	Than to suspicion.

OTHELLO	I will not.

IAGO	          Should you do so, my lord,
	My speech should fall into such vile success
	As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend--
	My lord, I see you're moved.

OTHELLO	No, not much moved:
	I do not think but Desdemona's honest.

IAGO	Long live she so! and long live you to think so!

OTHELLO	And yet, how nature erring from itself,--

IAGO	Ay, there's the point: as--to be bold with you--
	Not to affect many proposed matches
	Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
	Whereto we see in all things nature tends--
	Foh! one may smell in such a will most rank,
	Foul disproportion thoughts unnatural.
	But pardon me; I do not in position
	Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear
	Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,
	May fall to match you with her country forms
	And happily repent.

OTHELLO	Farewell, farewell:
	If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
	Set on thy wife to observe: leave me, Iago:

IAGO	[Going]  My lord, I take my leave.

OTHELLO	Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless
	Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

IAGO	[Returning]  My lord, I would I might entreat
	your honour
	To scan this thing no further; leave it to time:
	Though it be fit that Cassio have his place,
	For sure, he fills it up with great ability,
	Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile,
	You shall by that perceive him and his means:
	Note, if your lady strain his entertainment
	With any strong or vehement importunity;
	Much will be seen in that. In the mean time,
	Let me be thought too busy in my fears--
	As worthy cause I have to fear I am--
	And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

OTHELLO	Fear not my government.

IAGO	I once more take my leave.

	[Exit]

OTHELLO	This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
	And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
	Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
	Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,
	I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,
	To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black
	And have not those soft parts of conversation
	That chamberers have, or for I am declined
	Into the vale of years,--yet that's not much--
	She's gone. I am abused; and my relief
	Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
	That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
	And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
	And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
	Than keep a corner in the thing I love
	For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones;
	Prerogatived are they less than the base;
	'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:
	Even then this forked plague is fated to us
	When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:

	[Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

	If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
	I'll not believe't.

DESDEMONA	How now, my dear Othello!
	Your dinner, and the generous islanders
	By you invited, do attend your presence.

OTHELLO	I am to blame.

DESDEMONA	                  Why do you speak so faintly?
	Are you not well?

OTHELLO	I have a pain upon my forehead here.

DESDEMONA	'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
	Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
	It will be well.

OTHELLO	                  Your napkin is too little:

	[He puts the handkerchief from him; and it drops]

	Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

DESDEMONA	I am very sorry that you are not well.

	[Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA]

EMILIA	I am glad I have found this napkin:
	This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
	My wayward husband hath a hundred times
	Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,
	For he conjured her she should ever keep it,
	That she reserves it evermore about her
	To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
	And give't Iago: what he will do with it
	Heaven knows, not I;
	I nothing but to please his fantasy.

	[Re-enter Iago]

IAGO	How now! what do you here alone?

EMILIA	Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

IAGO	A thing for me? it is a common thing--

EMILIA	Ha!

IAGO	To have a foolish wife.

EMILIA	O, is that all? What will you give me now
	For the same handkerchief?

IAGO	What handkerchief?

EMILIA	What handkerchief?
	Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
	That which so often you did bid me steal.

IAGO	Hast stol'n it from her?

EMILIA	No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence.
	And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up.
	Look, here it is.

IAGO	                  A good wench; give it me.

EMILIA	What will you do with 't, that you have been
	so earnest
	To have me filch it?

IAGO	[Snatching it]  Why, what's that to you?

EMILIA	If it be not for some purpose of import,
	Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad
	When she shall lack it.

IAGO	Be not acknown on 't; I have use for it.
	Go, leave me.

	[Exit EMILIA]

	I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
	And let him find it. Trifles light as air
	Are to the jealous confirmations strong
	As proofs of holy writ: this may do something.
	The Moor already changes with my poison:
	Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons.
	Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,
	But with a little act upon the blood.
	Burn like the mines of Sulphur. I did say so:
	Look, where he comes!

	[Re-enter OTHELLO]

		Not poppy, nor mandragora,
	Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
	Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
	Which thou owedst yesterday.

OTHELLO	Ha! ha! false to me?

IAGO	Why, how now, general! no more of that.

OTHELLO	Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack:
	I swear 'tis better to be much abused
	Than but to know't a little.

IAGO	How now, my lord!

OTHELLO	What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust?
	I saw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
	I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
	I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:
	He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,
	Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.

IAGO	I am sorry to hear this.

OTHELLO	I had been happy, if the general camp,
	Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,
	So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever
	Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
	Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
	That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
	Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
	The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
	The royal banner, and all quality,
	Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!
	And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
	The immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit,
	Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

IAGO	Is't possible, my lord?

OTHELLO	Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore,
	Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof:
	Or by the worth of man's eternal soul,
	Thou hadst been better have been born a dog
	Than answer my waked wrath!

IAGO	Is't come to this?

OTHELLO	Make me to see't; or, at the least, so prove it,
	That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
	To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!

IAGO	My noble lord,--

OTHELLO	If thou dost slander her and torture me,
	Never pray more; abandon all remorse;
	On horror's head horrors accumulate;
	Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;
	For nothing canst thou to damnation add
	Greater than that.

IAGO	                  O grace! O heaven forgive me!
	Are you a man? have you a soul or sense?
	God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched fool.
	That livest to make thine honesty a vice!
	O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
	To be direct and honest is not safe.
	I thank you for this profit; and from hence
	I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

OTHELLO	Nay, stay: thou shouldst be honest.

IAGO	I should be wise, for honesty's a fool
	And loses that it works for.

OTHELLO	By the world,
	I think my wife be honest and think she is not;
	I think that thou art just and think thou art not.
	I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh
	As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black
	As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,
	Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
	I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied!

IAGO	I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion:
	I do repent me that I put it to you.
	You would be satisfied?

OTHELLO	Would! nay, I will.

IAGO	And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord?
	Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on--
	Behold her topp'd?

OTHELLO	                  Death and damnation! O!

IAGO	It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
	To bring them to that prospect: damn them then,
	If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
	More than their own! What then? how then?
	What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?
	It is impossible you should see this,
	Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
	As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
	As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
	If imputation and strong circumstances,
	Which lead directly to the door of truth,
	Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.

OTHELLO	Give me a living reason she's disloyal.

IAGO	I do not like the office:
	But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,
	Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,
	I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;
	And, being troubled with a raging tooth,
	I could not sleep.
	There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
	That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs:
	One of this kind is Cassio:
	In sleep I heard him say 'Sweet Desdemona,
	Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;'
	And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,
	Cry 'O sweet creature!' and then kiss me hard,
	As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots
	That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg
	Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then
	Cried 'Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!'

OTHELLO	O monstrous! monstrous!

IAGO	Nay, this was but his dream.

OTHELLO	But this denoted a foregone conclusion:
	'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

IAGO	And this may help to thicken other proofs
	That do demonstrate thinly.

OTHELLO	I'll tear her all to pieces.

IAGO	Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done;
	She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,
	Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
	Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?

OTHELLO	I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.

IAGO	I know not that; but such a handkerchief--
	I am sure it was your wife's--did I to-day
	See Cassio wipe his beard with.

OTHELLO	If it be that--

IAGO	If it be that, or any that was hers,
	It speaks against her with the other proofs.

OTHELLO	O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
	One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.
	Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago;
	All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
	'Tis gone.
	Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
	Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
	To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
	For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

IAGO	Yet be content.

OTHELLO	O, blood, blood, blood!

IAGO	Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change.

OTHELLO	Never, Iago: Like to the Pontic sea,
	Whose icy current and compulsive course
	Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
	To the Propontic and the Hellespont,
	Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
	Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
	Till that a capable and wide revenge
	Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven,

	[Kneels]

	In the due reverence of a sacred vow
	I here engage my words.

IAGO	Do not rise yet.

	[Kneels]

	Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
	You elements that clip us round about,
	Witness that here Iago doth give up
	The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
	To wrong'd Othello's service! Let him command,
	And to obey shall be in me remorse,
	What bloody business ever.

	[They rise]

OTHELLO	I greet thy love,
	Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
	And will upon the instant put thee to't:
	Within these three days let me hear thee say
	That Cassio's not alive.

IAGO	My friend is dead; 'tis done at your request:
	But let her live.

OTHELLO	Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her!
	Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw,
	To furnish me with some swift means of death
	For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.

IAGO	I am your own for ever.

	[Exeunt]



	OTHELLO


ACT III



SCENE IV	Before the castle.


	[Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, and Clown]

DESDEMONA	Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?

Clown	I dare not say he lies any where.

DESDEMONA	Why, man?

Clown	He's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies,
	is stabbing.

DESDEMONA	Go to: where lodges he?

Clown	To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.

DESDEMONA	Can any thing be made of this?

Clown	I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a
	lodging and say he lies here or he lies there, were
	to lie in mine own throat.

DESDEMONA	Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report?

Clown	I will catechise the world for him; that is, make
	questions, and by them answer.

DESDEMONA	Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I have
	moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well.

Clown	To do this is within the compass of man's wit: and
	therefore I will attempt the doing it.

	[Exit]

DESDEMONA	Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

EMILIA	I know not, madam.

DESDEMONA	Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse
	Full of crusadoes: and, but my noble Moor
	Is true of mind and made of no such baseness
	As jealous creatures are, it were enough
	To put him to ill thinking.

EMILIA	Is he not jealous?

DESDEMONA	Who, he? I think the sun where he was born
	Drew all such humours from him.

EMILIA	Look, where he comes.

DESDEMONA	I will not leave him now till Cassio
	Be call'd to him.

	[Enter OTHELLO]

	How is't with you, my lord

OTHELLO	Well, my good lady.

	[Aside]

	O, hardness to dissemble!--
	How do you, Desdemona?

DESDEMONA	Well, my good lord.

OTHELLO	Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady.

DESDEMONA	It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.

OTHELLO	This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart:
	Hot, hot, and moist: this hand of yours requires
	A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,
	Much castigation, exercise devout;
	For here's a young and sweating devil here,
	That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
	A frank one.

DESDEMONA	                  You may, indeed, say so;
	For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

OTHELLO	A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave hands;
	But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

DESDEMONA	I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.

OTHELLO	What promise, chuck?

DESDEMONA	I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

OTHELLO	I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me;
	Lend me thy handkerchief.

DESDEMONA	Here, my lord.

OTHELLO	That which I gave you.

DESDEMONA	I have it not about me.

OTHELLO	Not?

DESDEMONA	   No, indeed, my lord.

OTHELLO	That is a fault.

	That handkerchief
	Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
	She was a charmer, and could almost read
	The thoughts of people: she told her, while
	she kept it,
	'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father
	Entirely to her love, but if she lost it
	Or made gift of it, my father's eye
	Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt
	After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me;
	And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
	To give it her. I did so: and take heed on't;
	Make it a darling like your precious eye;
	To lose't or give't away were such perdition
	As nothing else could match.

DESDEMONA	Is't possible?

OTHELLO	'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it:
	A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
	The sun to course two hundred compasses,
	In her prophetic fury sew'd the work;
	The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk;
	And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful
	Conserved of maidens' hearts.

DESDEMONA	Indeed! is't true?

OTHELLO	Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

DESDEMONA	Then would to God that I had never seen't!

OTHELLO	Ha! wherefore?

DESDEMONA	Why do you speak so startingly and rash?

OTHELLO	Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out
	o' the way?

DESDEMONA	Heaven bless us!

OTHELLO	Say you?

DESDEMONA	It is not lost; but what an if it were?

OTHELLO	How!

DESDEMONA	I say, it is not lost.

OTHELLO	Fetch't, let me see't.

DESDEMONA	Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
	This is a trick to put me from my suit:
	Pray you, let Cassio be received again.

OTHELLO	Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind misgives.

DESDEMONA	Come, come;
	You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

OTHELLO	The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA	                  I pray, talk me of Cassio.

OTHELLO	The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA	                  A man that all his time
	Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
	Shared dangers with you,--

OTHELLO	The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA	In sooth, you are to blame.

OTHELLO	Away!

	[Exit]

EMILIA	Is not this man jealous?

DESDEMONA	I ne'er saw this before.
	Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
	I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

EMILIA	'Tis not a year or two shows us a man:
	They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
	To eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
	They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my husband!

	[Enter CASSIO and IAGO]

IAGO	There is no other way; 'tis she must do't:
	And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her.

DESDEMONA	How now, good Cassio! what's the news with you?

CASSIO	Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you
	That by your virtuous means I may again
	Exist, and be a member of his love
	Whom I with all the office of my heart
	Entirely honour: I would not be delay'd.
	If my offence be of such mortal kind
	That nor my service past, nor present sorrows,
	Nor purposed merit in futurity,
	Can ransom me into his love again,
	But to know so must be my benefit;
	So shall I clothe me in a forced content,
	And shut myself up in some other course,
	To fortune's alms.

DESDEMONA	                  Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio!
	My advocation is not now in tune;
	My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
	Were he in favour as in humour alter'd.
	So help me every spirit sanctified,
	As I have spoken for you all my best
	And stood within the blank of his displeasure
	For my free speech! you must awhile be patient:
	What I can do I will; and more I will
	Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you.

IAGO	Is my lord angry?

EMILIA	                  He went hence but now,
	And certainly in strange unquietness.

IAGO	Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon,
	When it hath blown his ranks into the air,
	And, like the devil, from his very arm
	Puff'd his own brother:--and can he be angry?
	Something of moment then: I will go meet him:
	There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.

DESDEMONA	I prithee, do so.

	[Exit IAGO]

	Something, sure, of state,
	Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practise
	Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,
	Hath puddled his clear spirit: and in such cases
	Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
	Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so;
	For let our finger ache, and it indues
	Our other healthful members even to that sense
	Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods,
	Nor of them look for such observances
	As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
	I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
	Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
	But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
	And he's indicted falsely.

EMILIA	Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think,
	And no conception nor no jealous toy
	Concerning you.

DESDEMONA	Alas the day! I never gave him cause.

EMILIA	But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
	They are not ever jealous for the cause,
	But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster
	Begot upon itself, born on itself.

DESDEMONA	Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind!

EMILIA	Lady, amen.

DESDEMONA	I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:
	If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit
	And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

CASSIO	I humbly thank your ladyship.

	[Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

	[Enter BIANCA]

BIANCA	Save you, friend Cassio!

CASSIO	What make you from home?
	How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
	I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.

BIANCA	And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
	What, keep a week away? seven days and nights?
	Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours,
	More tedious than the dial eight score times?
	O weary reckoning!

CASSIO	                  Pardon me, Bianca:
	I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd:
	But I shall, in a more continuate time,
	Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,

	[Giving her DESDEMONA's handkerchief]

	Take me this work out.

BIANCA	O Cassio, whence came this?
	This is some token from a newer friend:
	To the felt absence now I feel a cause:
	Is't come to this? Well, well.

CASSIO	Go to, woman!
	Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,
	From whence you have them. You are jealous now
	That this is from some mistress, some remembrance:
	No, in good troth, Bianca.

BIANCA	Why, whose is it?

CASSIO	I know not, sweet: I found it in my chamber.
	I like the work well: ere it be demanded--
	As like enough it will--I'ld have it copied:
	Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.

BIANCA	Leave you! wherefore?

CASSIO	I do attend here on the general;
	And think it no addition, nor my wish,
	To have him see me woman'd.

BIANCA	Why, I pray you?

CASSIO	Not that I love you not.

BIANCA	But that you do not love me.
	I pray you, bring me on the way a little,
	And say if I shall see you soon at night.

CASSIO	'Tis but a little way that I can bring you;
	For I attend here: but I'll see you soon.

BIANCA	'Tis very good; I must be circumstanced.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT IV



SCENE I	Cyprus. Before the castle.


	[Enter OTHELLO and IAGO]

IAGO	Will you think so?

OTHELLO	                  Think so, Iago!

IAGO	What,
	To kiss in private?

OTHELLO	An unauthorized kiss.

IAGO	Or to be naked with her friend in bed
	An hour or more, not meaning any harm?

OTHELLO	Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm!
	It is hypocrisy against the devil:
	They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
	The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

IAGO	So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip:
	But if I give my wife a handkerchief,--

OTHELLO	What then?

IAGO	Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being hers,
	She may, I think, bestow't on any man.

OTHELLO	She is protectress of her honour too:
	May she give that?

IAGO	Her honour is an essence that's not seen;
	They have it very oft that have it not:
	But, for the handkerchief,--

OTHELLO	By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.
	Thou said'st, it comes o'er my memory,
	As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
	Boding to all--he had my handkerchief.

IAGO	Ay, what of that?

OTHELLO	                  That's not so good now.

IAGO	What,
	If I had said I had seen him do you wrong?
	Or heard him say,--as knaves be such abroad,
	Who having, by their own importunate suit,
	Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
	Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
	But they must blab--

OTHELLO	Hath he said any thing?

IAGO	He hath, my lord; but be you well assured,
	No more than he'll unswear.

OTHELLO	What hath he said?

IAGO	'Faith, that he did--I know not what he did.

OTHELLO	What? what?

IAGO	Lie--

OTHELLO	    With her?

IAGO	With her, on her; what you will.

OTHELLO	Lie with her! lie on her! We say lie on her, when
	they belie her. Lie with her! that's fulsome.
	--Handkerchief--confessions--handkerchief!--To
	confess, and be hanged for his labour;--first, to be
	hanged, and then to confess.--I tremble at it.
	Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing
	passion without some instruction. It is not words
	that shake me thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips.
	--Is't possible?--Confess--handkerchief!--O devil!--

	[Falls in a trance]

IAGO	Work on,
	My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught;
	And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,
	All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!
	My lord, I say! Othello!

	[Enter CASSIO]

		    How now, Cassio!

CASSIO	What's the matter?

IAGO	My lord is fall'n into an epilepsy:
	This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.

CASSIO	Rub him about the temples.

IAGO	No, forbear;
	The lethargy must have his quiet course:
	If not, he foams at mouth and by and by
	Breaks out to savage madness. Look he stirs:
	Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
	He will recover straight: when he is gone,
	I would on great occasion speak with you.

	[Exit CASSIO]

	How is it, general? have you not hurt your head?

OTHELLO	Dost thou mock me?

IAGO	                  I mock you! no, by heaven.
	Would you would bear your fortune like a man!

OTHELLO	A horned man's a monster and a beast.

IAGO	There's many a beast then in a populous city,
	And many a civil monster.

OTHELLO	Did he confess it?

IAGO	                  Good sir, be a man;
	Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked
	May draw with you: there's millions now alive
	That nightly lie in those unproper beds
	Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.
	O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
	To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
	And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know;
	And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.

OTHELLO	O, thou art wise; 'tis certain.

IAGO	Stand you awhile apart;
	Confine yourself but in a patient list.
	Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your grief--
	A passion most unsuiting such a man--
	Cassio came hither: I shifted him away,
	And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy,
	Bade him anon return and here speak with me;
	The which he promised. Do but encave yourself,
	And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,
	That dwell in every region of his face;
	For I will make him tell the tale anew,
	Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
	He hath, and is again to cope your wife:
	I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience;
	Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen,
	And nothing of a man.

OTHELLO	Dost thou hear, Iago?
	I will be found most cunning in my patience;
	But--dost thou hear?--most bloody.

IAGO	That's not amiss;
	But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

	[OTHELLO retires]

	Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
	A housewife that by selling her desires
	Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature
	That dotes on Cassio; as 'tis the strumpet's plague
	To beguile many and be beguiled by one:
	He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
	From the excess of laughter. Here he comes:

	[Re-enter CASSIO]

	As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad;
	And his unbookish jealousy must construe
	Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures and light behavior,
	Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?

CASSIO	The worser that you give me the addition
	Whose want even kills me.

IAGO	Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on't.

	[Speaking lower]

	Now, if this suit lay in Bianco's power,
	How quickly should you speed!

CASSIO	Alas, poor caitiff!

OTHELLO	Look, how he laughs already!

IAGO	I never knew woman love man so.

CASSIO	Alas, poor rogue! I think, i' faith, she loves me.

OTHELLO	Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out.

IAGO	Do you hear, Cassio?

OTHELLO	Now he importunes him
	To tell it o'er: go to; well said, well said.

IAGO	She gives it out that you shall marry hey:
	Do you intend it?

CASSIO	Ha, ha, ha!

OTHELLO	Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph?

CASSIO	I marry her! what? a customer! Prithee, bear some
	charity to my wit: do not think it so unwholesome.
	Ha, ha, ha!

OTHELLO	So, so, so, so: they laugh that win.

IAGO	'Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.

CASSIO	Prithee, say true.

IAGO	I am a very villain else.

OTHELLO	Have you scored me? Well.

CASSIO	This is the monkey's own giving out: she is
	persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love and
	flattery, not out of my promise.

OTHELLO	Iago beckons me; now he begins the story.

CASSIO	She was here even now; she haunts me in every place.
	I was the other day talking on the sea-bank with
	certain Venetians; and thither comes the bauble,
	and, by this hand, she falls me thus about my neck--

OTHELLO	Crying 'O dear Cassio!' as it were: his gesture
	imports it.

CASSIO	So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales,
	and pulls me: ha, ha, ha!

OTHELLO	Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O,
	I see that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall
	throw it to.

CASSIO	Well, I must leave her company.

IAGO	Before me! look, where she comes.

CASSIO	'Tis such another fitchew! marry a perfumed one.

	[Enter BIANCA]

	What do you mean by this haunting of me?

BIANCA	Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you
	mean by that same handkerchief you gave me even now?
	I was a fine fool to take it. I must take out the
	work?--A likely piece of work, that you should find
	it in your chamber, and not know who left it there!
	This is some minx's token, and I must take out the
	work? There; give it your hobby-horse: wheresoever
	you had it, I'll take out no work on't.

CASSIO	How now, my sweet Bianca! how now! how now!

OTHELLO	By heaven, that should be my handkerchief!

BIANCA	An you'll come to supper to-night, you may; an you
	will not, come when you are next prepared for.

	[Exit]

IAGO	After her, after her.

CASSIO	'Faith, I must; she'll rail in the street else.

IAGO	Will you sup there?

CASSIO	'Faith, I intend so.

IAGO	Well, I may chance to see you; for I would very fain
	speak with you.

CASSIO	Prithee, come; will you?

IAGO	Go to; say no more.

	[Exit CASSIO]

OTHELLO	[Advancing]  How shall I murder him, Iago?

IAGO	Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?

OTHELLO	O Iago!

IAGO	And did you see the handkerchief?

OTHELLO	Was that mine?

IAGO	Yours by this hand: and to see how he prizes the
	foolish woman your wife! she gave it him, and he
	hath given it his whore.

OTHELLO	I would have him nine years a-killing.
	A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman!

IAGO	Nay, you must forget that.

OTHELLO	Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night;
	for she shall not live: no, my heart is turned to
	stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the
	world hath not a sweeter creature: she might lie by
	an emperor's side and command him tasks.

IAGO	Nay, that's not your way.

OTHELLO	Hang her! I do but say what she is: so delicate
	with her needle: an admirable musician: O! she
	will sing the savageness out of a bear: of so high
	and plenteous wit and invention:--

IAGO	She's the worse for all this.

OTHELLO	O, a thousand thousand times: and then, of so
	gentle a condition!

IAGO	Ay, too gentle.

OTHELLO	Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity of it, Iago!
	O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!

IAGO	If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her
	patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes
	near nobody.

OTHELLO	I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!

IAGO	O, 'tis foul in her.

OTHELLO	With mine officer!

IAGO	That's fouler.

OTHELLO	Get me some poison, Iago; this night: I'll not
	expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty
	unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago.

IAGO	Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even
	the bed she hath contaminated.

OTHELLO	Good, good: the justice of it pleases: very good.

IAGO	And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker: you
	shall hear more by midnight.

OTHELLO	Excellent good.

	[A trumpet within]

	What trumpet is that same?

IAGO	Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico
	Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is with him.

	[Enter LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants]

LODOVICO	Save you, worthy general!

OTHELLO	With all my heart, sir.

LODOVICO	The duke and senators of Venice greet you.

	[Gives him a letter]

OTHELLO	I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.

	[Opens the letter, and reads]

DESDEMONA	And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?

IAGO	I am very glad to see you, signior
	Welcome to Cyprus.

LODOVICO	I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?

IAGO	Lives, sir.

DESDEMONA	Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my lord
	An unkind breach: but you shall make all well.

OTHELLO	Are you sure of that?

DESDEMONA	My lord?

OTHELLO	[Reads]  'This fail you not to do, as you will--'

LODOVICO	He did not call; he's busy in the paper.
	Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?

DESDEMONA	A most unhappy one: I would do much
	To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

OTHELLO	Fire and brimstone!

DESDEMONA	My lord?

OTHELLO	       Are you wise?

DESDEMONA	What, is he angry?

LODOVICO	                  May be the letter moved him;
	For, as I think, they do command him home,
	Deputing Cassio in his government.

DESDEMONA	Trust me, I am glad on't.

OTHELLO	Indeed!

DESDEMONA	My lord?

OTHELLO	I am glad to see you mad.

DESDEMONA	Why, sweet Othello,--

OTHELLO	[Striking her]  Devil!

DESDEMONA	I have not deserved this.

LODOVICO	My lord, this would not be believed in Venice,
	Though I should swear I saw't: 'tis very much:
	Make her amends; she weeps.

OTHELLO	O devil, devil!
	If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
	Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
	Out of my sight!

DESDEMONA	I will not stay to offend you.

	[Going]

LODOVICO	Truly, an obedient lady:
	I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

OTHELLO	Mistress!

DESDEMONA	        My lord?

OTHELLO	What would you with her, sir?

LODOVICO	Who, I, my lord?

OTHELLO	Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn:
	Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
	And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep;
	And she's obedient, as you say, obedient,
	Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears.
	Concerning this, sir,--O  well-painted passion!--
	I am commanded home. Get you away;
	I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate,
	And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt!

	[Exit DESDEMONA]

	Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,
	I do entreat that we may sup together:
	You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.--Goats and monkeys!

	[Exit]

LODOVICO	Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate
	Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature
	Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue
	The shot of accident, nor dart of chance,
	Could neither graze nor pierce?

IAGO	He is much changed.

LODOVICO	Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain?

IAGO	He's that he is: I may not breathe my censure
	What he might be: if what he might he is not,
	I would to heaven he were!

LODOVICO	What, strike his wife!

IAGO	'Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew
	That stroke would prove the worst!

LODOVICO	Is it his use?
	Or did the letters work upon his blood,
	And new-create this fault?

IAGO	Alas, alas!
	It is not honesty in me to speak
	What I have seen and known. You shall observe him,
	And his own courses will denote him so
	That I may save my speech: do but go after,
	And mark how he continues.

LODOVICO	I am sorry that I am deceived in him.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT IV


SCENE II	A room in the castle.


	[Enter OTHELLO and EMILIA]

OTHELLO	You have seen nothing then?

EMILIA	Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

OTHELLO	Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

EMILIA	But then I saw no harm, and then I heard
	Each syllable that breath made up between them.

OTHELLO	What, did they never whisper?

EMILIA	Never, my lord.

OTHELLO	Nor send you out o' the way?

EMILIA	Never.

OTHELLO	To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

EMILIA	Never, my lord.

OTHELLO	That's strange.

EMILIA	I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
	Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
	Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
	If any wretch have put this in your head,
	Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
	For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
	There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
	Is foul as slander.

OTHELLO	Bid her come hither: go.

	[Exit EMILIA]

	She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd
	That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
	A closet lock and key of villanous secrets
	And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen her do't.

	[Enter DESDEMONA with EMILIA]

DESDEMONA	My lord, what is your will?

OTHELLO	Pray, chuck, come hither.

DESDEMONA	What is your pleasure?

OTHELLO	Let me see your eyes;
	Look in my face.

DESDEMONA	                  What horrible fancy's this?

OTHELLO	[To EMILIA]  Some of your function, mistress;
	Leave procreants alone and shut the door;
	Cough, or cry 'hem,' if any body come:
	Your mystery, your mystery: nay, dispatch.

	[Exit EMILIA]

DESDEMONA	Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?
	I understand a fury in your words.
	But not the words.

OTHELLO	Why, what art thou?

DESDEMONA	Your wife, my lord; your true
	And loyal wife.

OTHELLO	                  Come, swear it, damn thyself
	Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves
	Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double damn'd:
	Swear thou art honest.

DESDEMONA	Heaven doth truly know it.

OTHELLO	Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

DESDEMONA	To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false?

OTHELLO	O Desdemona! away! away! away!

DESDEMONA	Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
	Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
	If haply you my father do suspect
	An instrument of this your calling back,
	Lay not your blame on me: If you have lost him,
	Why, I have lost him too.

OTHELLO	Had it pleased heaven
	To try me with affliction; had they rain'd
	All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head.
	Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,
	Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
	I should have found in some place of my soul
	A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
	A fixed figure for the time of scorn
	To point his slow unmoving finger at!
	Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
	But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,
	Where either I must live, or bear no life;
	The fountain from the which my current runs,
	Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
	Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
	To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,
	Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,--
	Ay, there, look grim as hell!

DESDEMONA	I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

OTHELLO	O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles,
	That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,
	Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
	That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst
	ne'er been born!

DESDEMONA	Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

OTHELLO	Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
	Made to write 'whore' upon? What committed!
	Committed! O thou public commoner!
	I should make very forges of my cheeks,
	That would to cinders burn up modesty,
	Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed!
	Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon winks,
	The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets
	Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
	And will not hear it. What committed!
	Impudent strumpet!

DESDEMONA	                  By heaven, you do me wrong.

OTHELLO	Are you not a strumpet?

DESDEMONA	No, as I am a Christian:
	If to preserve this vessel for my lord
	From any other foul unlawful touch
	Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

OTHELLO	What, not a whore?

DESDEMONA	                  No, as I shall be saved.

OTHELLO	Is't possible?

DESDEMONA	                  O, heaven forgive us!

OTHELLO	I cry you mercy, then:
	I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
	That married with Othello.

	[Raising his voice]

		     You, mistress,
	That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
	And keep the gate of hell!

	[Re-enter EMILIA]

		     You, you, ay, you!
	We have done our course; there's money for your pains:
	I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel.

	[Exit]

EMILIA	Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
	How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

DESDEMONA	'Faith, half asleep.

EMILIA	Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

DESDEMONA	With who?

EMILIA	Why, with my lord, madam.

DESDEMONA	Who is thy lord?

EMILIA	                  He that is yours, sweet lady.

DESDEMONA	I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia;
	I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,
	But what should go by water. Prithee, tonight
	Lay on my bed my wedding sheets: remember;
	And call thy husband hither.

EMILIA	Here's a change indeed!

	[Exit]

DESDEMONA	'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.
	How have I been behaved, that he might stick
	The small'st opinion on my least misuse?

	[Re-enter EMILIA with IAGO]

IAGO	What is your pleasure, madam?
	How is't with you?

DESDEMONA	I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes
	Do it with gentle means and easy tasks:
	He might have chid me so; for, in good faith,
	I am a child to chiding.

IAGO	What's the matter, lady?

EMILIA	Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her.
	Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
	As true hearts cannot bear.

DESDEMONA	Am I that name, Iago?

IAGO	What name, fair lady?

DESDEMONA	Such as she says my lord did say I was.

EMILIA	He call'd her whore: a beggar in his drink
	Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.

IAGO	Why did he so?

DESDEMONA	I do not know; I am sure I am none such.

IAGO	Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day!

EMILIA	Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
	Her father and her country and her friends,
	To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep?

DESDEMONA	It is my wretched fortune.

IAGO	Beshrew him for't!
	How comes this trick upon him?

DESDEMONA	Nay, heaven doth know.

EMILIA	I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
	Some busy and insinuating rogue,
	Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
	Have not devised this slander; I'll be hang'd else.

IAGO	Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.

DESDEMONA	If any such there be, heaven pardon him!

EMILIA	A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his bones!
	Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company?
	What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?
	The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave,
	Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
	O heaven, that such companions thou'ldst unfold,
	And put in every honest hand a whip
	To lash the rascals naked through the world
	Even from the east to the west!

IAGO	Speak within door.

EMILIA	O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was
	That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,
	And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

IAGO	You are a fool; go to.

DESDEMONA	O good Iago,
	What shall I do to win my lord again?
	Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven,
	I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:
	If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
	Either in discourse of thought or actual deed,
	Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
	Delighted them in any other form;
	Or that I do not yet, and ever did.
	And ever will--though he do shake me off
	To beggarly divorcement--love him dearly,
	Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
	And his unkindness may defeat my life,
	But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore:'
	It does abhor me now I speak the word;
	To do the act that might the addition earn
	Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.

IAGO	I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour:
	The business of the state does him offence,
	And he does chide with you.

DESDEMONA	If 'twere no other--

IAGO	'Tis but so, I warrant.

	[Trumpets within]

	Hark, how these instruments summon to supper!
	The messengers of Venice stay the meat;
	Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well.

	[Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

	[Enter RODERIGO]

	How now, Roderigo!

RODERIGO	I do not find that thou dealest justly with me.

IAGO	What in the contrary?

RODERIGO	Every day thou daffest me with some device, Iago;
	and rather, as it seems to me now, keepest from me
	all conveniency than suppliest me with the least
	advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure
	it, nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace what
	already I have foolishly suffered.

IAGO	Will you hear me, Roderigo?

RODERIGO	'Faith, I have heard too much, for your words and
	performances are no kin together.

IAGO	You charge me most unjustly.

RODERIGO	With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of
	my means. The jewels you have had from me to
	deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted a
	votarist: you have told me she hath received them
	and returned me expectations and comforts of sudden
	respect and acquaintance, but I find none.

IAGO	Well; go to; very well.

RODERIGO	Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 'tis
	not very well: nay, I think it is scurvy, and begin
	to find myself fobbed in it.

IAGO	Very well.

RODERIGO	I tell you 'tis not very well. I will make myself
	known to Desdemona: if she will return me my
	jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my
	unlawful solicitation; if not, assure yourself I
	will seek satisfaction of you.

IAGO	You have said now.

RODERIGO	Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.

IAGO	Why, now I see there's mettle in thee, and even from
	this instant to build on thee a better opinion than
	ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo: thou hast
	taken against me a most just exception; but yet, I
	protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.

RODERIGO	It hath not appeared.

IAGO	I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your
	suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But,
	Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I
	have greater reason to believe now than ever, I mean
	purpose, courage and valour, this night show it: if
	thou the next night following enjoy not Desdemona,
	take me from this world with treachery and devise
	engines for my life.

RODERIGO	Well, what is it? is it within reason and compass?

IAGO	Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice
	to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

RODERIGO	Is that true? why, then Othello and Desdemona
	return again to Venice.

IAGO	O, no; he goes into Mauritania and takes away with
	him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be
	lingered here by some accident: wherein none can be
	so determinate as the removing of Cassio.

RODERIGO	How do you mean, removing of him?

IAGO	Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place;
	knocking out his brains.

RODERIGO	And that you would have me to do?

IAGO	Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right.
	He sups to-night with a harlotry, and thither will I
	go to him: he knows not yet of his horrorable
	fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which
	I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one,
	you may take him at your pleasure: I will be near
	to second your attempt, and he shall fall between
	us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with
	me; I will show you such a necessity in his death
	that you shall think yourself bound to put it on
	him. It is now high suppertime, and the night grows
	to waste: about it.

RODERIGO	I will hear further reason for this.

IAGO	And you shall be satisfied.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT IV



SCENE III	Another room in the castle.


	[Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, EMILIA and
	Attendants]

LODOVICO	I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.

OTHELLO	O, pardon me: 'twill do me good to walk.

LODOVICO	Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

DESDEMONA	Your honour is most welcome.

OTHELLO	Will you walk, sir?
	O,--Desdemona,--

DESDEMONA	My lord?

OTHELLO	Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned
	forthwith: dismiss your attendant there: look it be done.

DESDEMONA	I will, my lord.

	[Exeunt OTHELLO, LODOVICO, and Attendants]

EMILIA	How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

DESDEMONA	He says he will return incontinent:
	He hath commanded me to go to bed,
	And bade me to dismiss you.

EMILIA	Dismiss me!

DESDEMONA	It was his bidding: therefore, good Emilia,.
	Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:
	We must not now displease him.

EMILIA	I would you had never seen him!

DESDEMONA	So would not I	my love doth so approve him,
	That even his stubbornness, his cheques, his frowns--
	Prithee, unpin me,--have grace and favour in them.

EMILIA	I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

DESDEMONA	All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!
	If I do die before thee prithee, shroud me
	In one of those same sheets.

EMILIA	Come, come you talk.

DESDEMONA	My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:
	She was in love, and he she loved proved mad
	And did forsake her: she had a song of 'willow;'
	An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
	And she died singing it: that song to-night
	Will not go from my mind; I have much to do,
	But to go hang my head all at one side,
	And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dispatch.

EMILIA	Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

DESDEMONA	No, unpin me here.
	This Lodovico is a proper man.

EMILIA	A very handsome man.

DESDEMONA	He speaks well.

EMILIA	I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot
	to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

DESDEMONA	[Singing]  The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
	Sing all a green willow:
	Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
	Sing willow, willow, willow:
	The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
	Sing willow, willow, willow;
	Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;
	Lay by these:--

	[Singing]

	Sing willow, willow, willow;
	Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--

	[Singing]

	Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
	Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,-
	Nay, that's not next.--Hark! who is't that knocks?

EMILIA	It's the wind.

DESDEMONA	[Singing]  I call'd my love false love; but what
	said he then?
	Sing willow, willow, willow:
	If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men!
	So, get thee gone; good night Ate eyes do itch;
	Doth that bode weeping?

EMILIA	'Tis neither here nor there.

DESDEMONA	I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
	Dost thou in conscience think,--tell me, Emilia,--
	That there be women do abuse their husbands
	In such gross kind?

EMILIA	There be some such, no question.

DESDEMONA	Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIA	Why, would not you?

DESDEMONA	No, by this heavenly light!

EMILIA	Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
	I might do't as well i' the dark.

DESDEMONA	Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMILIA	The world's a huge thing: it is a great price.
	For a small vice.

DESDEMONA	In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

EMILIA	In troth, I think I should; and undo't when I had
	done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a
	joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for
	gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty
	exhibition; but for the whole world,--why, who would
	not make her husband a cuckold to make him a
	monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

DESDEMONA	Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
	For the whole world.

EMILIA	Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the world: and
	having the world for your labour, tis a wrong in your
	own world, and you might quickly make it right.

DESDEMONA	I do not think there is any such woman.

EMILIA	Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would
	store the world they played for.
	But I do think it is their husbands' faults
	If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
	And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
	Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
	Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us,
	Or scant our former having in despite;
	Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
	Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
	Their wives have sense like them: they see and smell
	And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
	As husbands have. What is it that they do
	When they change us for others? Is it sport?
	I think it is: and doth affection breed it?
	I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs?
	It is so too: and have not we affections,
	Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
	Then let them use us well: else let them know,
	The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

DESDEMONA	Good night, good night: heaven me such uses send,
	Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT V



SCENE I	Cyprus. A street.


	[Enter IAGO and RODERIGO]

IAGO	Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will he come:
	Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home:
	Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow:
	It makes us, or it mars us; think on that,
	And fix most firm thy resolution.

RODERIGO	Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't.

IAGO	Here, at thy hand: be bold, and take thy stand.

	[Retires]

RODERIGO	I have no great devotion to the deed;
	And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons:
	'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword: he dies.

IAGO	I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the sense,
	And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,
	Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
	Every way makes my gain: live Roderigo,
	He calls me to a restitution large
	Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him,
	As gifts to Desdemona;
	It must not be: if Cassio do remain,
	He hath a daily beauty in his life
	That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor
	May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril:
	No, he must die. But so: I hear him coming.

	[Enter CASSIO]

RODERIGO	I know his gait, 'tis he.--Villain, thou diest!

	[Makes a pass at CASSIO]

CASSIO	That thrust had been mine enemy indeed,
	But that my coat is better than thou know'st
	I will make proof of thine.

	[Draws, and wounds RODERIGO]

RODERIGO	O, I am slain!

	[IAGO from behind wounds CASSIO in the leg, and exit]

CASSIO	I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho! murder! murder!

	[Falls]

	[Enter OTHELLO]

OTHELLO	The voice of Cassio: Iago keeps his word.

RODERIGO	O, villain that I am!

OTHELLO	It is even so.

CASSIO	O, help, ho! light! a surgeon!

OTHELLO	'Tis he:--O brave Iago, honest and just,
	That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong!
	Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead,
	And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come.
	Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;
	Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spotted.

	[Exit]

	[Enter LODOVICO and GRATIANO]

CASSIO	What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder! murder!

GRATIANO	'Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.

CASSIO	O, help!

LODOVICO	Hark!

RODERIGO	O wretched villain!

LODOVICO	Two or three groan: it is a heavy night:
	These may be counterfeits: let's think't unsafe
	To come in to the cry without more help.

RODERIGO	Nobody come? then shall I bleed to death.

LODOVICO	Hark!

	[Re-enter IAGO, with a light]

GRATIANO	Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.

IAGO	Who's there? whose noise is this that ones on murder?

LODOVICO	We do not know.

IAGO	                  Did not you hear a cry?

CASSIO	Here, here! for heaven's sake, help me!

IAGO	What's the matter?

GRATIANO	This is Othello's ancient, as I take it.

LODOVICO	The same indeed; a very valiant fellow.

IAGO	What are you here that cry so grievously?

CASSIO	Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains!
	Give me some help.

IAGO	O me, lieutenant! what villains have done this?

CASSIO	I think that one of them is hereabout,
	And cannot make away.

IAGO	O treacherous villains!
	What are you there? come in, and give some help.

	[To LODOVICO and GRATIANO]

RODERIGO	O, help me here!

CASSIO	That's one of them.

IAGO	O murderous slave! O villain!

	[Stabs RODERIGO]

RODERIGO	O damn'd Iago! O inhuman dog!

IAGO	Kill men i' the dark!--Where be these bloody thieves?--
	How silent is this town!--Ho! murder! murder!--
	What may you be? are you of good or evil?

LODOVICO	As you shall prove us, praise us.

IAGO	Signior Lodovico?

LODOVICO	He, sir.

IAGO	I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt by villains.

GRATIANO	Cassio!

IAGO	How is't, brother!

CASSIO	My leg is cut in two.

IAGO	Marry, heaven forbid!
	Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt.

	[Enter BIANCA]

BIANCA	What is the matter, ho? who is't that cried?

IAGO	Who is't that cried!

BIANCA	O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio! O Cassio,
	Cassio, Cassio!

IAGO	O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect
	Who they should be that have thus many led you?

CASSIO	No.

GRATIANO	I am to find you thus: I have been to seek you.

IAGO	Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair,
	To bear him easily hence!

BIANCA	Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!

IAGO	Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
	To be a party in this injury.
	Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;
	Lend me a light. Know we this face or no?
	Alas my friend and my dear countryman
	Roderigo! no:--yes, sure: O heaven! Roderigo.

GRATIANO	What, of Venice?

IAGO	Even he, sir; did you know him?

GRATIANO	Know him! ay.

IAGO	Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon;
	These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
	That so neglected you.

GRATIANO	I am glad to see you.

IAGO	How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!

GRATIANO	Roderigo!

IAGO	He, he 'tis he.

	[A chair brought in]

	O, that's well said; the chair!

GRATIANO	Some good man bear him carefully from hence;
	I'll fetch the general's surgeon.

	[To BIANCA]

		                  For you, mistress,
	Save you your labour. He that lies slain
	here, Cassio,
	Was my dear friend: what malice was between you?

CASSIO	None in the world; nor do I know the man.

IAGO	[To BIANCA]  What, look you pale? O, bear him out
	o' the air.

	[CASSIO and RODERIGO are borne off]

	Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mistress?
	Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
	Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
	Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her:
	Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak,
	Though tongues were out of use.

	[Enter EMILIA]

EMILIA	'Las, what's the matter? what's the matter, husband?

IAGO	Cassio hath here been set on in the dark
	By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped:
	He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

EMILIA	Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!

IAGO	This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,
	Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night.

	[To BIANCA]

	What, do you shake at that?

BIANCA	He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake not.

IAGO	O, did he so? I charge you, go with me.

EMILIA	Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet!

BIANCA	I am no strumpet; but of life as honest
	As you that thus abuse me.

EMILIA	As I! foh! fie upon thee!

IAGO	Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd.
	Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale.
	Emilia run you to the citadel,
	And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd.
	Will you go on? I pray.

	[Aside]

		   This is the night
	That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT V



SCENE II	A bedchamber in the castle: DESDEMONA in bed asleep;
	a light burning.


	[Enter OTHELLO]

OTHELLO	It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,--
	Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!--
	It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood;
	Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
	And smooth as monumental alabaster.
	Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
	Put out the light, and then put out the light:
	If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
	I can again thy former light restore,
	Should I repent me: but once put out thy light,
	Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
	I know not where is that Promethean heat
	That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the rose,
	I cannot give it vital growth again.
	It must needs wither: I'll smell it on the tree.

	[Kissing her]

	Ah balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
	Justice to break her sword! One more, one more.
	Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
	And love thee after. One more, and this the last:
	So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
	But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heavenly;
	It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.

DESDEMONA	Who's there? Othello?

OTHELLO	Ay. Desdemona.

DESDEMONA	Will you come to bed, my lord?

OTHELLO	Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?

DESDEMONA	Ay, my lord.

OTHELLO	If you bethink yourself of any crime
	Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
	Solicit for it straight.

DESDEMONA	Alas, my lord, what do you mean by that?

OTHELLO	Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:
	I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
	No; heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.

DESDEMONA	Talk you of killing?

OTHELLO	Ay, I do.

DESDEMONA	Then heaven
	Have mercy on me!

OTHELLO	                  Amen, with all my heart!

DESDEMONA	If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.

OTHELLO	Hum!

DESDEMONA	And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then
	When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,
	Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.

OTHELLO	Think on thy sins.

DESDEMONA	                  They are loves I bear to you.

OTHELLO	Ay, and for that thou diest.

DESDEMONA	That death's unnatural that kills for loving.
	Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
	Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
	These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
	They do not point on me.

OTHELLO	Peace, and be still!

DESDEMONA	I will so. What's the matter?

OTHELLO	That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
	Thou gavest to Cassio.

DESDEMONA	No, by my life and soul!
	Send for the man, and ask him.

OTHELLO	Sweet soul, take heed,
	Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed.

DESDEMONA	Ay, but not yet to die.

OTHELLO	Yes, presently:
	Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin;
	For to deny each article with oath
	Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
	That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

DESDEMONA	Then Lord have mercy on me!

OTHELLO	I say, amen.

DESDEMONA	And have you mercy too! I never did
	Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio
	But with such general warranty of heaven
	As I might love: I never gave him token.

OTHELLO	By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in's hand.
	O perjured woman! thou dost stone my heart,
	And makest me call what I intend to do
	A murder, which I thought a sacrifice:
	I saw the handkerchief.

DESDEMONA	He found it then;
	I never gave it him: send for him hither;
	Let him confess a truth.

OTHELLO	He hath confess'd.

DESDEMONA	What, my lord?

OTHELLO	That he hath used thee.

DESDEMONA	How? unlawfully?

OTHELLO	Ay.

DESDEMONA	He will not say so.

OTHELLO	No, his mouth is stopp'd;
	Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.

DESDEMONA	O! my fear interprets: what, is he dead?

OTHELLO	Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
	Had stomach for them all.

DESDEMONA	Alas! he is betray'd and I undone.

OTHELLO	Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face?

DESDEMONA	O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

OTHELLO	Down, strumpet!

DESDEMONA	Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night!

OTHELLO	Nay, if you strive--

DESDEMONA	But half an hour!

OTHELLO	                  Being done, there is no pause.

DESDEMONA	But while I say one prayer!

OTHELLO	It is too late.

	[He stifles her]

EMILIA	[Within]  My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!

OTHELLO	What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
	I that am cruel am yet merciful;
	I would not have thee linger in thy pain: So, so.

EMILIA	[Within]  What, ho! my lord, my lord!

OTHELLO	Who's there?

EMILIA	[Within]  O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!

OTHELLO	Yes: 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead.
	'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death.--
	The noise was here. Ha! no more moving?
	Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good?--
	I think she stirs again:--no. What's best to do?
	If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife:
	My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
	O insupportable! O heavy hour!
	Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
	Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
	Should yawn at alteration.

EMILIA	[Within]  I do beseech you
	That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!

OTHELLO	I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia;
	Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
	Where art thou?

	[Unlocks the door]

	[Enter EMILIA]

	What's the matter with thee now?

EMILIA	O, my good lord, yonder's foul murders done!

OTHELLO	What, now?

EMILIA	But now, my lord.

OTHELLO	It is the very error of the moon;
	She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,
	And makes men mad.

EMILIA	Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian
	Call'd Roderigo.

OTHELLO	                  Roderigo kill'd!
	And Cassio kill'd!

EMILIA	No, Cassio is not kill'd.

OTHELLO	Not Cassio kill'd! then murder's out of tune,
	And sweet revenge grows harsh.

DESDEMONA	O, falsely, falsely murder'd!

EMILIA	Alas, what cry is that?

OTHELLO	That! what?

EMILIA	Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
	Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
	Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!

DESDEMONA	A guiltless death I die.

EMILIA	O, who hath done this deed?

DESDEMONA	Nobody; I myself. Farewell
	Commend me to my kind lord: O, farewell!

	[Dies]

OTHELLO	Why, how should she be murder'd?

EMILIA	Alas, who knows?

OTHELLO	You heard her say herself, it was not I.

EMILIA	She said so: I must needs report the truth.

OTHELLO	She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell:
	'Twas I that kill'd her.

EMILIA	O, the more angel she,
	And you the blacker devil!

OTHELLO	She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

EMILIA	Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.

OTHELLO	She was false as water.

EMILIA	Thou art rash as fire, to say
	That she was false: O, she was heavenly true!

OTHELLO	Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
	O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
	But that I did proceed upon just grounds
	To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

EMILIA	My husband!

OTHELLO	Thy husband.

EMILIA	That she was false to wedlock?

OTHELLO	Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
	If heaven would make me such another world
	Of one entire and Perfect chrysolite,
	I'ld not have sold her for it.

EMILIA	My husband!

OTHELLO	          Ay, 'twas he that told me first:
	An honest man he is, and hates the slime
	That sticks on filthy deeds.

EMILIA	My husband!

OTHELLO	What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.

EMILIA	O mistress, villany hath made mocks with love,
	My husband say that she was false!

OTHELLO	He, woman;
	I say thy husband: dost understand the word?
	My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

EMILIA	If he say so, may his pernicious soul
	Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart:
	She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

OTHELLO	Ha!

EMILIA	Do thy worst:
	This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
	Than thou wast worthy her.

OTHELLO	Peace, you were best.

EMILIA	Thou hast not half that power to do me harm
	As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
	As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed--
	I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
	Though I lost twenty lives.--Help! help, ho! help!
	The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murder! murder!

	[Enter MONTANO, GRATIANO, IAGO, and others]

MONTANO	What is the matter? How now, general!

EMILIA	O, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
	That men must lay their murders on your neck.

GRATIANO	What is the matter?

EMILIA	Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man:
	He says thou told'st him that his wife was false:
	I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain:
	Speak, for my heart is full.

IAGO	I told him what I thought, and told no more
	Than what he found himself was apt and true.

EMILIA	But did you ever tell him she was false?

IAGO	I did.

EMILIA	You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
	Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
	She false with Cassio!--did you say with Cassio?

IAGO	With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.

EMILIA	I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak:
	My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,--

All	O heavens forfend!

EMILIA	And your reports have set the murder on.

OTHELLO	Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, indeed.

GRATIANO	'Tis a strange truth.

MONTANO	O monstrous act!

EMILIA	                  Villany, villany, villany!
	I think upon't, I think: I smell't: O villany!--
	I thought so then:--I'll kill myself for grief:--
	O villany, villany!

IAGO	What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.

EMILIA	Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak:

	'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
	Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

OTHELLO	O! O! O!

	[He falls on the bed]

EMILIA	       Nay, lay thee down and roar;
	For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent
	That e'er did lift up eye.

OTHELLO	[Rising]  O, she was foul!
	I scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your niece,
	Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd:
	I know this act shows horrible and grim.

GRATIANO	Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead:
	Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
	Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now,
	This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
	Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
	And fall to reprobation.

OTHELLO	'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows
	That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
	A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it:
	And she did gratify his amorous works
	With that recognizance and pledge of love
	Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand:
	It was a handkerchief, an antique token
	My father gave my mother.

EMILIA	O heaven! O heavenly powers!

IAGO	Come, hold your peace.

EMILIA	'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace!
	No, I will speak as liberal as the north:
	Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
	All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

IAGO	Be wise, and get you home.

EMILIA	I will not.

	[IAGO offers to stab EMILIA]

GRATIANO	Fie!
	Your sword upon a woman?

EMILIA	O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak'st of
	I found by fortune and did give my husband;
	For often, with a solemn earnestness,
	More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,
	He begg'd of me to steal it.

IAGO	Villanous whore!

EMILIA	She give it Cassio! no, alas! I found it,
	And I did give't my husband.

IAGO	Filth, thou liest!

EMILIA	By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
	O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool
	Do with so good a woman?

OTHELLO	Are there no stones in heaven
	But what serve for the thunder?--Precious villain!

	[He runs at IAGO  IAGO, from behind, stabs EMILIA, and exit]

GRATIANO	The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife.

EMILIA	Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side.

GRATIANO	He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

MONTANO	'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
	Which I have here recover'd from the Moor:
	Come, guard the door without; let him not pass,
	But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain,
	For 'tis a damned slave.

	[Exeunt MONTANO and GRATIANO]

OTHELLO	I am not valiant neither,
	But ever puny whipster gets my sword:
	But why should honour outlive honesty?
	Let it go all.

EMILIA	What did thy song bode, lady?
	Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan.
	And die in music.

	[Singing]

	Willow, willow, willow,--
	Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
	So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
	So speaking as I think, I die, I die.

	[Dies]

OTHELLO	I have another weapon in this chamber;
	It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper:--
	O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.

GRATIANO	[Within]  If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear:
	Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

OTHELLO	Look in upon me then and speak with me,
	Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

	[Re-enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO	What is the matter?

OTHELLO	Behold, I have a weapon;
	A better never did itself sustain
	Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
	That, with this little arm and this good sword,
	I have made my way through more impediments
	Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain boast!
	Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now.
	Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
	Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
	And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
	Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a lost fear;
	Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
	And he retires. Where should Othello go?
	Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!
	Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
	This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
	And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
	Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave!
	Whip me, ye devils,
	From the possession of this heavenly sight!
	Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
	Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
	O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead!
	Oh! Oh! Oh!

	[Enter LODOVICO. MONTANO, CASSIO carried in a chair,
	and Officers with IAGO, prisoner]

LODOVICO	Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?

OTHELLO	That's he that was Othello: here I am.

LODOVICO	Where is that viper? bring the villain forth.

OTHELLO	I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable.
	If that thou best a devil, I cannot kill thee.

	[Wounds IAGO]

LODOVICO	Wrench his sword from him.

IAGO	I bleed, sir; but not kill'd.

OTHELLO	I am not sorry neither: I'ld have thee live;
	For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

LODOVICO	O thou Othello, thou wert once so good,
	Fall'n in the practise of a damned slave,
	What shall be said to thee?

OTHELLO	Why, any thing:
	An honourable murderer, if you will;
	For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

LODOVICO	This wretch hath part confess'd his villany:
	Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?

OTHELLO	Ay.

CASSIO	Dear general, I never gave you cause.

OTHELLO	I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
	Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
	Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?

IAGO	Demand me nothing: what you know, you know:
	From this time forth I never will speak word.

LODOVICO	What, not to pray?

GRATIANO	                  Torments will ope your lips.

OTHELLO	Well, thou dost best.

LODOVICO	Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n,
	Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter
	Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo;
	And here another: the one of them imports
	The death of Cassio to be undertook
	By Roderigo.

OTHELLO	O villain!

CASSIO	Most heathenish and most gross!

LODOVICO	Now here's another discontented paper,
	Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
	Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain;
	But that belike Iago in the interim
	Came in and satisfied him.

OTHELLO	O the pernicious caitiff!
	How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
	That was my wife's?

CASSIO	I found it in my chamber:
	And he himself confess'd but even now
	That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
	Which wrought to his desire.

OTHELLO	O fool! fool! fool!

CASSIO	There is besides in Roderigo's letter,
	How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
	Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came
	That I was cast: and even but now he spake,
	After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
	Iago set him on.

LODOVICO	You must forsake this room, and go with us:
	Your power and your command is taken off,
	And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
	If there be any cunning cruelty
	That can torment him much and hold him long,
	It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
	Till that the nature of your fault be known
	To the Venetian state. Come, bring him away.

OTHELLO	Soft you; a word or two before you go.
	I have done the state some service, and they know't.
	No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
	When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
	Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
	Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
	Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
	Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought
	Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
	Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
	Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
	Albeit unused to the melting mood,
	Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
	Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
	And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
	Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
	Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
	I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
	And smote him, thus.

	[Stabs himself]

LODOVICO	O bloody period!

GRATIANO	                  All that's spoke is marr'd.

OTHELLO	I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this;
	Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

	[Falls on the bed, and dies]

CASSIO	This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;
	For he was great of heart.

LODOVICO	[To IAGO]  O Spartan dog,
	More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
	Look on the tragic loading of this bed;
	This is thy work: the object poisons sight;
	Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,
	And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
	For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,
	Remains the censure of this hellish villain;
	The time, the place, the torture: O, enforce it!
	Myself will straight aboard: and to the state
	This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

	[Exeunt]
	ROMEO AND JULIET


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ESCALUS	prince of Verona. (PRINCE:)

PARIS	a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince.


MONTAGUE	|
	|  heads of two houses at variance with each other.
CAPULET	|


	An old man, cousin to Capulet. (Second Capulet:)

ROMEO	son to Montague.

MERCUTIO	kinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo.

BENVOLIO	nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.

TYBALT	nephew to Lady Capulet.


FRIAR LAURENCE	|
	|  Franciscans.
FRIAR JOHN	|


BALTHASAR	servant to Romeo.


SAMPSON	|
	|  servants to Capulet.
GREGORY	|


PETER	servant to Juliet's nurse.

ABRAHAM	servant to Montague.

	An Apothecary. (Apothecary:)

	Three Musicians.
	(First Musician:)
	(Second Musician:)
	(Third Musician:)

	Page to Paris; (PAGE:)  another Page; an officer.

LADY MONTAGUE	wife to Montague.

LADY CAPULET	wife to Capulet.

JULIET	daughter to Capulet.

	Nurse to Juliet. (Nurse:)

	Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women,
	relations to both houses; Maskers,
	Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.
	(First Citizen:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)
	(Third Watchman:)
	Chorus.


SCENE	Verona: Mantua.




	ROMEO AND JULIET

	PROLOGUE


	Two households, both alike in dignity,
	In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
	From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
	Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
	From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
	A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
	Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
	Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
	The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
	And the continuance of their parents' rage,
	Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
	Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
	The which if you with patient ears attend,
	What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE I	Verona. A public place.


	[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet,
	armed with swords and bucklers]

SAMPSON	Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

GREGORY	No, for then we should be colliers.

SAMPSON	I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

GREGORY	Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.

SAMPSON	I strike quickly, being moved.

GREGORY	But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

SAMPSON	A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

GREGORY	To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
	therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

SAMPSON	A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will
	take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

GREGORY	That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes
	to the wall.

SAMPSON	True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
	are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push
	Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
	to the wall.

GREGORY	The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

SAMPSON	'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
	have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
	maids, and cut off their heads.

GREGORY	The heads of the maids?

SAMPSON	Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
	take it in what sense thou wilt.

GREGORY	They must take it in sense that feel it.

SAMPSON	Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and
	'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

GREGORY	'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
	hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes
	two of the house of the Montagues.

SAMPSON	My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

GREGORY	How! turn thy back and run?

SAMPSON	Fear me not.

GREGORY	No, marry; I fear thee!

SAMPSON	Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

GREGORY	I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
	they list.

SAMPSON	Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;
	which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

	[Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR]

ABRAHAM	Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON	I do bite my thumb, sir.

ABRAHAM	Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON	[Aside to GREGORY]  Is the law of our side, if I say
	ay?

GREGORY	No.

SAMPSON	No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
	bite my thumb, sir.

GREGORY	Do you quarrel, sir?

ABRAHAM	Quarrel sir! no, sir.

SAMPSON	If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

ABRAHAM	No better.

SAMPSON	Well, sir.

GREGORY	Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

SAMPSON	Yes, better, sir.

ABRAHAM	You lie.

SAMPSON	Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

	[They fight]

	[Enter BENVOLIO]

BENVOLIO	Part, fools!
	Put up your swords; you know not what you do.

	[Beats down their swords]

	[Enter TYBALT]

TYBALT	What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
	Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

BENVOLIO	I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
	Or manage it to part these men with me.

TYBALT	What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
	As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
	Have at thee, coward!

	[They fight]

	[Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;
	then enter Citizens, with clubs]

First Citizen	Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
	Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

	[Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET]

CAPULET	What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!

LADY CAPULET	A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?

CAPULET	My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
	And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

	[Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]

MONTAGUE	Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.

LADY MONTAGUE	Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

	[Enter PRINCE, with Attendants]

PRINCE	Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
	Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
	Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
	That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
	With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
	On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
	Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
	And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
	Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
	By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
	Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
	And made Verona's ancient citizens
	Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
	To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
	Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
	If ever you disturb our streets again,
	Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
	For this time, all the rest depart away:
	You Capulet; shall go along with me:
	And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
	To know our further pleasure in this case,
	To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
	Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

	[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO]

MONTAGUE	Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
	Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

BENVOLIO	Here were the servants of your adversary,
	And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
	I drew to part them: in the instant came
	The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
	Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
	He swung about his head and cut the winds,
	Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:
	While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
	Came more and more and fought on part and part,
	Till the prince came, who parted either part.

LADY MONTAGUE	O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
	Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

BENVOLIO	Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
	Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
	A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
	Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
	That westward rooteth from the city's side,
	So early walking did I see your son:
	Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
	And stole into the covert of the wood:
	I, measuring his affections by my own,
	That most are busied when they're most alone,
	Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
	And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

MONTAGUE	Many a morning hath he there been seen,
	With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.
	Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
	But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
	Should in the furthest east begin to draw
	The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
	Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
	And private in his chamber pens himself,
	Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
	And makes himself an artificial night:
	Black and portentous must this humour prove,
	Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

BENVOLIO	My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

MONTAGUE	I neither know it nor can learn of him.

BENVOLIO	Have you importuned him by any means?

MONTAGUE	Both by myself and many other friends:
	But he, his own affections' counsellor,
	Is to himself--I will not say how true--
	But to himself so secret and so close,
	So far from sounding and discovery,
	As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
	Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
	Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
	Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
	We would as willingly give cure as know.

	[Enter ROMEO]

BENVOLIO	See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
	I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

MONTAGUE	I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
	To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

	[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]

BENVOLIO	Good-morrow, cousin.

ROMEO	Is the day so young?

BENVOLIO	But new struck nine.

ROMEO	Ay me! sad hours seem long.
	Was that my father that went hence so fast?

BENVOLIO	It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

ROMEO	Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

BENVOLIO	In love?

ROMEO	Out--

BENVOLIO	Of love?

ROMEO	Out of her favour, where I am in love.

BENVOLIO	Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
	Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

ROMEO	Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
	Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
	Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
	Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
	Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
	Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
	O any thing, of nothing first create!
	O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
	Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
	Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
	sick health!
	Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
	This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
	Dost thou not laugh?

BENVOLIO	No, coz, I rather weep.

ROMEO	Good heart, at what?

BENVOLIO	At thy good heart's oppression.

ROMEO	Why, such is love's transgression.
	Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
	Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
	With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
	Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
	Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
	Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
	Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
	What is it else? a madness most discreet,
	A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
	Farewell, my coz.

BENVOLIO	                  Soft! I will go along;
	An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

ROMEO	Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
	This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

BENVOLIO	Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.

ROMEO	What, shall I groan and tell thee?

BENVOLIO	Groan! why, no.
	But sadly tell me who.

ROMEO	Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:
	Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!
	In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

BENVOLIO	I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.

ROMEO	A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.

BENVOLIO	A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

ROMEO	Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
	With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
	And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
	From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
	She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
	Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
	Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
	O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
	That when she dies with beauty dies her store.

BENVOLIO	Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

ROMEO	She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,
	For beauty starved with her severity
	Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
	She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
	To merit bliss by making me despair:
	She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
	Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

BENVOLIO	Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

ROMEO	O, teach me how I should forget to think.

BENVOLIO	By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
	Examine other beauties.

ROMEO	'Tis the way
	To call hers exquisite, in question more:
	These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
	Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
	He that is strucken blind cannot forget
	The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
	Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
	What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
	Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
	Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.

BENVOLIO	I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE II	A street.


	[Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant]

CAPULET	But Montague is bound as well as I,
	In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
	For men so old as we to keep the peace.

PARIS	Of honourable reckoning are you both;
	And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.
	But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

CAPULET	But saying o'er what I have said before:
	My child is yet a stranger in the world;
	She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,
	Let two more summers wither in their pride,
	Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

PARIS	Younger than she are happy mothers made.

CAPULET	And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
	The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
	She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
	But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
	My will to her consent is but a part;
	An she agree, within her scope of choice
	Lies my consent and fair according voice.
	This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
	Whereto I have invited many a guest,
	Such as I love; and you, among the store,
	One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
	At my poor house look to behold this night
	Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:
	Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
	When well-apparell'd April on the heel
	Of limping winter treads, even such delight
	Among fresh female buds shall you this night
	Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
	And like her most whose merit most shall be:
	Which on more view, of many mine being one
	May stand in number, though in reckoning none,
	Come, go with me.

	[To Servant, giving a paper]

	Go, sirrah, trudge about
	Through fair Verona; find those persons out
	Whose names are written there, and to them say,
	My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

	[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS]

Servant	Find them out whose names are written here! It is
	written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his
	yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with
	his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am
	sent to find those persons whose names are here
	writ, and can never find what names the writing
	person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.

	[Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO]

BENVOLIO	Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,
	One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
	Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
	One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
	Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
	And the rank poison of the old will die.

ROMEO	Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.

BENVOLIO	For what, I pray thee?

ROMEO	For your broken shin.

BENVOLIO	Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

ROMEO	Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
	Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
	Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.

Servant	God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?

ROMEO	Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Servant	Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I
	pray, can you read any thing you see?

ROMEO	Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Servant	Ye say honestly: rest you merry!

ROMEO	Stay, fellow; I can read.

	[Reads]

	'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
	County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady
	widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely
	nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine
	uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece
	Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin
	Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair
	assembly: whither should they come?

Servant	Up.

ROMEO	Whither?

Servant	To supper; to our house.

ROMEO	Whose house?

Servant	My master's.

ROMEO	Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

Servant	Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the
	great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house
	of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.
	Rest you merry!

	[Exit]

BENVOLIO	At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
	Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,
	With all the admired beauties of Verona:
	Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
	Compare her face with some that I shall show,
	And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

ROMEO	When the devout religion of mine eye
	Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
	And these, who often drown'd could never die,
	Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
	One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
	Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

BENVOLIO	Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
	Herself poised with herself in either eye:
	But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
	Your lady's love against some other maid
	That I will show you shining at this feast,
	And she shall scant show well that now shows best.

ROMEO	I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
	But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in Capulet's house.


	[Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse]

LADY CAPULET	Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse	Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,
	I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird!
	God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!

	[Enter JULIET]

JULIET	How now! who calls?

Nurse	Your mother.

JULIET	Madam, I am here.
	What is your will?

LADY CAPULET	This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile,
	We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;
	I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
	Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse	Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

LADY CAPULET	She's not fourteen.

Nurse	I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
	And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--
	She is not fourteen. How long is it now
	To Lammas-tide?

LADY CAPULET	                  A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse	Even or odd, of all days in the year,
	Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
	Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--
	Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;
	She was too good for me: but, as I said,
	On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
	That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
	'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
	And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,--
	Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
	For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
	Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
	My lord and you were then at Mantua:--
	Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,
	When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
	Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
	To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
	Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
	To bid me trudge:
	And since that time it is eleven years;
	For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
	She could have run and waddled all about;
	For even the day before, she broke her brow:
	And then my husband--God be with his soul!
	A' was a merry man--took up the child:
	'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
	Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
	Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
	The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
	To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
	I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
	I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
	And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'

LADY CAPULET	Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

Nurse	Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,
	To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'
	And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
	A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;
	A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly:
	'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face?
	Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
	Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.'

JULIET	And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

Nurse	Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
	Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:
	An I might live to see thee married once,
	I have my wish.

LADY CAPULET	Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
	I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
	How stands your disposition to be married?

JULIET	It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse	An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
	I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

LADY CAPULET	Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,
	Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
	Are made already mothers: by my count,
	I was your mother much upon these years
	That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:
	The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse	A man, young lady! lady, such a man
	As all the world--why, he's a man of wax.

LADY CAPULET	Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse	Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

LADY CAPULET	What say you? can you love the gentleman?
	This night you shall behold him at our feast;
	Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
	And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
	Examine every married lineament,
	And see how one another lends content
	And what obscured in this fair volume lies
	Find written in the margent of his eyes.
	This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
	To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
	The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
	For fair without the fair within to hide:
	That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
	That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
	So shall you share all that he doth possess,
	By having him, making yourself no less.

Nurse	No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.

LADY CAPULET	Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

JULIET	I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
	But no more deep will I endart mine eye
	Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you
	called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in
	the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must
	hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

LADY CAPULET	We follow thee.

	[Exit Servant]

	Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse	Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six
	Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others]

ROMEO	What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
	Or shall we on without a apology?

BENVOLIO	The date is out of such prolixity:
	We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,
	Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
	Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
	Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
	After the prompter, for our entrance:
	But let them measure us by what they will;
	We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

ROMEO	Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;
	Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

MERCUTIO	Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

ROMEO	Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes
	With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead
	So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

MERCUTIO	You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
	And soar with them above a common bound.

ROMEO	I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
	To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
	I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
	Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

MERCUTIO	And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
	Too great oppression for a tender thing.

ROMEO	Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
	Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

MERCUTIO	If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
	Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
	Give me a case to put my visage in:
	A visor for a visor! what care I
	What curious eye doth quote deformities?
	Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

BENVOLIO	Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,
	But every man betake him to his legs.

ROMEO	A torch for me: let wantons light of heart
	Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,
	For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;
	I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.
	The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

MERCUTIO	Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:
	If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
	Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
	Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!

ROMEO	Nay, that's not so.

MERCUTIO	I mean, sir, in delay
	We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
	Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
	Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

ROMEO	And we mean well in going to this mask;
	But 'tis no wit to go.

MERCUTIO	Why, may one ask?

ROMEO	I dream'd a dream to-night.

MERCUTIO	And so did I.

ROMEO	Well, what was yours?

MERCUTIO	That dreamers often lie.

ROMEO	In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

MERCUTIO	O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
	She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
	In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
	On the fore-finger of an alderman,
	Drawn with a team of little atomies
	Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
	Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,
	The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
	The traces of the smallest spider's web,
	The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
	Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
	Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
	Not so big as a round little worm
	Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
	Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
	Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
	Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
	And in this state she gallops night by night
	Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
	O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
	O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
	O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
	Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
	Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
	Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
	And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
	And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
	Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
	Then dreams, he of another benefice:
	Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
	And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
	Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
	Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
	Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
	And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
	And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
	That plats the manes of horses in the night,
	And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
	Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
	This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
	That presses them and learns them first to bear,
	Making them women of good carriage:
	This is she--

ROMEO	                  Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
	Thou talk'st of nothing.

MERCUTIO	True, I talk of dreams,
	Which are the children of an idle brain,
	Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
	Which is as thin of substance as the air
	And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
	Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
	And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
	Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

BENVOLIO	This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;
	Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

ROMEO	I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
	Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
	Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
	With this night's revels and expire the term
	Of a despised life closed in my breast
	By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
	But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
	Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.

BENVOLIO	Strike, drum.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE V	A hall in Capulet's house.


	[Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins]

First Servant	Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He
	shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!

Second Servant	When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's
	hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

First Servant	Away with the joint-stools, remove the
	court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save
	me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let
	the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
	Antony, and Potpan!

Second Servant	Ay, boy, ready.

First Servant	You are looked for and called for, asked for and
	sought for, in the great chamber.

Second Servant	We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be
	brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

	[Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house,
	meeting the Guests and Maskers]

CAPULET	Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes
	Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.
	Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
	Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
	She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?
	Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
	That I have worn a visor and could tell
	A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
	Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
	You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.
	A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

	[Music plays, and they dance]

	More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,
	And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
	Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
	Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
	For you and I are past our dancing days:
	How long is't now since last yourself and I
	Were in a mask?

Second Capulet	                  By'r lady, thirty years.

CAPULET	What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:
	'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,
	Come pentecost as quickly as it will,
	Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

Second Capulet	'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;
	His son is thirty.

CAPULET	                  Will you tell me that?
	His son was but a ward two years ago.

ROMEO	[To a Servingman]  What lady is that, which doth
	enrich the hand
	Of yonder knight?

Servant	I know not, sir.

ROMEO	O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
	It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
	Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
	Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
	So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
	As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
	The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
	And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
	Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
	For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

TYBALT	This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
	Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave
	Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
	To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
	Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
	To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

CAPULET	Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT	Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
	A villain that is hither come in spite,
	To scorn at our solemnity this night.

CAPULET	Young Romeo is it?

TYBALT	'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET	Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
	He bears him like a portly gentleman;
	And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
	To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:
	I would not for the wealth of all the town
	Here in my house do him disparagement:
	Therefore be patient, take no note of him:
	It is my will, the which if thou respect,
	Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,
	And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT	It fits, when such a villain is a guest:
	I'll not endure him.

CAPULET	He shall be endured:
	What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;
	Am I the master here, or you? go to.
	You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!
	You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
	You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

TYBALT	Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

CAPULET	Go to, go to;
	You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?
	This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:
	You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.
	Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:
	Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!
	I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

TYBALT	Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
	Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
	I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall
	Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

	[Exit]

ROMEO	[To JULIET]  If I profane with my unworthiest hand
	This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
	My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
	To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET	Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
	Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
	For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
	And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

ROMEO	Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET	Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

ROMEO	O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
	They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET	Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

ROMEO	Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
	Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

JULIET	Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO	Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
	Give me my sin again.

JULIET	You kiss by the book.

Nurse	Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ROMEO	What is her mother?

Nurse	Marry, bachelor,
	Her mother is the lady of the house,
	And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous
	I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
	I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
	Shall have the chinks.

ROMEO	Is she a Capulet?
	O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

BENVOLIO	Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO	Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

CAPULET	Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
	We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
	Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all
	I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.
	More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.
	Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late:
	I'll to my rest.

	[Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse]

JULIET	Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

Nurse	The son and heir of old Tiberio.

JULIET	What's he that now is going out of door?

Nurse	Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.

JULIET	What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse	I know not.

JULIET	Go ask his name: if he be married.
	My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse	His name is Romeo, and a Montague;
	The only son of your great enemy.

JULIET	My only love sprung from my only hate!
	Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
	Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
	That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurse	What's this? what's this?

JULIET	A rhyme I learn'd even now
	Of one I danced withal.

	[One calls within 'Juliet.']

Nurse	Anon, anon!
	Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II


	PROLOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
	And young affection gapes to be his heir;
	That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,
	With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
	Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
	Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
	But to his foe supposed he must complain,
	And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
	Being held a foe, he may not have access
	To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
	And she as much in love, her means much less
	To meet her new-beloved any where:
	But passion lends them power, time means, to meet
	Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

	[Exit]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE I	A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.


	[Enter ROMEO]

ROMEO	Can I go forward when my heart is here?
	Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

	[He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it]

	[Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO]

BENVOLIO	Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

MERCUTIO	He is wise;
	And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.

BENVOLIO	He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
	Call, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIO	Nay, I'll conjure too.
	Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
	Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:
	Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
	Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'
	Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
	One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
	Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
	When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
	He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
	The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
	I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
	By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
	By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
	And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
	That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

BENVOLIO	And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

MERCUTIO	This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
	To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
	Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
	Till she had laid it and conjured it down;
	That were some spite: my invocation
	Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name
	I conjure only but to raise up him.

BENVOLIO	Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
	To be consorted with the humorous night:
	Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

MERCUTIO	If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
	Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
	And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
	As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
	Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
	An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!
	Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;
	This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
	Come, shall we go?

BENVOLIO	                  Go, then; for 'tis in vain
	To seek him here that means not to be found.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE II	Capulet's orchard.


	[Enter ROMEO]

ROMEO	He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

	[JULIET appears above at a window]

	But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
	It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
	Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
	Who is already sick and pale with grief,
	That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
	Be not her maid, since she is envious;
	Her vestal livery is but sick and green
	And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
	It is my lady, O, it is my love!
	O, that she knew she were!
	She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
	Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
	I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
	Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
	Having some business, do entreat her eyes
	To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
	What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
	The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
	As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
	Would through the airy region stream so bright
	That birds would sing and think it were not night.
	See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
	O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
	That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET	Ay me!

ROMEO	She speaks:
	O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
	As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
	As is a winged messenger of heaven
	Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
	Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
	When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
	And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET	O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
	Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
	Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
	And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

ROMEO	[Aside]  Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

JULIET	'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
	Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
	What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
	Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
	Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
	What's in a name? that which we call a rose
	By any other name would smell as sweet;
	So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
	Retain that dear perfection which he owes
	Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
	And for that name which is no part of thee
	Take all myself.

ROMEO	                  I take thee at thy word:
	Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
	Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

JULIET	What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
	So stumblest on my counsel?

ROMEO	By a name
	I know not how to tell thee who I am:
	My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
	Because it is an enemy to thee;
	Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET	My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
	Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
	Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

ROMEO	Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

JULIET	How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
	The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
	And the place death, considering who thou art,
	If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

ROMEO	With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
	For stony limits cannot hold love out,
	And what love can do that dares love attempt;
	Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

JULIET	If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

ROMEO	Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
	Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,
	And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET	I would not for the world they saw thee here.

ROMEO	I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
	And but thou love me, let them find me here:
	My life were better ended by their hate,
	Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

JULIET	By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

ROMEO	By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
	He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
	I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
	As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
	I would adventure for such merchandise.

JULIET	Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
	Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
	For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
	Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
	What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
	Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
	And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
	Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
	Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
	If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
	Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
	I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
	So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
	In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
	And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
	But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
	Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
	I should have been more strange, I must confess,
	But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
	My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
	And not impute this yielding to light love,
	Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROMEO	Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
	That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

JULIET	O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
	That monthly changes in her circled orb,
	Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

ROMEO	What shall I swear by?

JULIET	Do not swear at all;
	Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
	Which is the god of my idolatry,
	And I'll believe thee.

ROMEO	If my heart's dear love--

JULIET	Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
	I have no joy of this contract to-night:
	It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
	Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
	Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
	This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
	May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
	Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
	Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

ROMEO	O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET	What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

ROMEO	The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

JULIET	I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
	And yet I would it were to give again.

ROMEO	Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JULIET	But to be frank, and give it thee again.
	And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
	My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
	My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
	The more I have, for both are infinite.

	[Nurse calls within]

	I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
	Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
	Stay but a little, I will come again.

	[Exit, above]

ROMEO	O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
	Being in night, all this is but a dream,
	Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

	[Re-enter JULIET, above]

JULIET	Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
	If that thy bent of love be honourable,
	Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
	By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
	Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
	And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
	And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Nurse	[Within]  Madam!

JULIET	I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
	I do beseech thee--

Nurse	[Within]  Madam!

JULIET	By and by, I come:--
	To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
	To-morrow will I send.

ROMEO	So thrive my soul--

JULIET	A thousand times good night!

	[Exit, above]

ROMEO	A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
	Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
	their books,
	But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

	[Retiring]

	[Re-enter JULIET, above]

JULIET	Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
	To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
	Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
	Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
	And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
	With repetition of my Romeo's name.

ROMEO	It is my soul that calls upon my name:
	How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
	Like softest music to attending ears!

JULIET	Romeo!

ROMEO	     My dear?

JULIET	                  At what o'clock to-morrow
	Shall I send to thee?

ROMEO	At the hour of nine.

JULIET	I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
	I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO	Let me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIET	I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
	Remembering how I love thy company.

ROMEO	And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
	Forgetting any other home but this.

JULIET	'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
	And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
	Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
	Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
	And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
	So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROMEO	I would I were thy bird.

JULIET	Sweet, so would I:
	Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
	Good night, good night! parting is such
	sweet sorrow,
	That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

	[Exit above]

ROMEO	Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
	Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
	Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
	His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

	[Exit]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE III	Friar Laurence's cell.


	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket]

FRIAR LAURENCE	The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
	Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
	And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
	From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:
	Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
	The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,
	I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
	With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
	The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;
	What is her burying grave that is her womb,
	And from her womb children of divers kind
	We sucking on her natural bosom find,
	Many for many virtues excellent,
	None but for some and yet all different.
	O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
	In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
	For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
	But to the earth some special good doth give,
	Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
	Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
	Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
	And vice sometimes by action dignified.
	Within the infant rind of this small flower
	Poison hath residence and medicine power:
	For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
	Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
	Two such opposed kings encamp them still
	In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;
	And where the worser is predominant,
	Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

	[Enter ROMEO]

ROMEO	Good morrow, father.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Benedicite!
	What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
	Young son, it argues a distemper'd head
	So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
	Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
	And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
	But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
	Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
	Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
	Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;
	Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
	Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

ROMEO	That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

FRIAR LAURENCE	God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?

ROMEO	With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
	I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

FRIAR LAURENCE	That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?

ROMEO	I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
	I have been feasting with mine enemy,
	Where on a sudden one hath wounded me,
	That's by me wounded: both our remedies
	Within thy help and holy physic lies:
	I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
	My intercession likewise steads my foe.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
	Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

ROMEO	Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set
	On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
	As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
	And all combined, save what thou must combine
	By holy marriage: when and where and how
	We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow,
	I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
	That thou consent to marry us to-day.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
	Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
	So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
	Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
	Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
	Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
	How much salt water thrown away in waste,
	To season love, that of it doth not taste!
	The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
	Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
	Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
	Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
	If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
	Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:
	And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,
	Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

ROMEO	Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

FRIAR LAURENCE	For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

ROMEO	And bad'st me bury love.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Not in a grave,
	To lay one in, another out to have.

ROMEO	I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now
	Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
	The other did not so.

FRIAR LAURENCE	O, she knew well
	Thy love did read by rote and could not spell.
	But come, young waverer, come, go with me,
	In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
	For this alliance may so happy prove,
	To turn your households' rancour to pure love.

ROMEO	O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO]

MERCUTIO	Where the devil should this Romeo be?
	Came he not home to-night?

BENVOLIO	Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

MERCUTIO	Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.
	Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

BENVOLIO	Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
	Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

MERCUTIO	A challenge, on my life.

BENVOLIO	Romeo will answer it.

MERCUTIO	Any man that can write may answer a letter.

BENVOLIO	Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he
	dares, being dared.

MERCUTIO	Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a
	white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a
	love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the
	blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to
	encounter Tybalt?

BENVOLIO	Why, what is Tybalt?

MERCUTIO	More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is
	the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as
	you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
	proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and
	the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
	button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
	very first house, of the first and second cause:
	ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the
	hai!

BENVOLIO	The what?

MERCUTIO	The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
	fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,
	a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good
	whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
	grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with
	these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these
	perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form,
	that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their
	bones, their bones!

	[Enter ROMEO]

BENVOLIO	Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

MERCUTIO	Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,
	how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers
	that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
	kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to
	be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
	Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey
	eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior
	Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
	to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
	fairly last night.

ROMEO	Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

MERCUTIO	The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

ROMEO	Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in
	such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

MERCUTIO	That's as much as to say, such a case as yours
	constrains a man to bow in the hams.

ROMEO	Meaning, to court'sy.

MERCUTIO	Thou hast most kindly hit it.

ROMEO	A most courteous exposition.

MERCUTIO	Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

ROMEO	Pink for flower.

MERCUTIO	Right.

ROMEO	Why, then is my pump well flowered.

MERCUTIO	Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast
	worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it
	is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.

ROMEO	O single-soled jest, solely singular for the
	singleness.

MERCUTIO	Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.

ROMEO	Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

MERCUTIO	Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have
	done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of
	thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five:
	was I with you there for the goose?

ROMEO	Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast
	not there for the goose.

MERCUTIO	I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

ROMEO	Nay, good goose, bite not.

MERCUTIO	Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most
	sharp sauce.

ROMEO	And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

MERCUTIO	O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an
	inch narrow to an ell broad!

ROMEO	I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added
	to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

MERCUTIO	Why, is not this better now than groaning for love?
	now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art
	thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature:
	for this drivelling love is like a great natural,
	that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

BENVOLIO	Stop there, stop there.

MERCUTIO	Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

BENVOLIO	Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

MERCUTIO	O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short:
	for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and
	meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

ROMEO	Here's goodly gear!

	[Enter Nurse and PETER]

MERCUTIO	A sail, a sail!

BENVOLIO	Two, two; a shirt and a smock.

Nurse	Peter!

PETER	Anon!

Nurse	My fan, Peter.

MERCUTIO	Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the
	fairer face.

Nurse	God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

MERCUTIO	God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.

Nurse	Is it good den?

MERCUTIO	'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the
	dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse	Out upon you! what a man are you!

ROMEO	One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to
	mar.

Nurse	By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,'
	quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I
	may find the young Romeo?

ROMEO	I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when
	you have found him than he was when you sought him:
	I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

Nurse	You say well.

MERCUTIO	Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith;
	wisely, wisely.

Nurse	if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with
	you.

BENVOLIO	She will indite him to some supper.

MERCUTIO	A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!

ROMEO	What hast thou found?

MERCUTIO	No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,
	that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

	[Sings]

	An old hare hoar,
	And an old hare hoar,
	Is very good meat in lent
	But a hare that is hoar
	Is too much for a score,
	When it hoars ere it be spent.
	Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll
	to dinner, thither.

ROMEO	I will follow you.

MERCUTIO	Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,

	[Singing]

	'lady, lady, lady.'

	[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO]

Nurse	Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy
	merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?

ROMEO	A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,
	and will speak more in a minute than he will stand
	to in a month.

Nurse	An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him
	down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such
	Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
	Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am
	none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by
	too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

PETER	I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon
	should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare
	draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a
	good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse	Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about
	me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word:
	and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you
	out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself:
	but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into
	a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross
	kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman
	is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double
	with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered
	to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

ROMEO	Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I
	protest unto thee--

Nurse	Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much:
	Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.

ROMEO	What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse	I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as
	I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

ROMEO	Bid her devise
	Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
	And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
	Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurse	No truly sir; not a penny.

ROMEO	Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse	This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

ROMEO	And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall:
	Within this hour my man shall be with thee
	And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;
	Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
	Must be my convoy in the secret night.
	Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:
	Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse	Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.

ROMEO	What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurse	Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
	Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

ROMEO	I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.

NURSE	Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord,
	Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there
	is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain
	lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief
	see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her
	sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer
	man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks
	as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not
	rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

ROMEO	Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

Nurse	Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for
	the--No; I know it begins with some other
	letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of
	it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good
	to hear it.

ROMEO	Commend me to thy lady.

Nurse	Ay, a thousand times.

	[Exit Romeo]
	Peter!

PETER	Anon!

Nurse	Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE V	Capulet's orchard.


	[Enter JULIET]

JULIET	The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
	In half an hour she promised to return.
	Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.
	O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
	Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
	Driving back shadows over louring hills:
	Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
	And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
	Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
	Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve
	Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
	Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
	She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
	My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
	And his to me:
	But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
	Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
	O God, she comes!

	[Enter Nurse and PETER]

	O honey nurse, what news?
	Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Nurse	Peter, stay at the gate.

	[Exit PETER]

JULIET	Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
	Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
	If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
	By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse	I am a-weary, give me leave awhile:
	Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!

JULIET	I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
	Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.

Nurse	Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?
	Do you not see that I am out of breath?

JULIET	How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
	To say to me that thou art out of breath?
	The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
	Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
	Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;
	Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
	Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?

Nurse	Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not
	how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his
	face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels
	all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,
	though they be not to be talked on, yet they are
	past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy,
	but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy
	ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?

JULIET	No, no: but all this did I know before.
	What says he of our marriage? what of that?

Nurse	Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!
	It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
	My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back!
	Beshrew your heart for sending me about,
	To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

JULIET	I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
	Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Nurse	Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a
	courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I
	warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?

JULIET	Where is my mother! why, she is within;
	Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!
	'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
	Where is your mother?'

Nurse	O God's lady dear!
	Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow;
	Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
	Henceforward do your messages yourself.

JULIET	Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo?

Nurse	Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

JULIET	I have.

Nurse	Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;
	There stays a husband to make you a wife:
	Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
	They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
	Hie you to church; I must another way,
	To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
	Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark:
	I am the drudge and toil in your delight,
	But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
	Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell.

JULIET	Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT II



SCENE VI	Friar Laurence's cell.


	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO]

FRIAR LAURENCE	So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
	That after hours with sorrow chide us not!

ROMEO	Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
	It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
	That one short minute gives me in her sight:
	Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
	Then love-devouring death do what he dare;
	It is enough I may but call her mine.

FRIAR LAURENCE	These violent delights have violent ends
	And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
	Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey
	Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
	And in the taste confounds the appetite:
	Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
	Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

	[Enter JULIET]

	Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot
	Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
	A lover may bestride the gossamer
	That idles in the wanton summer air,
	And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

JULIET	Good even to my ghostly confessor.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

JULIET	As much to him, else is his thanks too much.

ROMEO	Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
	Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more
	To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
	This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
	Unfold the imagined happiness that both
	Receive in either by this dear encounter.

JULIET	Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
	Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
	They are but beggars that can count their worth;
	But my true love is grown to such excess
	I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
	For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
	Till holy church incorporate two in one.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT III



SCENE I	A public place.


	[Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants]

BENVOLIO	I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
	The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
	And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;
	For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

MERCUTIO	Thou art like one of those fellows that when he
	enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword
	upon the table and says 'God send me no need of
	thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws
	it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

BENVOLIO	Am I like such a fellow?

MERCUTIO	Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as
	any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as
	soon moody to be moved.

BENVOLIO	And what to?

MERCUTIO	Nay, an there were two such, we should have none
	shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,
	thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,
	or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou
	wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no
	other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what
	eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?
	Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of
	meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as
	an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a
	man for coughing in the street, because he hath
	wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:
	didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing
	his new doublet before Easter? with another, for
	tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou
	wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

BENVOLIO	An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
	should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

MERCUTIO	The fee-simple! O simple!

BENVOLIO	By my head, here come the Capulets.

MERCUTIO	By my heel, I care not.

	[Enter TYBALT and others]

TYBALT	Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
	Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.

MERCUTIO	And but one word with one of us? couple it with
	something; make it a word and a blow.

TYBALT	You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
	will give me occasion.

MERCUTIO	Could you not take some occasion without giving?

TYBALT	Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--

MERCUTIO	Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an
	thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
	discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
	make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!

BENVOLIO	We talk here in the public haunt of men:
	Either withdraw unto some private place,
	And reason coldly of your grievances,
	Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

MERCUTIO	Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
	I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

	[Enter ROMEO]

TYBALT	Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.

MERCUTIO	But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:
	Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;
	Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'

TYBALT	Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
	No better term than this,--thou art a villain.

ROMEO	Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
	Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
	To such a greeting: villain am I none;
	Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.

TYBALT	Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
	That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.

ROMEO	I do protest, I never injured thee,
	But love thee better than thou canst devise,
	Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
	And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender
	As dearly as my own,--be satisfied.

MERCUTIO	O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
	Alla stoccata carries it away.

	[Draws]

	Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

TYBALT	What wouldst thou have with me?

MERCUTIO	Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine
	lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you
	shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the
	eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher
	by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your
	ears ere it be out.

TYBALT	I am for you.

	[Drawing]

ROMEO	Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

MERCUTIO	Come, sir, your passado.

	[They fight]

ROMEO	Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
	Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
	Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
	Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
	Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

	[TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies
	with his followers]

MERCUTIO	I am hurt.
	A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
	Is he gone, and hath nothing?

BENVOLIO	What, art thou hurt?

MERCUTIO	Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
	Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

	[Exit Page]

ROMEO	Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

MERCUTIO	No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a
	church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for
	me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I
	am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o'
	both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
	cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a
	rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
	arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I
	was hurt under your arm.

ROMEO	I thought all for the best.

MERCUTIO	Help me into some house, Benvolio,
	Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
	They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,
	And soundly too: your houses!

	[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO]

ROMEO	This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
	My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
	In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
	With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour
	Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet,
	Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
	And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!

	[Re-enter BENVOLIO]

BENVOLIO	O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
	That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
	Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

ROMEO	This day's black fate on more days doth depend;
	This but begins the woe, others must end.

BENVOLIO	Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

ROMEO	Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
	Away to heaven, respective lenity,
	And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!

	[Re-enter TYBALT]

	Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
	That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
	Is but a little way above our heads,
	Staying for thine to keep him company:
	Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

TYBALT	Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
	Shalt with him hence.

ROMEO	This shall determine that.

	[They fight; TYBALT falls]

BENVOLIO	Romeo, away, be gone!
	The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
	Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,
	If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!

ROMEO	O, I am fortune's fool!

BENVOLIO	Why dost thou stay?

	[Exit ROMEO]

	[Enter Citizens, &c]

First Citizen	Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
	Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

BENVOLIO	There lies that Tybalt.

First Citizen	Up, sir, go with me;
	I charge thee in the princes name, obey.

	[Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their
	Wives, and others]

PRINCE	Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

BENVOLIO	O noble prince, I can discover all
	The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:
	There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
	That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

LADY CAPULET	Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
	O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt
	O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
	For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
	O cousin, cousin!

PRINCE	Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

BENVOLIO	Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
	Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
	How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
	Your high displeasure: all this uttered
	With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
	Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
	Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
	With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
	Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
	And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
	Cold death aside, and with the other sends
	It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,
	Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
	'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than
	his tongue,
	His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
	And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
	An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
	Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
	But by and by comes back to Romeo,
	Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
	And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I
	Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
	And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
	This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

LADY CAPULET	He is a kinsman to the Montague;
	Affection makes him false; he speaks not true:
	Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
	And all those twenty could but kill one life.
	I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
	Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

PRINCE	Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
	Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

MONTAGUE	Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;
	His fault concludes but what the law should end,
	The life of Tybalt.

PRINCE	And for that offence
	Immediately we do exile him hence:
	I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
	My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
	But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
	That you shall all repent the loss of mine:
	I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
	Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:
	Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
	Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
	Bear hence this body and attend our will:
	Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT III



SCENE II	Capulet's orchard.


	[Enter JULIET]

JULIET	Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
	Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
	As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
	And bring in cloudy night immediately.
	Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
	That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
	Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
	Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
	By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
	It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
	Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
	And learn me how to lose a winning match,
	Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
	Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
	With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
	Think true love acted simple modesty.
	Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
	For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
	Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
	Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
	Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
	Take him and cut him out in little stars,
	And he will make the face of heaven so fine
	That all the world will be in love with night
	And pay no worship to the garish sun.
	O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
	But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
	Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
	As is the night before some festival
	To an impatient child that hath new robes
	And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
	And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
	But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.

	[Enter Nurse, with cords]

	Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
	That Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse	Ay, ay, the cords.

	[Throws them down]

JULIET	Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse	Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
	We are undone, lady, we are undone!
	Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

JULIET	Can heaven be so envious?

Nurse	Romeo can,
	Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
	Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!

JULIET	What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
	This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
	Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'
	And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
	Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
	I am not I, if there be such an I;
	Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.'
	If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:
	Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.

Nurse	I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,--
	God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:
	A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
	Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
	All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.

JULIET	O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!
	To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!
	Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
	And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!

Nurse	O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
	O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
	That ever I should live to see thee dead!

JULIET	What storm is this that blows so contrary?
	Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
	My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?
	Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
	For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse	Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
	Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

JULIET	O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse	It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

JULIET	O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
	Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
	Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
	Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
	Despised substance of divinest show!
	Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
	A damned saint, an honourable villain!
	O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,
	When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
	In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?
	Was ever book containing such vile matter
	So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell
	In such a gorgeous palace!

Nurse	There's no trust,
	No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
	All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
	Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae:
	These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
	Shame come to Romeo!

JULIET	Blister'd be thy tongue
	For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
	Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;
	For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
	Sole monarch of the universal earth.
	O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Nurse	Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

JULIET	Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
	Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
	When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
	But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
	That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
	Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
	Your tributary drops belong to woe,
	Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
	My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
	And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:
	All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
	Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
	That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
	But, O, it presses to my memory,
	Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
	'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;'
	That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
	Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
	Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
	Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
	And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
	Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
	Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
	Which modern lamentations might have moved?
	But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
	'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,
	Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
	All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
	There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
	In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
	Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse	Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:
	Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

JULIET	Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,
	When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
	Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,
	Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:
	He made you for a highway to my bed;
	But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
	Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;
	And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Nurse	Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
	To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
	Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
	I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

JULIET	O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,
	And bid him come to take his last farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT III



SCENE III	Friar Laurence's cell.


	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:
	Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
	And thou art wedded to calamity.

	[Enter ROMEO]

ROMEO	Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?
	What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
	That I yet know not?

FRIAR LAURENCE	Too familiar
	Is my dear son with such sour company:
	I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

ROMEO	What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?

FRIAR LAURENCE	A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
	Not body's death, but body's banishment.

ROMEO	Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'
	For exile hath more terror in his look,
	Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hence from Verona art thou banished:
	Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

ROMEO	There is no world without Verona walls,
	But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
	Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
	And world's exile is death: then banished,
	Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
	Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
	And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.

FRIAR LAURENCE	O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
	Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
	Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
	And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
	This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

ROMEO	'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
	Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
	And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
	Live here in heaven and may look on her;
	But Romeo may not: more validity,
	More honourable state, more courtship lives
	In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
	On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
	And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
	Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
	Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
	But Romeo may not; he is banished:
	Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
	They are free men, but I am banished.
	And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
	Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
	No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
	But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?
	O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
	Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
	Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
	A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
	To mangle me with that word 'banished'?

FRIAR LAURENCE	Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

ROMEO	O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

FRIAR LAURENCE	I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:
	Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
	To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

ROMEO	Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
	Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
	Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
	It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.

FRIAR LAURENCE	O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

ROMEO	How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

FRIAR LAURENCE	Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

ROMEO	Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
	Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
	An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
	Doting like me and like me banished,
	Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
	And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
	Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

	[Knocking within]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.

ROMEO	Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,
	Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

	[Knocking]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
	Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

	[Knocking]

	Run to my study. By and by! God's will,
	What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

	[Knocking]

	Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

Nurse	[Within]  Let me come in, and you shall know
	my errand;
	I come from Lady Juliet.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Welcome, then.

	[Enter Nurse]

Nurse	O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
	Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?

FRIAR LAURENCE	There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Nurse	O, he is even in my mistress' case,
	Just in her case! O woful sympathy!
	Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
	Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
	Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:
	For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
	Why should you fall into so deep an O?

ROMEO	Nurse!

Nurse	Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.

ROMEO	Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
	Doth she not think me an old murderer,
	Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
	With blood removed but little from her own?
	Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
	My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse	O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
	And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
	And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
	And then down falls again.

ROMEO	As if that name,
	Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
	Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
	Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,
	In what vile part of this anatomy
	Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
	The hateful mansion.

	[Drawing his sword]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hold thy desperate hand:
	Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
	Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
	The unreasonable fury of a beast:
	Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
	Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
	Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
	I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
	Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
	And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
	By doing damned hate upon thyself?
	Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
	Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
	In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
	Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
	Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
	And usest none in that true use indeed
	Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:
	Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
	Digressing from the valour of a man;
	Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
	Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
	Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
	Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
	Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,
	Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
	And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
	What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
	For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
	There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
	But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:
	The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
	And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
	A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
	Happiness courts thee in her best array;
	But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
	Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
	Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
	Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
	Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
	But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
	For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
	Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
	To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
	Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
	With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
	Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
	Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
	And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
	Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
	Romeo is coming.

Nurse	O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
	To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!
	My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

ROMEO	Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

Nurse	Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
	Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

	[Exit]

ROMEO	How well my comfort is revived by this!

FRIAR LAURENCE	Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:
	Either be gone before the watch be set,
	Or by the break of day disguised from hence:
	Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
	And he shall signify from time to time
	Every good hap to you that chances here:
	Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.

ROMEO	But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
	It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT III



SCENE IV	A room in Capulet's house.


	[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS]

CAPULET	Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,
	That we have had no time to move our daughter:
	Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
	And so did I:--Well, we were born to die.
	'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:
	I promise you, but for your company,
	I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

PARIS	These times of woe afford no time to woo.
	Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

LADY CAPULET	I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
	To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

CAPULET	Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
	Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled
	In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.
	Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
	Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
	And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--
	But, soft! what day is this?

PARIS	Monday, my lord,

CAPULET	Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,
	O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,
	She shall be married to this noble earl.
	Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
	We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;
	For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
	It may be thought we held him carelessly,
	Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
	Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
	And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

PARIS	My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.

CAPULET	Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.
	Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
	Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
	Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!
	Afore me! it is so very very late,
	That we may call it early by and by.
	Good night.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT III



SCENE V	Capulet's orchard.


	[Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window]

JULIET	Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
	It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
	That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
	Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
	Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

ROMEO	It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
	No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
	Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
	Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
	Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
	I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

JULIET	Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
	It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
	To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
	And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
	Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.

ROMEO	Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
	I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
	I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
	'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
	Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
	The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
	I have more care to stay than will to go:
	Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
	How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

JULIET	It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!
	It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
	Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
	Some say the lark makes sweet division;
	This doth not so, for she divideth us:
	Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
	O, now I would they had changed voices too!
	Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
	Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
	O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.

ROMEO	More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!

	[Enter Nurse, to the chamber]

Nurse	Madam!

JULIET	Nurse?

Nurse	Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
	The day is broke; be wary, look about.

	[Exit]

JULIET	Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

ROMEO	Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

	[He goeth down]

JULIET	Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
	I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
	For in a minute there are many days:
	O, by this count I shall be much in years
	Ere I again behold my Romeo!

ROMEO	Farewell!
	I will omit no opportunity
	That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

JULIET	O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

ROMEO	I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
	For sweet discourses in our time to come.

JULIET	O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
	Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
	As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
	Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

ROMEO	And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
	Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!

	[Exit]

JULIET	O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
	If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
	That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
	For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
	But send him back.

LADY CAPULET	[Within]         Ho, daughter! are you up?

JULIET	Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
	Is she not down so late, or up so early?
	What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

	[Enter LADY CAPULET]

LADY CAPULET	Why, how now, Juliet!

JULIET	Madam, I am not well.

LADY CAPULET	Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
	What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
	An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
	Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;
	But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

JULIET	Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

LADY CAPULET	So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
	Which you weep for.

JULIET	Feeling so the loss,
	Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

LADY CAPULET	Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
	As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

JULIET	What villain madam?

LADY CAPULET	That same villain, Romeo.

JULIET	[Aside]  Villain and he be many miles asunder.--
	God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
	And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.

LADY CAPULET	That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

JULIET	Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:
	Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!

LADY CAPULET	We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:
	Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
	Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
	Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,
	That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
	And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

JULIET	Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
	With Romeo, till I behold him--dead--
	Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.
	Madam, if you could find out but a man
	To bear a poison, I would temper it;
	That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
	Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
	To hear him named, and cannot come to him.
	To wreak the love I bore my cousin
	Upon his body that slaughter'd him!

LADY CAPULET	Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
	But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

JULIET	And joy comes well in such a needy time:
	What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

LADY CAPULET	Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
	One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
	Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
	That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for.

JULIET	Madam, in happy time, what day is that?

LADY CAPULET	Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
	The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
	The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
	Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

JULIET	Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too,
	He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
	I wonder at this haste; that I must wed
	Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
	I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
	I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
	It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
	Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!

LADY CAPULET	Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,
	And see how he will take it at your hands.

	[Enter CAPULET and Nurse]

CAPULET	When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;
	But for the sunset of my brother's son
	It rains downright.
	How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
	Evermore showering? In one little body
	Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
	For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
	Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
	Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
	Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
	Without a sudden calm, will overset
	Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife!
	Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

LADY CAPULET	Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
	I would the fool were married to her grave!

CAPULET	Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.
	How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks?
	Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,
	Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
	So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

JULIET	Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have:
	Proud can I never be of what I hate;
	But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

CAPULET	How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this?
	'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'
	And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you,
	Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds,
	But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
	To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
	Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
	Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
	You tallow-face!

LADY CAPULET	                  Fie, fie! what, are you mad?

JULIET	Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
	Hear me with patience but to speak a word.

CAPULET	Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
	I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday,
	Or never after look me in the face:
	Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;
	My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
	That God had lent us but this only child;
	But now I see this one is one too much,
	And that we have a curse in having her:
	Out on her, hilding!

Nurse	God in heaven bless her!
	You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

CAPULET	And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
	Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse	I speak no treason.

CAPULET	O, God ye god-den.

Nurse	May not one speak?

CAPULET	                  Peace, you mumbling fool!
	Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl;
	For here we need it not.

LADY CAPULET	You are too hot.

CAPULET	God's bread! it makes me mad:
	Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
	Alone, in company, still my care hath been
	To have her match'd: and having now provided
	A gentleman of noble parentage,
	Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
	Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
	Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man;
	And then to have a wretched puling fool,
	A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
	To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love,
	I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'
	But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
	Graze where you will you shall not house with me:
	Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
	Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
	An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
	And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in
	the streets,
	For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
	Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
	Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn.

	[Exit]

JULIET	Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
	That sees into the bottom of my grief?
	O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
	Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
	Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
	In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

LADY CAPULET	Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
	Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.

	[Exit]

JULIET	O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
	My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
	How shall that faith return again to earth,
	Unless that husband send it me from heaven
	By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
	Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
	Upon so soft a subject as myself!
	What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
	Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse	Faith, here it is.
	Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing,
	That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
	Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
	Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
	I think it best you married with the county.
	O, he's a lovely gentleman!
	Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,
	Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
	As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
	I think you are happy in this second match,
	For it excels your first: or if it did not,
	Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
	As living here and you no use of him.

JULIET	Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse	And from my soul too;
	Or else beshrew them both.

JULIET	Amen!

Nurse	What?

JULIET	Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
	Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,
	Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,
	To make confession and to be absolved.

Nurse	Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

	[Exit]

JULIET	Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
	Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
	Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
	Which she hath praised him with above compare
	So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
	Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
	I'll to the friar, to know his remedy:
	If all else fail, myself have power to die.

	[Exit]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT IV



SCENE I	Friar Laurence's cell.


	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS]

FRIAR LAURENCE	On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.

PARIS	My father Capulet will have it so;
	And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE	You say you do not know the lady's mind:
	Uneven is the course, I like it not.

PARIS	Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
	And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
	For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
	Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
	That she doth give her sorrow so much sway,
	And in his wisdom hastes our marriage,
	To stop the inundation of her tears;
	Which, too much minded by herself alone,
	May be put from her by society:
	Now do you know the reason of this haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE	[Aside]  I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
	Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

	[Enter JULIET]

PARIS	Happily met, my lady and my wife!

JULIET	That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.

PARIS	That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.

JULIET	What must be shall be.

FRIAR LAURENCE	That's a certain text.

PARIS	Come you to make confession to this father?

JULIET	To answer that, I should confess to you.

PARIS	Do not deny to him that you love me.

JULIET	I will confess to you that I love him.

PARIS	So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.

JULIET	If I do so, it will be of more price,
	Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.

PARIS	Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.

JULIET	The tears have got small victory by that;
	For it was bad enough before their spite.

PARIS	Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

JULIET	That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
	And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

PARIS	Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.

JULIET	It may be so, for it is not mine own.
	Are you at leisure, holy father, now;
	Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

FRIAR LAURENCE	My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
	My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

PARIS	God shield I should disturb devotion!
	Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye:
	Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.

	[Exit]

JULIET	O shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
	Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

FRIAR LAURENCE	Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
	It strains me past the compass of my wits:
	I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
	On Thursday next be married to this county.

JULIET	Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
	Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
	If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,
	Do thou but call my resolution wise,
	And with this knife I'll help it presently.
	God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
	And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
	Shall be the label to another deed,
	Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
	Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
	Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time,
	Give me some present counsel, or, behold,
	'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
	Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
	Which the commission of thy years and art
	Could to no issue of true honour bring.
	Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
	If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope,
	Which craves as desperate an execution.
	As that is desperate which we would prevent.
	If, rather than to marry County Paris,
	Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,
	Then is it likely thou wilt undertake
	A thing like death to chide away this shame,
	That copest with death himself to scape from it:
	And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.

JULIET	O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
	From off the battlements of yonder tower;
	Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
	Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
	Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
	O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
	With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
	Or bid me go into a new-made grave
	And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
	Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble;
	And I will do it without fear or doubt,
	To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
	To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
	To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
	Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
	Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
	And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
	When presently through all thy veins shall run
	A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse
	Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
	No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
	The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
	To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall,
	Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
	Each part, deprived of supple government,
	Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
	And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
	Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
	And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
	Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
	To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
	Then, as the manner of our country is,
	In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier
	Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
	Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
	In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
	Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,
	And hither shall he come: and he and I
	Will watch thy waking, and that very night
	Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
	And this shall free thee from this present shame;
	If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
	Abate thy valour in the acting it.

JULIET	Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!

FRIAR LAURENCE	Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous
	In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed
	To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.

JULIET	Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
	Farewell, dear father!

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT IV



SCENE II	Hall in Capulet's house.


	[Enter CAPULET, LADY  CAPULET, Nurse, and two
	Servingmen]

CAPULET	So many guests invite as here are writ.

	[Exit First Servant]

	Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

Second Servant	You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they
	can lick their fingers.

CAPULET	How canst thou try them so?

Second Servant	Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his
	own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his
	fingers goes not with me.

CAPULET	Go, be gone.

	[Exit Second Servant]

	We shall be much unfurnished for this time.
	What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?

Nurse	Ay, forsooth.

CAPULET	Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
	A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Nurse	See where she comes from shrift with merry look.

	[Enter JULIET]

CAPULET	How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?

JULIET	Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
	Of disobedient opposition
	To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
	By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
	And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you!
	Henceforward I am ever ruled by you.

CAPULET	Send for the county; go tell him of this:
	I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.

JULIET	I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
	And gave him what becomed love I might,
	Not step o'er the bounds of modesty.

CAPULET	Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up:
	This is as't should be. Let me see the county;
	Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
	Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar,
	Our whole city is much bound to him.

JULIET	Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
	To help me sort such needful ornaments
	As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?

LADY CAPULET	No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

CAPULET	Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow.

	[Exeunt JULIET and Nurse]

LADY  CAPULET	We shall be short in our provision:
	'Tis now near night.

CAPULET	Tush, I will stir about,
	And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:
	Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
	I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone;
	I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho!
	They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself
	To County Paris, to prepare him up
	Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,
	Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT IV



SCENE III	Juliet's chamber.


	[Enter JULIET and Nurse]

JULIET	Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse,
	I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night,
	For I have need of many orisons
	To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
	Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin.

	[Enter LADY CAPULET]

LADY CAPULET	What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?

JULIET	No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
	As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:
	So please you, let me now be left alone,
	And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
	For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
	In this so sudden business.

LADY CAPULET	Good night:
	Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.

	[Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse]

JULIET	Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
	I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
	That almost freezes up the heat of life:
	I'll call them back again to comfort me:
	Nurse! What should she do here?
	My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
	Come, vial.
	What if this mixture do not work at all?
	Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
	No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.

	[Laying down her dagger]

	What if it be a poison, which the friar
	Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
	Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
	Because he married me before to Romeo?
	I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,
	For he hath still been tried a holy man.
	How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
	I wake before the time that Romeo
	Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
	Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,
	To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
	And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
	Or, if I live, is it not very like,
	The horrible conceit of death and night,
	Together with the terror of the place,--
	As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
	Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
	Of all my buried ancestors are packed:
	Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
	Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
	At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
	Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
	So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
	And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
	That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:--
	O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
	Environed with all these hideous fears?
	And madly play with my forefather's joints?
	And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
	And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
	As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
	O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
	Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
	Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay!
	Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

	[She falls upon her bed, within the curtains]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Hall in Capulet's house.


	[Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse]

LADY CAPULET	Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nurse	They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

	[Enter CAPULET]

CAPULET	Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd,
	The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:
	Look to the baked meats, good Angelica:
	Spare not for the cost.

Nurse	Go, you cot-quean, go,
	Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow
	For this night's watching.

CAPULET	No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now
	All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.

LADY CAPULET	Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
	But I will watch you from such watching now.

	[Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse]

CAPULET	A jealous hood, a jealous hood!

	[Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs,
	and baskets]

		          Now, fellow,
	What's there?

First Servant	Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.

CAPULET	Make haste, make haste.

	[Exit First Servant]

		  Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
	Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

Second Servant	I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
	And never trouble Peter for the matter.

	[Exit]

CAPULET	Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
	Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:
	The county will be here with music straight,
	For so he said he would: I hear him near.

	[Music within]

	Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!

	[Re-enter Nurse]

	Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up;
	I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste,
	Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
	Make haste, I say.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT IV



SCENE V	Juliet's chamber.


	[Enter Nurse]

Nurse	Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she:
	Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
	Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride!
	What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now;
	Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
	The County Paris hath set up his rest,
	That you shall rest but little. God forgive me,
	Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!
	I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
	Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
	He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?

	[Undraws the curtains]

	What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
	I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady!
	Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead!
	O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!
	Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!

	[Enter LADY CAPULET]

LADY CAPULET	What noise is here?

Nurse	O lamentable day!

LADY CAPULET	What is the matter?

Nurse	Look, look! O heavy day!

LADY CAPULET	O me, O me! My child, my only life,
	Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
	Help, help! Call help.

	[Enter CAPULET]

CAPULET	For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.

Nurse	She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!

LADY CAPULET	Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!

CAPULET	Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold:
	Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
	Life and these lips have long been separated:
	Death lies on her like an untimely frost
	Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Nurse	O lamentable day!

LADY CAPULET	                  O woful time!

CAPULET	Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
	Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

CAPULET	Ready to go, but never to return.
	O son! the night before thy wedding-day
	Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,
	Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
	Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
	My daughter he hath wedded: I will die,
	And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.

PARIS	Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
	And doth it give me such a sight as this?

LADY CAPULET	Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
	Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
	In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
	But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
	But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
	And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!

Nurse	O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
	Most lamentable day, most woful day,
	That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
	O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
	Never was seen so black a day as this:
	O woful day, O woful day!

PARIS	Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
	Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,
	By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
	O love! O life! not life, but love in death!

CAPULET	Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
	Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
	To murder, murder our solemnity?
	O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
	Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
	And with my child my joys are buried.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
	In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
	Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
	And all the better is it for the maid:
	Your part in her you could not keep from death,
	But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
	The most you sought was her promotion;
	For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced:
	And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
	Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
	O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
	That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
	She's not well married that lives married long;
	But she's best married that dies married young.
	Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
	On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
	In all her best array bear her to church:
	For though fond nature bids us an lament,
	Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

CAPULET	All things that we ordained festival,
	Turn from their office to black funeral;
	Our instruments to melancholy bells,
	Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
	Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
	Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
	And all things change them to the contrary.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
	And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare
	To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
	The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;
	Move them no more by crossing their high will.

	[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE]

First Musician	Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

Nurse	Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up;
	For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

	[Exit]

First Musician	Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

	[Enter PETER]

PETER	Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's
	ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'

First Musician	Why 'Heart's ease?'

PETER	O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My
	heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump,
	to comfort me.

First Musician	Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now.

PETER	You will not, then?

First Musician	No.

PETER	I will then give it you soundly.

First Musician	What will you give us?

PETER	No money, on my faith, but the gleek;
	I will give you the minstrel.

First Musician	Then I will give you the serving-creature.

PETER	Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on
	your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you,
	I'll fa you; do you note me?

First Musician	An you re us and fa us, you note us.

Second Musician	Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

PETER	Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you
	with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer
	me like men:
	'When griping grief the heart doth wound,
	And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
	Then music with her silver sound'--
	why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver
	sound'? What say you, Simon Catling?

Musician	Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

PETER	Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

Second Musician	I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver.

PETER	Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

Third Musician	Faith, I know not what to say.

PETER	O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say
	for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,'
	because musicians have no gold for sounding:
	'Then music with her silver sound
	With speedy help doth lend redress.'

	[Exit]

First Musician	What a pestilent knave is this same!

Second Musician	Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the
	mourners, and stay dinner.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT V



SCENE I	Mantua. A street.


	[Enter ROMEO]

ROMEO	If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
	My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
	My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
	And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
	Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
	I dreamt my lady came and found me dead--
	Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave
	to think!--
	And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
	That I revived, and was an emperor.
	Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
	When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

	[Enter BALTHASAR, booted]

	News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar!
	Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
	How doth my lady? Is my father well?
	How fares my Juliet? that I ask again;
	For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

BALTHASAR	Then she is well, and nothing can be ill:
	Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
	And her immortal part with angels lives.
	I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
	And presently took post to tell it you:
	O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
	Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

ROMEO	Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!
	Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
	And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

BALTHASAR	I do beseech you, sir, have patience:
	Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
	Some misadventure.

ROMEO	                  Tush, thou art deceived:
	Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
	Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

BALTHASAR	No, my good lord.

ROMEO	                  No matter: get thee gone,
	And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.

	[Exit BALTHASAR]

	Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
	Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift
	To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
	I do remember an apothecary,--
	And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted
	In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
	Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
	Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
	And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
	An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
	Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
	A beggarly account of empty boxes,
	Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,
	Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,
	Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
	Noting this penury, to myself I said
	'An if a man did need a poison now,
	Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
	Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
	O, this same thought did but forerun my need;
	And this same needy man must sell it me.
	As I remember, this should be the house.
	Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
	What, ho! apothecary!

	[Enter Apothecary]

Apothecary	Who calls so loud?

ROMEO	Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor:
	Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
	A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
	As will disperse itself through all the veins
	That the life-weary taker may fall dead
	And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
	As violently as hasty powder fired
	Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Apothecary	Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
	Is death to any he that utters them.

ROMEO	Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
	And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
	Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
	Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back;
	The world is not thy friend nor the world's law;
	The world affords no law to make thee rich;
	Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.

Apothecary	My poverty, but not my will, consents.

ROMEO	I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Apothecary	Put this in any liquid thing you will,
	And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
	Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.

ROMEO	There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,
	Doing more murders in this loathsome world,
	Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
	I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none.
	Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
	Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
	To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

	[Exeunt]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT V



SCENE II	Friar Laurence's cell.


	[Enter FRIAR JOHN]

FRIAR JOHN	Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

	[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE]

FRIAR LAURENCE	This same should be the voice of Friar John.
	Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo?
	Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

FRIAR JOHN	Going to find a bare-foot brother out
	One of our order, to associate me,
	Here in this city visiting the sick,
	And finding him, the searchers of the town,
	Suspecting that we both were in a house
	Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
	Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
	So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?

FRIAR JOHN	I could not send it,--here it is again,--
	Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
	So fearful were they of infection.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
	The letter was not nice but full of charge
	Of dear import, and the neglecting it
	May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
	Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
	Unto my cell.

FRIAR JOHN	Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.

	[Exit]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Now must I to the monument alone;
	Within three hours will fair Juliet wake:
	She will beshrew me much that Romeo
	Hath had no notice of these accidents;
	But I will write again to Mantua,
	And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
	Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

	[Exit]




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT V



SCENE III	A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets.


	[Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch]

PARIS	Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof:
	Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
	Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along,
	Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
	So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
	Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,
	But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
	As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
	Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

PAGE	[Aside]  I am almost afraid to stand alone
	Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.

	[Retires]

PARIS	Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,--
	O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;--
	Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
	Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans:
	The obsequies that I for thee will keep
	Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

	[The Page whistles]

	The boy gives warning something doth approach.
	What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
	To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
	What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile.

	[Retires]

	[Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch,
	mattock, &c]

ROMEO	Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
	Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
	See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
	Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee,
	Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
	And do not interrupt me in my course.
	Why I descend into this bed of death,
	Is partly to behold my lady's face;
	But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
	A precious ring, a ring that I must use
	In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone:
	But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
	In what I further shall intend to do,
	By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint
	And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs:
	The time and my intents are savage-wild,
	More fierce and more inexorable far
	Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

BALTHASAR	I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

ROMEO	So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that:
	Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow.

BALTHASAR	[Aside]  For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout:
	His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

	[Retires]

ROMEO	Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
	Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
	Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
	And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!

	[Opens the tomb]

PARIS	This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
	That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief,
	It is supposed, the fair creature died;
	And here is come to do some villanous shame
	To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.

	[Comes forward]

	Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague!
	Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
	Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
	Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

ROMEO	I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.
	Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
	Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone;
	Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
	Put not another sin upon my head,
	By urging me to fury: O, be gone!
	By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
	For I come hither arm'd against myself:
	Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,
	A madman's mercy bade thee run away.

PARIS	I do defy thy conjurations,
	And apprehend thee for a felon here.

ROMEO	Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!

	[They fight]

PAGE	O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

	[Exit]

PARIS	O, I am slain!

	[Falls]

	If thou be merciful,
	Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

	[Dies]

ROMEO	In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.
	Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
	What said my man, when my betossed soul
	Did not attend him as we rode? I think
	He told me Paris should have married Juliet:
	Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
	Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
	To think it was so? O, give me thy hand,
	One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
	I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
	A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
	For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
	This vault a feasting presence full of light.
	Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.

	[Laying PARIS in the tomb]

	How oft when men are at the point of death
	Have they been merry! which their keepers call
	A lightning before death: O, how may I
	Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!
	Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
	Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
	Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
	Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
	And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
	Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
	O, what more favour can I do to thee,
	Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
	To sunder his that was thine enemy?
	Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,
	Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
	That unsubstantial death is amorous,
	And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
	Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
	For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;
	And never from this palace of dim night
	Depart again: here, here will I remain
	With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here
	Will I set up my everlasting rest,
	And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
	From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
	Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
	The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
	A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
	Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
	Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
	The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
	Here's to my love!

	[Drinks]

	O true apothecary!
	Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

	[Dies]

	[Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR
	LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade]

FRIAR LAURENCE	Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
	Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?

BALTHASAR	Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
	What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
	To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
	It burneth in the Capel's monument.

BALTHASAR	It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
	One that you love.

FRIAR LAURENCE	                  Who is it?

BALTHASAR	Romeo.

FRIAR LAURENCE	How long hath he been there?

BALTHASAR	Full half an hour.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Go with me to the vault.

BALTHASAR	I dare not, sir
	My master knows not but I am gone hence;
	And fearfully did menace me with death,
	If I did stay to look on his intents.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me:
	O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

BALTHASAR	As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
	I dreamt my master and another fought,
	And that my master slew him.

FRIAR LAURENCE	Romeo!

	[Advances]

	Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains
	The stony entrance of this sepulchre?
	What mean these masterless and gory swords
	To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

	[Enters the tomb]

	Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too?
	And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
	Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
	The lady stirs.

	[JULIET wakes]

JULIET	O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
	I do remember well where I should be,
	And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

	[Noise within]

FRIAR LAURENCE	I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
	Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
	A greater power than we can contradict
	Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.
	Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
	And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
	Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
	Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
	Come, go, good Juliet,

	[Noise again]

		 I dare no longer stay.

JULIET	Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.

	[Exit FRIAR LAURENCE]

	What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?
	Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:
	O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
	To help me after? I will kiss thy lips;
	Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
	To make die with a restorative.

	[Kisses him]

	Thy lips are warm.

First Watchman	[Within]  Lead, boy: which way?

JULIET	Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!

	[Snatching ROMEO's dagger]

	This is thy sheath;

	[Stabs herself]

	there rust, and let me die.

	[Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies]

	[Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS]

PAGE	This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn.

First Watchman	The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:
	Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach.
	Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain,
	And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
	Who here hath lain these two days buried.
	Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets:
	Raise up the Montagues: some others search:
	We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
	But the true ground of all these piteous woes
	We cannot without circumstance descry.

	[Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR]

Second Watchman	Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard.

First Watchman	Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither.

	[Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE]

Third Watchman	Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps:
	We took this mattock and this spade from him,
	As he was coming from this churchyard side.

First Watchman	A great suspicion: stay the friar too.

	[Enter the PRINCE and Attendants]

PRINCE	What misadventure is so early up,
	That calls our person from our morning's rest?

	[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others]

CAPULET	What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?

LADY CAPULET	The people in the street cry Romeo,
	Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run,
	With open outcry toward our monument.

PRINCE	What fear is this which startles in our ears?

First Watchman	Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain;
	And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
	Warm and new kill'd.

PRINCE	Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.

First Watchman	Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man;
	With instruments upon them, fit to open
	These dead men's tombs.

CAPULET	O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
	This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house
	Is empty on the back of Montague,--
	And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom!

LADY CAPULET	O me! this sight of death is as a bell,
	That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

	[Enter MONTAGUE and others]

PRINCE	Come, Montague; for thou art early up,
	To see thy son and heir more early down.

MONTAGUE	Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night;
	Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath:
	What further woe conspires against mine age?

PRINCE	Look, and thou shalt see.

MONTAGUE	O thou untaught! what manners is in this?
	To press before thy father to a grave?

PRINCE	Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
	Till we can clear these ambiguities,
	And know their spring, their head, their
	true descent;
	And then will I be general of your woes,
	And lead you even to death: meantime forbear,
	And let mischance be slave to patience.
	Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

FRIAR LAURENCE	I am the greatest, able to do least,
	Yet most suspected, as the time and place
	Doth make against me of this direful murder;
	And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
	Myself condemned and myself excused.

PRINCE	Then say at once what thou dost know in this.

FRIAR LAURENCE	I will be brief, for my short date of breath
	Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
	Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
	And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:
	I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day
	Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death
	Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city,
	For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
	You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
	Betroth'd and would have married her perforce
	To County Paris: then comes she to me,
	And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean
	To rid her from this second marriage,
	Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
	Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
	A sleeping potion; which so took effect
	As I intended, for it wrought on her
	The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
	That he should hither come as this dire night,
	To help to take her from her borrow'd grave,
	Being the time the potion's force should cease.
	But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
	Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
	Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
	At the prefixed hour of her waking,
	Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
	Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
	Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
	But when I came, some minute ere the time
	Of her awaking, here untimely lay
	The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
	She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
	And bear this work of heaven with patience:
	But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
	And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
	But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
	All this I know; and to the marriage
	Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
	Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
	Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
	Unto the rigour of severest law.

PRINCE	We still have known thee for a holy man.
	Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this?

BALTHASAR	I brought my master news of Juliet's death;
	And then in post he came from Mantua
	To this same place, to this same monument.
	This letter he early bid me give his father,
	And threatened me with death, going in the vault,
	I departed not and left him there.

PRINCE	Give me the letter; I will look on it.
	Where is the county's page, that raised the watch?
	Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

PAGE	He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave;
	And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:
	Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb;
	And by and by my master drew on him;
	And then I ran away to call the watch.

PRINCE	This letter doth make good the friar's words,
	Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
	And here he writes that he did buy a poison
	Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
	Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
	Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
	See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
	That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.
	And I for winking at your discords too
	Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.

CAPULET	O brother Montague, give me thy hand:
	This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
	Can I demand.

MONTAGUE	                  But I can give thee more:
	For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
	That while Verona by that name is known,
	There shall no figure at such rate be set
	As that of true and faithful Juliet.

CAPULET	As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;
	Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

PRINCE	A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
	The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:
	Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
	Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
	For never was a story of more woe
	Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

	[Exeunt]
	TIMON OF ATHENS



	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


TIMON	of Athens.


LUCIUS	|
	|
LUCULLUS	|  flattering lords.
	|
SEMPRONIUS	|


VENTIDIUS	one of Timon's false friends.

ALCIBIADES	an Athenian captain.

APEMANTUS	a churlish philosopher.

FLAVIUS	steward to Timon.

	Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. (Poet:)
	(Painter:)
	(Jeweller:)
	(Merchant:)

	An old Athenian. (Old Athenian:)


FLAMINIUS	|
	|
LUCILIUS	|  servants to Timon.
	|
SERVILIUS	|


CAPHIS	|
	|
PHILOTUS	|
	|
TITUS	|
	|  servants to Timon's creditors.
LUCIUS	|
	|
HORTENSIUS	|
	|
And others	|


	A Page. (Page:)

	A Fool. (Fool:)

	Three Strangers.
	(First Stranger:)
	(Second Stranger:)
	(Third Stranger:)


PHRYNIA	|
	|  mistresses to Alcibiades.
TIMANDRA	|


	Cupid and Amazons in the mask. (Cupid:)

	Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,
	Banditti, and Attendants.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)
	(Fourth Lord:)
	(Senator:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(Third Senator:)
	(Soldier:)
	(First Bandit:)
	(Second Bandit:)
	(Third Bandit:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)
	(Varro's First Servant:)
	(Varro's Second Servant:)
	(Lucilius' Servant:)


SCENE	Athens, and the neighbouring woods.




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT I



SCENE I	Athens. A hall in Timon's house.


	[Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and
	others, at several doors]

Poet	Good day, sir.

Painter	                  I am glad you're well.

Poet	I have not seen you long: how goes the world?

Painter	It wears, sir, as it grows.

Poet	Ay, that's well known:
	But what particular rarity? what strange,
	Which manifold record not matches? See,
	Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
	Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Painter	I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

Merchant	O, 'tis a worthy lord.

Jeweller	Nay, that's most fix'd.

Merchant	A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
	To an untirable and continuate goodness:
	He passes.

Jeweller:	I have a jewel here--

Merchant	O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?

Jeweller:	If he will touch the estimate: but, for that--

Poet	[Reciting to himself]  'When we for recompense have
	praised the vile,
	It stains the glory in that happy verse
	Which aptly sings the good.'

Merchant	'Tis a good form.

	[Looking at the jewel]

Jeweller	And rich: here is a water, look ye.

Painter	You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
	To the great lord.

Poet	                  A thing slipp'd idly from me.
	Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
	From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint
	Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
	Provokes itself and like the current flies
	Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Painter	A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

Poet	Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
	Let's see your piece.

Painter	'Tis a good piece.

Poet	So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

Painter	Indifferent.

Poet	                  Admirable: how this grace
	Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
	This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
	Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
	One might interpret.

Painter	It is a pretty mocking of the life.
	Here is a touch; is't good?

Poet	I will say of it,
	It tutors nature: artificial strife
	Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

	[Enter certain Senators, and pass over]

Painter	How this lord is follow'd!

Poet	The senators of Athens: happy man!

Painter	Look, more!

Poet	You see this confluence, this great flood
	of visitors.
	I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
	Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
	With amplest entertainment: my free drift
	Halts not particularly, but moves itself
	In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
	Infects one comma in the course I hold;
	But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
	Leaving no tract behind.

Painter	How shall I understand you?

Poet	I will unbolt to you.
	You see how all conditions, how all minds,
	As well of glib and slippery creatures as
	Of grave and austere quality, tender down
	Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune
	Upon his good and gracious nature hanging
	Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
	All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
	To Apemantus, that few things loves better
	Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
	The knee before him, and returns in peace
	Most rich in Timon's nod.

Painter	I saw them speak together.

Poet	Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
	Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount
	Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
	That labour on the bosom of this sphere
	To propagate their states: amongst them all,
	Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
	One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
	Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
	Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
	Translates his rivals.

Painter	'Tis conceived to scope.
	This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
	With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
	Bowing his head against the sleepy mount
	To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
	In our condition.

Poet	                  Nay, sir, but hear me on.
	All those which were his fellows but of late,
	Some better than his value, on the moment
	Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
	Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
	Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
	Drink the free air.

Painter	Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet	When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
	Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants
	Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
	Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
	Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Painter	'Tis common:
	A thousand moral paintings I can show
	That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
	More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
	To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
	The foot above the head.

	[Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself
	courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from
	VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
	servants following]

TIMON	Imprison'd is he, say you?

Messenger	Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,
	His means most short, his creditors most strait:
	Your honourable letter he desires
	To those have shut him up; which failing,
	Periods his comfort.

TIMON	Noble Ventidius! Well;
	I am not of that feather to shake off
	My friend when he must need me. I do know him
	A gentleman that well deserves a help:
	Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt,
	and free him.

Messenger	Your lordship ever binds him.

TIMON	Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
	And being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
	'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
	But to support him after. Fare you well.

Messenger	All happiness to your honour!

	[Exit]

	[Enter an old Athenian]

Old Athenian	Lord Timon, hear me speak.

TIMON	Freely, good father.

Old Athenian	Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.

TIMON	I have so: what of him?

Old Athenian	Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

TIMON	Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!

LUCILIUS	Here, at your lordship's service.

Old Athenian	This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
	By night frequents my house. I am a man
	That from my first have been inclined to thrift;
	And my estate deserves an heir more raised
	Than one which holds a trencher.

TIMON	Well; what further?

Old Athenian	One only daughter have I, no kin else,
	On whom I may confer what I have got:
	The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,
	And I have bred her at my dearest cost
	In qualities of the best. This man of thine
	Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
	Join with me to forbid him her resort;
	Myself have spoke in vain.

TIMON	The man is honest.

Old Athenian	Therefore he will be, Timon:
	His honesty rewards him in itself;
	It must not bear my daughter.

TIMON	Does she love him?

Old Athenian	She is young and apt:
	Our own precedent passions do instruct us
	What levity's in youth.

TIMON	[To LUCILIUS]           Love you the maid?

LUCILIUS	Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Athenian	If in her marriage my consent be missing,
	I call the gods to witness, I will choose
	Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
	And dispossess her all.

TIMON	How shall she be endow'd,
	if she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Athenian	Three talents on the present; in future, all.

TIMON	This gentleman of mine hath served me long:
	To build his fortune I will strain a little,
	For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
	What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
	And make him weigh with her.

Old Athenian	Most noble lord,
	Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

TIMON	My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.

LUCILIUS	Humbly I thank your lordship: never may
	The state or fortune fall into my keeping,
	Which is not owed to you!

	[Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian]

Poet	Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!

TIMON	I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
	Go not away. What have you there, my friend?

Painter	A piece of painting, which I do beseech
	Your lordship to accept.

TIMON	Painting is welcome.
	The painting is almost the natural man;
	or since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
	He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
	Even such as they give out. I like your work;
	And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
	Till you hear further from me.

Painter	The gods preserve ye!

TIMON	Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;
	We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
	Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jeweller	What, my lord! dispraise?

TIMON	A more satiety of commendations.
	If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
	It would unclew me quite.

Jeweller	My lord, 'tis rated
	As those which sell would give: but you well know,
	Things of like value differing in the owners
	Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord,
	You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

TIMON	Well mock'd.

Merchant	No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
	Which all men speak with him.

TIMON	Look, who comes here: will you be chid?

	[Enter APEMANTUS]

Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship.

Merchant	He'll spare none.

TIMON	Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!

APEMANTUS	Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;
	When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

TIMON	Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.

APEMANTUS	Are they not Athenians?

TIMON	Yes.

APEMANTUS	Then I repent not.

Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name.

TIMON	Thou art proud, Apemantus.

APEMANTUS	Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.

TIMON	Whither art going?

APEMANTUS	To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

TIMON	That's a deed thou'lt die for.

APEMANTUS	Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.

TIMON	How likest thou this picture, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	The best, for the innocence.

TIMON	Wrought he not well that painted it?

APEMANTUS	He wrought better that made the painter; and yet
	he's but a filthy piece of work.

Painter	You're a dog.

APEMANTUS	Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog?

TIMON	Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	No; I eat not lords.

TIMON	An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies.

APEMANTUS	O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.

TIMON	That's a lascivious apprehension.

APEMANTUS	So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour.

TIMON	How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a
	man a doit.

TIMON	What dost thou think 'tis worth?

APEMANTUS	Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!

Poet	How now, philosopher!

APEMANTUS	Thou liest.

Poet	Art not one?

APEMANTUS	Yes.

Poet	Then I lie not.

APEMANTUS	Art not a poet?

Poet	Yes.

APEMANTUS	Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou
	hast feigned him a worthy fellow.

Poet	That's not feigned; he is so.

APEMANTUS	Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
	labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o'
	the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!

TIMON	What wouldst do then, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart.

TIMON	What, thyself?

APEMANTUS	Ay.

TIMON	Wherefore?

APEMANTUS	That I had no angry wit to be a lord.
	Art not thou a merchant?

Merchant	Ay, Apemantus.

APEMANTUS	Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!

Merchant	If traffic do it, the gods do it.

APEMANTUS	Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee!

	[Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger]

TIMON	What trumpet's that?

Messenger	'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
	All of companionship.

TIMON	Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us.

	[Exeunt some Attendants]

	You must needs dine with me: go not you hence
	Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done,
	Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.

	[Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest]

	Most welcome, sir!

APEMANTUS	                  So, so, there!
	Aches contract and starve your supple joints!
	That there should be small love 'mongst these
	sweet knaves,
	And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out
	Into baboon and monkey.

ALCIBIADES	Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed
	Most hungerly on your sight.

TIMON	Right welcome, sir!
	Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
	In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.

	[Exeunt all except APEMANTUS]

	[Enter two Lords]

First Lord	What time o' day is't, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Time to be honest.

First Lord	That time serves still.

APEMANTUS	The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it.

Second Lord	Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast?

APEMANTUS	Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.

Second Lord	Fare thee well, fare thee well.

APEMANTUS	Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.

Second Lord	Why, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to
	give thee none.

First Lord	Hang thyself!

APEMANTUS	No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy
	requests to thy friend.

Second Lord	Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence!

APEMANTUS	I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass.

	[Exit]

First Lord	He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in,
	And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes
	The very heart of kindness.

Second Lord	He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold,
	Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays
	Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him,
	But breeds the giver a return exceeding
	All use of quittance.

First Lord	The noblest mind he carries
	That ever govern'd man.

Second Lord	Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in?

First Lord	I'll keep you company.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT I



SCENE II	A banqueting-room in Timon's house.


	[Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet
	served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter
	TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS.
	Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS,
	discontentedly, like himself]

VENTIDIUS	Most honour'd Timon,
	It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age,
	And call him to long peace.
	He is gone happy, and has left me rich:
	Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
	To your free heart, I do return those talents,
	Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help
	I derived liberty.

TIMON	                  O, by no means,
	Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love:
	I gave it freely ever; and there's none
	Can truly say he gives, if he receives:
	If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
	To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.

VENTIDIUS	A noble spirit!

TIMON	                  Nay, my lords,

	[They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON]

	Ceremony was but devised at first
	To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
	Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;
	But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
	Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
	Than my fortunes to me.

	[They sit]

First Lord	My lord, we always have confess'd it.

APEMANTUS	Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not?

TIMON	O, Apemantus, you are welcome.

APEMANTUS	No;
	You shall not make me welcome:
	I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.

TIMON	Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there
	Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame.
	They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond
	man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by
	himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is
	he fit for't, indeed.

APEMANTUS	Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to
	observe; I give thee warning on't.

TIMON	I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian,
	therefore welcome: I myself would have no power;
	prithee, let my meat make thee silent.

APEMANTUS	I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should
	ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of
	men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me
	to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood;
	and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.
	I wonder men dare trust themselves with men:
	Methinks they should invite them without knives;
	Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
	There's much example for't; the fellow that sits
	next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the
	breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest
	man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a
	huge man, I should fear to drink at meals;
	Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes:
	Great men should drink with harness on their throats.

TIMON	My lord, in heart; and let the health go round.

Second Lord	Let it flow this way, my good lord.

APEMANTUS	Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides
	well. Those healths will make thee and thy state
	look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to
	be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire:
	This and my food are equals; there's no odds:
	Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

	Apemantus' grace.

	Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
	I pray for no man but myself:
	Grant I may never prove so fond,
	To trust man on his oath or bond;
	Or a harlot, for her weeping;
	Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping:
	Or a keeper with my freedom;
	Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
	Amen. So fall to't:
	Rich men sin, and I eat root.

	[Eats and drinks]

	Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!

TIMON	Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now.

ALCIBIADES	My heart is ever at your service, my lord.

TIMON	You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a
	dinner of friends.

ALCIBIADES	So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat
	like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast.

APEMANTUS	Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then,
	that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em!

First Lord	Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you
	would once use our hearts, whereby we might express
	some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves
	for ever perfect.

TIMON	O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods
	themselves have provided that I shall have much help
	from you: how had you been my friends else? why
	have you that charitable title from thousands, did
	not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told
	more of you to myself than you can with modesty
	speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm
	you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any
	friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they
	were the most needless creatures living, should we
	ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble
	sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their
	sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished
	myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We
	are born to do benefits: and what better or
	properer can we can our own than the riches of our
	friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have
	so many, like brothers, commanding one another's
	fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born!
	Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to
	forget their faults, I drink to you.

APEMANTUS	Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon.

Second Lord	Joy had the like conception in our eyes
	And at that instant like a babe sprung up.

APEMANTUS	Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.

Third Lord	I promise you, my lord, you moved me much.

APEMANTUS	Much!

	[Tucket, within]

TIMON	What means that trump?

	[Enter a Servant]

		 How now?

Servant	Please you, my lord, there are certain
	ladies most desirous of admittance.

TIMON	Ladies! what are their wills?

Servant	There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which
	bears that office, to signify their pleasures.

TIMON	I pray, let them be admitted.

	[Enter Cupid]

Cupid	Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all
	That of his bounties taste! The five best senses
	Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely
	To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear,
	Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise;
	They only now come but to feast thine eyes.

TIMON	They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance:
	Music, make their welcome!

	[Exit Cupid]

First Lord	You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved.

	[Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies
	as Amazons, with lutes in their hands,
	dancing and playing]

APEMANTUS	Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!
	They dance! they are mad women.
	Like madness is the glory of this life.
	As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
	We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
	And spend our flatteries, to drink those men
	Upon whose age we void it up again,
	With poisonous spite and envy.
	Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?
	Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves
	Of their friends' gift?
	I should fear those that dance before me now
	Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done;
	Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

	[The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of
	TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an
	Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty
	strain or two to the hautboys, and cease]

TIMON	You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,
	Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
	Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
	You have added worth unto 't and lustre,
	And entertain'd me with mine own device;
	I am to thank you for 't.

First Lady	My lord, you take us even at the best.

APEMANTUS	'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold
	taking, I doubt me.

TIMON	Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you:
	Please you to dispose yourselves.

All Ladies	Most thankfully, my lord.

	[Exeunt Cupid and Ladies]

TIMON	Flavius.

FLAVIUS	My lord?

TIMON	       The little casket bring me hither.

FLAVIUS	Yes, my lord. More jewels yet!
	There is no crossing him in 's humour;

	[Aside]

	Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should,
	When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could.
	'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,
	That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.

	[Exit]

First Lord	Where be our men?

Servant	Here, my lord, in readiness.

Second Lord	Our horses!

	[Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket]

TIMON	          O my friends,
	I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord,
	I must entreat you, honour me so much
	As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,
	Kind my lord.

First Lord	I am so far already in your gifts,--

All	So are we all.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate
	Newly alighted, and come to visit you.

TIMON	They are fairly welcome.

FLAVIUS	I beseech your honour,
	Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.

TIMON	Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee:
	I prithee, let's be provided to show them
	entertainment.

FLAVIUS	[Aside]  I scarce know how.

	[Enter a Second Servant]

Second Servant	May it please your honour, Lord Lucius,
	Out of his free love, hath presented to you
	Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.

TIMON	I shall accept them fairly; let the presents
	Be worthily entertain'd.

	[Enter a third Servant]

		   How now! what news?

Third Servant	Please you, my lord, that honourable
	gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company
	to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour
	two brace of greyhounds.

TIMON	I'll hunt with him; and let them be received,
	Not without fair reward.

FLAVIUS	[Aside]                What will this come to?
	He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,
	And all out of an empty coffer:
	Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,
	To show him what a beggar his heart is,
	Being of no power to make his wishes good:
	His promises fly so beyond his state
	That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes
	For every word: he is so kind that he now
	Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books.
	Well, would I were gently put out of office
	Before I were forced out!
	Happier is he that has no friend to feed
	Than such that do e'en enemies exceed.
	I bleed inwardly for my lord.

	[Exit]

TIMON	You do yourselves
	Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits:
	Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.

Second Lord	With more than common thanks I will receive it.

Third Lord	O, he's the very soul of bounty!

TIMON	And now I remember, my lord, you gave
	Good words the other day of a bay courser
	I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it.

Second Lord	O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that.

TIMON	You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man
	Can justly praise but what he does affect:
	I weigh my friend's affection with mine own;
	I'll tell you true. I'll call to you.

All Lords	O, none so welcome.

TIMON	I take all and your several visitations
	So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give;
	Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
	And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,
	Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich;
	It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living
	Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast
	Lie in a pitch'd field.

ALCIBIADES	Ay, defiled land, my lord.

First Lord	We are so virtuously bound--

TIMON	And so
	Am I to you.

Second Lord	So infinitely endear'd--

TIMON	All to you. Lights, more lights!

First Lord	The best of happiness,
	Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon!

TIMON	Ready for his friends.

	[Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON]

APEMANTUS	What a coil's here!
	Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!
	I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums
	That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:
	Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs,
	Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.

TIMON	Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be
	good to thee.

APEMANTUS	No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too,
	there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then
	thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long,
	Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in
	paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and
	vain-glories?

TIMON	Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am
	sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come
	with better music.

	[Exit]

APEMANTUS	So:
	Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then:
	I'll lock thy heaven from thee.
	O, that men's ears should be
	To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT II



SCENE I	A Senator's house.


	[Enter Senator, with papers in his hand]

Senator	And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore
	He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,
	Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion
	Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.
	If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog,
	And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.
	If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more
	Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
	Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight,
	And able horses. No porter at his gate,
	But rather one that smiles and still invites
	All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason
	Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho!
	Caphis, I say!

	[Enter CAPHIS]

CAPHIS	Here, sir; what is your pleasure?

Senator	Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon;
	Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased
	With slight denial, nor then silenced when--
	'Commend me to your master'--and the cap
	Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him,
	My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
	Out of mine own; his days and times are past
	And my reliances on his fracted dates
	Have smit my credit: I love and honour him,
	But must not break my back to heal his finger;
	Immediate are my needs, and my relief
	Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,
	But find supply immediate. Get you gone:
	Put on a most importunate aspect,
	A visage of demand; for, I do fear,
	When every feather sticks in his own wing,
	Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,
	Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.

CAPHIS	I go, sir.

Senator	'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you,
	And have the dates in contempt.

CAPHIS	I will, sir.

Senator	Go.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT II



SCENE II	The same. A hall in Timon's house.


	[Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand]

FLAVIUS	No care, no stop! so senseless of expense,
	That he will neither know how to maintain it,
	Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account
	How things go from him, nor resumes no care
	Of what is to continue: never mind
	Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.
	What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel:
	I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting.
	Fie, fie, fie, fie!

	[Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro]

CAPHIS	Good even, Varro: what,
	You come for money?

Varro's Servant	Is't not your business too?

CAPHIS	It is: and yours too, Isidore?

Isidore's Servant	It is so.

CAPHIS	Would we were all discharged!

Varro's Servant	I fear it.

CAPHIS	Here comes the lord.

	[Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, &c]

TIMON	So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again,
	My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will?

CAPHIS	My lord, here is a note of certain dues.

TIMON	Dues! Whence are you?

CAPHIS	Of Athens here, my lord.

TIMON	Go to my steward.

CAPHIS	Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
	To the succession of new days this month:
	My master is awaked by great occasion
	To call upon his own, and humbly prays you
	That with your other noble parts you'll suit
	In giving him his right.

TIMON	Mine honest friend,
	I prithee, but repair to me next morning.

CAPHIS	Nay, good my lord,--

TIMON	Contain thyself, good friend.

Varro's Servant	One Varro's servant, my good lord,--

Isidore's Servant	From Isidore;
	He humbly prays your speedy payment.

CAPHIS	If you did know, my lord, my master's wants--

Varro's Servant	'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past.

Isidore's Servant	         Your steward puts me off, my lord;
	And I am sent expressly to your lordship.

TIMON	Give me breath.
	I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;
	I'll wait upon you instantly.

	[Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords]

	[To FLAVIUS]

		        Come hither: pray you,
	How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd
	With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds,
	And the detention of long-since-due debts,
	Against my honour?

FLAVIUS	                  Please you, gentlemen,
	The time is unagreeable to this business:
	Your importunacy cease till after dinner,
	That I may make his lordship understand
	Wherefore you are not paid.

TIMON	Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd.

	[Exit]

FLAVIUS	Pray, draw near.

	[Exit]

	[Enter APEMANTUS and Fool]

CAPHIS	Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus:
	let's ha' some sport with 'em.

Varro's Servant	Hang him, he'll abuse us.

Isidore's Servant	A plague upon him, dog!

Varro's Servant	How dost, fool?

APEMANTUS	Dost dialogue with thy shadow?

Varro's Servant	I speak not to thee.

APEMANTUS	No,'tis to thyself.

	[To the Fool]

	Come away.

Isidore's Servant	There's the fool hangs on your back already.

APEMANTUS	No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet.

CAPHIS	Where's the fool now?

APEMANTUS	He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and
	usurers' men! bawds between gold and want!

All Servants	What are we, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Asses.

All Servants	Why?

APEMANTUS	That you ask me what you are, and do not know
	yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool.

Fool	How do you, gentlemen?

All Servants	Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress?

Fool	She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens
	as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth!

APEMANTUS	Good! gramercy.

	[Enter Page]

Fool	Look you, here comes my mistress' page.

Page	[To the Fool]  Why, how now, captain! what do you
	in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer
	thee profitably.

Page	Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of
	these letters: I know not which is which.

APEMANTUS	Canst not read?

Page	No.

APEMANTUS	There will little learning die then, that day thou
	art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to
	Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't
	die a bawd.

Page	Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a
	dog's death. Answer not; I am gone.

	[Exit]

APEMANTUS	E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with
	you to Lord Timon's.

Fool	Will you leave me there?

APEMANTUS	If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?

All Servants	Ay; would they served us!

APEMANTUS	So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief.

Fool	Are you three usurers' men?

All Servants	Ay, fool.

Fool	I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my
	mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come
	to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and
	go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house
	merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this?

Varro's Servant	I could render one.

APEMANTUS	Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster
	and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be
	no less esteemed.

Varro's Servant	What is a whoremaster, fool?

Fool	A fool in good clothes, and something like thee.
	'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord;
	sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher,
	with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is
	very often like a knight; and, generally, in all
	shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore
	to thirteen, this spirit walks in.

Varro's Servant	Thou art not altogether a fool.

Fool	Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as
	I have, so much wit thou lackest.

APEMANTUS	That answer might have become Apemantus.

All Servants	Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.

	[Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS]

APEMANTUS	Come with me, fool, come.

Fool	I do not always follow lover, elder brother and
	woman; sometime the philosopher.

	[Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool]

FLAVIUS	Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon.

	[Exeunt Servants]

TIMON	You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time
	Had you not fully laid my state before me,
	That I might so have rated my expense,
	As I had leave of means?

FLAVIUS	You would not hear me,
	At many leisures I proposed.

TIMON	Go to:
	Perchance some single vantages you took.
	When my indisposition put you back:
	And that unaptness made your minister,
	Thus to excuse yourself.

FLAVIUS	O my good lord,
	At many times I brought in my accounts,
	Laid them before you; you would throw them off,
	And say, you found them in mine honesty.
	When, for some trifling present, you have bid me
	Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;
	Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you
	To hold your hand more close: I did endure
	Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have
	Prompted you in the ebb of your estate
	And your great flow of debts. My loved lord,
	Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time--
	The greatest of your having lacks a half
	To pay your present debts.

TIMON	Let all my land be sold.

FLAVIUS	'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone;
	And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
	Of present dues: the future comes apace:
	What shall defend the interim? and at length
	How goes our reckoning?

TIMON	To Lacedaemon did my land extend.

FLAVIUS	O my good lord, the world is but a word:
	Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
	How quickly were it gone!

TIMON	You tell me true.

FLAVIUS	If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,
	Call me before the exactest auditors
	And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
	When all our offices have been oppress'd
	With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept
	With drunken spilth of wine, when every room
	Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy,
	I have retired me to a wasteful cock,
	And set mine eyes at flow.

TIMON	Prithee, no more.

FLAVIUS	Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!
	How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants
	This night englutted! Who is not Timon's?
	What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is
	Lord Timon's?
	Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!
	Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise,
	The breath is gone whereof this praise is made:
	Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers,
	These flies are couch'd.

TIMON	Come, sermon me no further:
	No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart;
	Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
	Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack,
	To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart;
	If I would broach the vessels of my love,
	And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,
	Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use
	As I can bid thee speak.

FLAVIUS	Assurance bless your thoughts!

TIMON	And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd,
	That I account them blessings; for by these
	Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you
	Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.
	Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!

	[Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants]

Servants	My lord? my lord?

TIMON	I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius;
	to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour
	to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their
	loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have
	found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let
	the request be fifty talents.

FLAMINIUS	As you have said, my lord.

FLAVIUS	[Aside]  Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum!

TIMON	Go you, sir, to the senators--
	Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have
	Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant
	A thousand talents to me.

FLAVIUS	I have been bold--
	For that I knew it the most general way--
	To them to use your signet and your name;
	But they do shake their heads, and I am here
	No richer in return.

TIMON	Is't true? can't be?

FLAVIUS	They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
	That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot
	Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,--
	But yet they could have wish'd--they know not--
	Something hath been amiss--a noble nature
	May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;--
	And so, intending other serious matters,
	After distasteful looks and these hard fractions,
	With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods
	They froze me into silence.

TIMON	You gods, reward them!
	Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows
	Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
	Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;
	'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;
	And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
	Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.

	[To a Servant]

	Go to Ventidius.

	[To FLAVIUS]

	Prithee, be not sad,
	Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak.
	No blame belongs to thee.

	[To Servant]

		    Ventidius lately
	Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd
	Into a great estate: when he was poor,
	Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends,
	I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me;
	Bid him suppose some good necessity
	Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd
	With those five talents.

	[Exit Servant]

	[To FLAVIUS]

		   That had, give't these fellows
	To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think,
	That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.

FLAVIUS	I would I could not think it: that thought is
	bounty's foe;
	Being free itself, it thinks all others so.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE I	A room in Lucullus' house.


	[FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him]

Servant	I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.

FLAMINIUS	I thank you, sir.

	[Enter LUCULLUS]

Servant	Here's my lord.

LUCULLUS	[Aside]  One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I
	warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver
	basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest
	Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir.
	Fill me some wine.

	[Exit Servants]

	And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted
	gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord
	and master?

FLAMINIUS	His health is well sir.

LUCULLUS	I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and
	what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?

FLAMINIUS	'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my
	lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to
	supply; who, having great and instant occasion to
	use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to
	furnish him, nothing doubting your present
	assistance therein.

LUCULLUS	La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas,
	good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not
	keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha'
	dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to
	supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less,
	and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning
	by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty
	is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get
	him from't.

	[Re-enter Servant, with wine]

Servant	Please your lordship, here is the wine.

LUCULLUS	Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee.

FLAMINIUS	Your lordship speaks your pleasure.

LUCULLUS	I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt
	spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what
	belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if
	the time use thee well: good parts in thee.

	[To Servant]

	Get you gone, sirrah.

	[Exit Servant]

	Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a
	bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou
	knowest well enough, although thou comest to me,
	that this is no time to lend money, especially upon
	bare friendship, without security. Here's three
	solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say
	thou sawest me not. Fare thee well.

FLAMINIUS	Is't possible the world should so much differ,
	And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness,
	To him that worships thee!

	[Throwing the money back]

LUCULLUS	Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.

	[Exit]

FLAMINIUS	May these add to the number that may scald thee!
	Let moulten coin be thy damnation,
	Thou disease of a friend, and not himself!
	Has friendship such a faint and milky heart,
	It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,
	I feel master's passion! this slave,
	Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him:
	Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment,
	When he is turn'd to poison?
	O, may diseases only work upon't!
	And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature
	Which my lord paid for, be of any power
	To expel sickness, but prolong his hour!

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE II	A public place.


	[Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers]

LUCILIUS	Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and
	an honourable gentleman.

First Stranger	We know him for no less, though we are but strangers
	to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and
	which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's
	happy hours are done and past, and his estate
	shrinks from him.

LUCILIUS	Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money.

Second Stranger	But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago,
	one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow
	so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and
	showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied.

LUCILIUS	How!

Second Stranger	I tell you, denied, my lord.

LUCILIUS	What a strange case was that! now, before the gods,
	I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man!
	there was very little honour showed in't. For my own
	part, I must needs confess, I have received some
	small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels
	and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his;
	yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should
	ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents.

	[Enter SERVILIUS]

SERVILIUS	See, by good hap, yonder's my lord;
	I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,--

	[To LUCIUS]

LUCILIUS	Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well:
	commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very
	exquisite friend.

SERVILIUS	May it please your honour, my lord hath sent--

LUCILIUS	Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to
	that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank
	him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now?

SERVILIUS	Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord;
	requesting your lordship to supply his instant use
	with so many talents.

LUCILIUS	I know his lordship is but merry with me;
	He cannot want fifty five hundred talents.

SERVILIUS	But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
	If his occasion were not virtuous,
	I should not urge it half so faithfully.

LUCILIUS	Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?

SERVILIUS	Upon my soul,'tis true, sir.

LUCILIUS	What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself
	against such a good time, when I might ha' shown
	myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I
	should purchase the day before for a little part,
	and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now,
	before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more
	beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon
	myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would
	not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now.
	Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I
	hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me,
	because I have no power to be kind: and tell him
	this from me, I count it one of my greatest
	afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an
	honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you
	befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him?

SERVILIUS	Yes, sir, I shall.

LUCILIUS	I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius.

	[Exit SERVILIUS]

	True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;
	And he that's once denied will hardly speed.

	[Exit]

First Stranger	Do you observe this, Hostilius?

Second Stranger	Ay, too well.

First Stranger	Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the
	same piece
	Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him
	His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in
	My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father,
	And kept his credit with his purse,
	Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money
	Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks,
	But Timon's silver treads upon his lip;
	And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man
	When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!--
	He does deny him, in respect of his,
	What charitable men afford to beggars.

Third Stranger	Religion groans at it.

First Stranger	For mine own part,
	I never tasted Timon in my life,
	Nor came any of his bounties over me,
	To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest,
	For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue
	And honourable carriage,
	Had his necessity made use of me,
	I would have put my wealth into donation,
	And the best half should have return'd to him,
	So much I love his heart: but, I perceive,
	Men must learn now with pity to dispense;
	For policy sits above conscience.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE III	A room in Sempronius' house.


	[Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's]

SEMPRONIUS	Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove
	all others?
	He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;
	And now Ventidius is wealthy too,
	Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these
	Owe their estates unto him.

Servant	My lord,
	They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for
	They have au denied him.

SEMPRONIUS	How! have they denied him?
	Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?
	And does he send to me? Three? hum!
	It shows but little love or judgment in him:
	Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like
	physicians,
	Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me?
	Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him,
	That might have known my place: I see no sense for't,
	But his occasion might have woo'd me first;
	For, in my conscience, I was the first man
	That e'er received gift from him:
	And does he think so backwardly of me now,
	That I'll requite its last? No:
	So it may prove an argument of laughter
	To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool.
	I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum,
	Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;
	I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,
	And with their faint reply this answer join;
	Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin.

	[Exit]

Servant	Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The
	devil knew not what he did when he made man
	politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot
	think but, in the end, the villainies of man will
	set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to
	appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked,
	like those that under hot ardent zeal would set
	whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his
	politic love.
	This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
	Save only the gods: now his friends are dead,
	Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
	Many a bounteous year must be employ'd
	Now to guard sure their master.
	And this is all a liberal course allows;
	Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house.

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE IV	The same. A hall in Timon's house.


	[Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of
	LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other
	Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out]

Varro's
First Servant	Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.

TITUS	The like to you kind Varro.

HORTENSIUS	Lucius!
	What, do we meet together?

Lucilius' Servant	Ay, and I think
	One business does command us all; for mine Is money.

TITUS	So is theirs and ours.

	[Enter PHILOTUS]

Lucilius' Servant	And Sir Philotus too!

PHILOTUS	Good day at once.

Lucilius' Servant	                  Welcome, good brother.
	What do you think the hour?

PHILOTUS	Labouring for nine.

Lucilius' Servant	So much?

PHILOTUS	Is not my lord seen yet?

Lucilius' Servant	Not yet.

PHILOTUS	I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.

Lucilius' Servant	Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him:
	You must consider that a prodigal course
	Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable.
	I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;
	That is one may reach deep enough, and yet
	Find little.

PHILOTUS	I am of your fear for that.

TITUS	I'll show you how to observe a strange event.
	Your lord sends now for money.

HORTENSIUS	Most true, he does.

TITUS	And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,
	For which I wait for money.

HORTENSIUS	It is against my heart.

Lucilius' Servant	Mark, how strange it shows,
	Timon in this should pay more than he owes:
	And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels,
	And send for money for 'em.

HORTENSIUS	I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness:
	I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,
	And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.

Varro's
First Servant	Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours?

Lucilius' Servant	Five thousand mine.

Varro's
First Servant	'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun,
	Your master's confidence was above mine;
	Else, surely, his had equall'd.

	Enter FLAMINIUS.

TITUS	One of Lord Timon's men.

Lucilius' Servant	Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to
	come forth?

FLAMINIUS	No, indeed, he is not.

TITUS	We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much.

FLAMINIUS	I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent.

	[Exit]

	[Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled]

Lucilius' Servant	Ha! is not that his steward muffled so?
	He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him.

TITUS	Do you hear, sir?

Varro's
Second Servant	By your leave, sir,--

FLAVIUS	What do ye ask of me, my friend?

TITUS	We wait for certain money here, sir.

FLAVIUS	Ay,
	If money were as certain as your waiting,
	'Twere sure enough.
	Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills,
	When your false masters eat of my lord's meat?
	Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts
	And take down the interest into their
	gluttonous maws.
	You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;
	Let me pass quietly:
	Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end;
	I have no more to reckon, he to spend.

Lucilius' Servant	Ay, but this answer will not serve.

FLAVIUS	If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you;
	For you serve knaves.

	[Exit]

Varro's
First Servant	How! what does his cashiered worship mutter?

Varro's
Second Servant	No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge
	enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no
	house to put his head in? such may rail against
	great buildings.

	[Enter SERVILIUS]

TITUS	O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.

SERVILIUS	If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some
	other hour, I should derive much from't; for,
	take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to
	discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him;
	he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber.

Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick:
	And, if it be so far beyond his health,
	Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,
	And make a clear way to the gods.

SERVILIUS	Good gods!

TITUS	We cannot take this for answer, sir.

FLAMINIUS	[Within]  Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!

	[Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following]

TIMON	What, are my doors opposed against my passage?
	Have I been ever free, and must my house
	Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?
	The place which I have feasted, does it now,
	Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?

Lucilius' Servant	Put in now, Titus.

TITUS	My lord, here is my bill.

Lucilius' Servant	Here's mine.

HORTENSIUS	And mine, my lord.

Both
Varro's Servants	And ours, my lord.

PHILOTUS	All our bills.

TIMON	Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle.

Lucilius' Servant	Alas, my lord,-

TIMON	Cut my heart in sums.

TITUS	Mine, fifty talents.

TIMON	Tell out my blood.

Lucilius' Servant	Five thousand crowns, my lord.

TIMON	Five thousand drops pays that.
	What yours?--and yours?

Varro's
First Servant	My lord,--

Varro's
Second Servant	My lord,--

TIMON	Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you!

	[Exit]

HORTENSIUS	'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps
	at their money: these debts may well be called
	desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS]

TIMON	They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.
	Creditors? devils!

FLAVIUS	My dear lord,--

TIMON	What if it should be so?

FLAVIUS	My lord,--

TIMON	I'll have it so. My steward!

FLAVIUS	Here, my lord.

TIMON	So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again,
	Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius:
	All, sirrah, all:
	I'll once more feast the rascals.

FLAVIUS	O my lord,
	You only speak from your distracted soul;
	There is not so much left, to furnish out
	A moderate table.

TIMON	                  Be't not in thy care; go,
	I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide
	Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE V	The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting.


First Senator	My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's
	Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die:
	Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

Second Senator	Most true; the law shall bruise him.

	[Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants]

ALCIBIADES	Honour, health, and compassion to the senate!

First Senator	Now, captain?

ALCIBIADES	I am an humble suitor to your virtues;
	For pity is the virtue of the law,
	And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
	It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
	Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood,
	Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth
	To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't.
	He is a man, setting his fate aside,
	Of comely virtues:
	Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice--
	An honour in him which buys out his fault--
	But with a noble fury and fair spirit,
	Seeing his reputation touch'd to death,
	He did oppose his foe:
	And with such sober and unnoted passion
	He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent,
	As if he had but proved an argument.

First Senator	You undergo too strict a paradox,
	Striving to make an ugly deed look fair:
	Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd
	To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling
	Upon the head of valour; which indeed
	Is valour misbegot and came into the world
	When sects and factions were newly born:
	He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer
	The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs
	His outsides, to wear them like his raiment,
	carelessly,
	And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
	To bring it into danger.
	If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill,
	What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!

ALCIBIADES	My lord,--

First Senator	       You cannot make gross sins look clear:
	To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

ALCIBIADES	My lords, then, under favour, pardon me,
	If I speak like a captain.
	Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,
	And not endure all threats? sleep upon't,
	And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
	Without repugnancy? If there be
	Such valour in the bearing, what make we
	Abroad? why then, women are more valiant
	That stay at home, if bearing carry it,
	And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon
	Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,
	If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,
	As you are great, be pitifully good:
	Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
	To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;
	But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
	To be in anger is impiety;
	But who is man that is not angry?
	Weigh but the crime with this.

Second Senator	You breathe in vain.

ALCIBIADES	In vain! his service done
	At Lacedaemon and Byzantium
	Were a sufficient briber for his life.

First Senator	What's that?

ALCIBIADES	I say, my lords, he has done fair service,
	And slain in fight many of your enemies:
	How full of valour did he bear himself
	In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!

Second Senator	He has made too much plenty with 'em;
	He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often
	Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner:
	If there were no foes, that were enough
	To overcome him: in that beastly fury
	He has been known to commit outrages,
	And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us,
	His days are foul and his drink dangerous.

First Senator	He dies.

ALCIBIADES	Hard fate! he might have died in war.
	My lords, if not for any parts in him--
	Though his right arm might purchase his own time
	And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you,
	Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both:
	And, for I know your reverend ages love
	Security, I'll pawn my victories, all
	My honours to you, upon his good returns.
	If by this crime he owes the law his life,
	Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore
	For law is strict, and war is nothing more.

First Senator	We are for law: he dies; urge it no more,
	On height of our displeasure: friend or brother,
	He forfeits his own blood that spills another.

ALCIBIADES	Must it be so? it must not be. My lords,
	I do beseech you, know me.

Second Senator	How!

ALCIBIADES	Call me to your remembrances.

Third Senator	What!

ALCIBIADES	I cannot think but your age has forgot me;
	It could not else be, I should prove so base,
	To sue, and be denied such common grace:
	My wounds ache at you.

First Senator	Do you dare our anger?
	'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect;
	We banish thee for ever.

ALCIBIADES	Banish me!
	Banish your dotage; banish usury,
	That makes the senate ugly.

First Senator	If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee,
	Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell
	our spirit,
	He shall be executed presently.

	[Exeunt Senators]

ALCIBIADES	Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live
	Only in bone, that none may look on you!
	I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes,
	While they have told their money and let out
	Their coin upon large interest, I myself
	Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?
	Is this the balsam that the usuring senate
	Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment!
	It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd;
	It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,
	That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up
	My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.
	'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;
	Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT III



SCENE VI	The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house.


	[Music. Tables set out: Servants attending.
	Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at
	several doors]

First Lord	The good time of day to you, sir.

Second Lord	I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord
	did but try us this other day.

First Lord	Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we
	encountered: I hope it is not so low with him as
	he made it seem in the trial of his several friends.

Second Lord	It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting.

First Lord	I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest
	inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me
	to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and
	I must needs appear.

Second Lord	In like manner was I in debt to my importunate
	business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am
	sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my
	provision was out.

First Lord	I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all
	things go.

Second Lord	Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of
	you?

First Lord	A thousand pieces.

Second Lord	A thousand pieces!

First Lord	What of you?

Second Lord	He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes.

	[Enter TIMON and Attendants]

TIMON	With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you?

First Lord	Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.

Second Lord	The swallow follows not summer more willing than we
	your lordship.

TIMON	[Aside]  Nor more willingly leaves winter; such
	summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not
	recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the
	music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the
	trumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently.

First Lord	I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship
	that I returned you an empty messenger.

TIMON	O, sir, let it not trouble you.

Second Lord	My noble lord,--

TIMON	Ah, my good friend, what cheer?

Second Lord	My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame,
	that, when your lordship this other day sent to me,
	I was so unfortunate a beggar.

TIMON	Think not on 't, sir.

Second Lord	If you had sent but two hours before,--

TIMON	Let it not cumber your better remembrance.

	[The banquet brought in]

	Come, bring in all together.

Second Lord	All covered dishes!

First Lord	Royal cheer, I warrant you.

Third Lord	Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield
	it.

First Lord	How do you? What's the news?

Third Lord	Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it?


First Lord	|
	|  Alcibiades banished!
Second Lord	|


Third Lord	'Tis so, be sure of it.

First Lord	How! how!

Second Lord	I pray you, upon what?

TIMON	My worthy friends, will you draw near?

Third Lord	I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward.

Second Lord	This is the old man still.

Third Lord	Will 't hold? will 't hold?

Second Lord	It does: but time will--and so--

Third Lord	I do conceive.

TIMON	Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to
	the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all
	places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let
	the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place:
	sit, sit. The gods require our thanks.

	You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with
	thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves
	praised: but reserve still to give, lest your
	deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that
	one need not lend to another; for, were your
	godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the
	gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man
	that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without
	a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at
	the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The
	rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens,
	together with the common lag of people--what is
	amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for
	destruction. For these my present friends, as they
	are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to
	nothing are they welcome.

	Uncover, dogs, and lap.

	[The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of
	warm water]

Some Speak	What does his lordship mean?

Some Others	I know not.

TIMON	May you a better feast never behold,
	You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water
	Is your perfection. This is Timon's last;
	Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,
	Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces
	Your reeking villany.

	[Throwing the water in their faces]

		Live loathed and long,
	Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
	Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,
	You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies,
	Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks!
	Of man and beast the infinite malady
	Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go?
	Soft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;--
	Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.

	[Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out]

	What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast,
	Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.
	Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be
	Of Timon man and all humanity!

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter the Lords, Senators, &c]

First Lord	How now, my lords!

Second Lord	Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury?

Third Lord	Push! did you see my cap?

Fourth Lord	I have lost my gown.

First Lord	He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him.
	He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has
	beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel?

Third Lord	Did you see my cap?

Second Lord	Here 'tis.

Fourth Lord	Here lies my gown.

First Lord	Let's make no stay.

Second Lord	Lord Timon's mad.

Third Lord	I feel 't upon my bones.

Fourth Lord	One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT IV



SCENE I	Without the walls of Athens.


	[Enter TIMON]

TIMON	Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall,
	That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth,
	And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent!
	Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools,
	Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,
	And minister in their steads! to general filths
	Convert o' the instant, green virginity,
	Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;
	Rather than render back, out with your knives,
	And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal!
	Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
	And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed;
	Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen,
	pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire,
	With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear,
	Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
	Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,
	Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,
	Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
	Decline to your confounding contraries,
	And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men,
	Your potent and infectious fevers heap
	On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica,
	Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
	As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty
	Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,
	That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive,
	And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains,
	Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop
	Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,
	at their society, as their friendship, may
	merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
	But nakedness, thou detestable town!
	Take thou that too, with multiplying bans!
	Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
	The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
	The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all--
	The Athenians both within and out that wall!
	And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
	To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen.

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT IV



SCENE II	Athens. A room in Timon's house.


	[Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants]

First Servant	Hear you, master steward, where's our master?
	Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining?

FLAVIUS	Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
	Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
	I am as poor as you.

First Servant	Such a house broke!
	So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not
	One friend to take his fortune by the arm,
	And go along with him!

Second Servant	As we do turn our backs
	From our companion thrown into his grave,
	So his familiars to his buried fortunes
	Slink all away, leave their false vows with him,
	Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,
	A dedicated beggar to the air,
	With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,
	Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.

	[Enter other Servants]

FLAVIUS	All broken implements of a ruin'd house.

Third Servant	Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;
	That see I by our faces; we are fellows still,
	Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark,
	And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,
	Hearing the surges threat: we must all part
	Into this sea of air.

FLAVIUS	Good fellows all,
	The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
	Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,
	Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say,
	As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,
	'We have seen better days.' Let each take some;
	Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more:
	Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

	[Servants embrace, and part several ways]

	O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
	Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
	Since riches point to misery and contempt?
	Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live
	But in a dream of friendship?
	To have his pomp and all what state compounds
	But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
	Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
	Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
	When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
	Who, then, dares to be half so kind again?
	For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
	My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed,
	Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes
	Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
	He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat
	Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to
	Supply his life, or that which can command it.
	I'll follow and inquire him out:
	I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;
	Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still.

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT IV



SCENE III	Woods and cave, near the seashore.


	[Enter TIMON, from the cave]

	O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
	Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb
	Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,
	Whose procreation, residence, and birth,
	Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes;
	The greater scorns the lesser: not nature,
	To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,
	But by contempt of nature.
	Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord;
	The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
	The beggar native honour.
	It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,
	The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
	In purity of manhood stand upright,
	And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be,
	So are they all; for every grise of fortune
	Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
	Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique;
	There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
	But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd
	All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
	His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
	Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!

	[Digging]

	Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
	With thy most operant poison! What is here?
	Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
	I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens!
	Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,
	Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.
	Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this
	Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
	Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:
	This yellow slave
	Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed,
	Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves
	And give them title, knee and approbation
	With senators on the bench: this is it
	That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
	She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores
	Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
	To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
	Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
	Among the route of nations, I will make thee
	Do thy right nature.

	[March afar off]

		Ha! a drum? Thou'rt quick,
	But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief,
	When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
	Nay, stay thou out for earnest.

	[Keeping some gold]

	[Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in
	warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA]

ALCIBIADES	What art thou there? speak.

TIMON	A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart,
	For showing me again the eyes of man!

ALCIBIADES	What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee,
	That art thyself a man?

TIMON	I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
	For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
	That I might love thee something.

ALCIBIADES	I know thee well;
	But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.

TIMON	I know thee too; and more than that I know thee,
	I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;
	With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:
	Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;
	Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
	Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
	For all her cherubim look.

PHRYNIA	Thy lips rot off!

TIMON	I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
	To thine own lips again.

ALCIBIADES	How came the noble Timon to this change?

TIMON	As the moon does, by wanting light to give:
	But then renew I could not, like the moon;
	There were no suns to borrow of.

ALCIBIADES	Noble Timon,
	What friendship may I do thee?

TIMON	None, but to
	Maintain my opinion.

ALCIBIADES	What is it, Timon?

TIMON	Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou
	wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art
	a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for
	thou art a man!

ALCIBIADES	I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.

TIMON	Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity.

ALCIBIADES	I see them now; then was a blessed time.

TIMON	As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.

TIMANDRA	Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world
	Voiced so regardfully?

TIMON	Art thou Timandra?

TIMANDRA	Yes.

TIMON	Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee;
	Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
	Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves
	For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth
	To the tub-fast and the diet.

TIMANDRA	Hang thee, monster!

ALCIBIADES	Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits
	Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
	I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
	The want whereof doth daily make revolt
	In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved,
	How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
	Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
	But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,--

TIMON	I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.

ALCIBIADES	I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.

TIMON	How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?
	I had rather be alone.

ALCIBIADES	Why, fare thee well:
	Here is some gold for thee.

TIMON	Keep it, I cannot eat it.

ALCIBIADES	When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,--

TIMON	Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?

ALCIBIADES	Ay, Timon, and have cause.

TIMON	The gods confound them all in thy conquest;
	And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!

ALCIBIADES	Why me, Timon?

TIMON	                  That, by killing of villains,
	Thou wast born to conquer my country.
	Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on;
	Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
	Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison
	In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one:
	Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;
	He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron;
	It is her habit only that is honest,
	Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek
	Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,
	That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
	Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
	But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe,
	Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
	Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
	Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,
	And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;
	Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes;
	Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
	Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
	Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers:
	Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
	Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.

ALCIBIADES	Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou
	givest me,
	Not all thy counsel.

TIMON	Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse
	upon thee!


PHRYNIA	|
	|  Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more?
TIMANDRA	|


TIMON	Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
	And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
	Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable,
	Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear
	Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues
	The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths,
	I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;
	And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
	Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
	Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
	And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months,
	Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs
	With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd,
	No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still;
	Paint till a horse may mire upon your face,
	A pox of wrinkles!


PHRYNIA	|
	|  Well, more gold: what then?
TIMANDRA	|   Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold.


TIMON	Consumptions sow
	In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,
	And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
	That he may never more false title plead,
	Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,
	That scolds against the quality of flesh,
	And not believes himself: down with the nose,
	Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
	Of him that, his particular to foresee,
	Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate
	ruffians bald;
	And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
	Derive some pain from you: plague all;
	That your activity may defeat and quell
	The source of all erection. There's more gold:
	Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
	And ditches grave you all!


PHRYNIA	|
	|  More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.
TIMANDRA	|


TIMON	More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

ALCIBIADES	Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon:
	If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

TIMON	If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.

ALCIBIADES	I never did thee harm.

TIMON	Yes, thou spokest well of me.

ALCIBIADES	Call'st thou that harm?

TIMON	Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take
	Thy beagles with thee.

ALCIBIADES	We but offend him. Strike!

	[Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA,
	and TIMANDRA]

TIMON	That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,
	Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,

	[Digging]

	Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,
	Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,
	Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
	Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
	The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,
	With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven
	Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
	Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,
	From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
	Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,
	Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
	Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;
	Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
	Hath to the marbled mansion all above
	Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!--
	Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;
	Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts
	And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
	That from it all consideration slips!

	[Enter APEMANTUS]

	More man? plague, plague!

APEMANTUS	I was directed hither: men report
	Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.

TIMON	'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,
	Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!

APEMANTUS	This is in thee a nature but infected;
	A poor unmanly melancholy sprung
	From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?
	This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?
	Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
	Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot
	That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
	By putting on the cunning of a carper.
	Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
	By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
	And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,
	Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
	And call it excellent: thou wast told thus;
	Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome
	To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just
	That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,
	Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness.

TIMON	Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself.

APEMANTUS	Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;
	A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st
	That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
	Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees,
	That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels,
	And skip where thou point'st out? will the
	cold brook,
	Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,
	To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures
	Whose naked natures live in an the spite
	Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
	To the conflicting elements exposed,
	Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;
	O, thou shalt find--

TIMON	A fool of thee: depart.

APEMANTUS	I love thee better now than e'er I did.

TIMON	I hate thee worse.

APEMANTUS	                  Why?

TIMON	Thou flatter'st misery.

APEMANTUS	I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff.

TIMON	Why dost thou seek me out?

APEMANTUS	To vex thee.

TIMON	Always a villain's office or a fool's.
	Dost please thyself in't?

APEMANTUS	Ay.

TIMON	What! a knave too?

APEMANTUS	If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
	To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou
	Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again,
	Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
	Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before:
	The one is filling still, never complete;
	The other, at high wish: best state, contentless,
	Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
	Worse than the worst, content.
	Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.

TIMON	Not by his breath that is more miserable.
	Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm
	With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
	Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded
	The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
	To such as may the passive drugs of it
	Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself
	In general riot; melted down thy youth
	In different beds of lust; and never learn'd
	The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd
	The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
	Who had the world as my confectionary,
	The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men
	At duty, more than I could frame employment,
	That numberless upon me stuck as leaves
	Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush
	Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare
	For every storm that blows: I, to bear this,
	That never knew but better, is some burden:
	Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
	Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?
	They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given?
	If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
	Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff
	To some she beggar and compounded thee
	Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone!
	If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
	Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.

APEMANTUS	Art thou proud yet?

TIMON	Ay, that I am not thee.

APEMANTUS	I, that I was
	No prodigal.

TIMON	                  I, that I am one now:
	Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,
	I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.
	That the whole life of Athens were in this!
	Thus would I eat it.

	[Eating a root]

APEMANTUS	Here; I will mend thy feast.

	[Offering him a root]

TIMON	First mend my company, take away thyself.

APEMANTUS	So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine.

TIMON	'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd;
	if not, I would it were.

APEMANTUS	What wouldst thou have to Athens?

TIMON	Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,
	Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.

APEMANTUS	Here is no use for gold.

TIMON	The best and truest;
	For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.

APEMANTUS	Where liest o' nights, Timon?

TIMON	Under that's above me.
	Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus?

APEMANTUS	Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat
	it.

TIMON	Would poison were obedient and knew my mind!

APEMANTUS	Where wouldst thou send it?

TIMON	To sauce thy dishes.

APEMANTUS	The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the
	extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt
	and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much
	curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art
	despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for
	thee, eat it.

TIMON	On what I hate I feed not.

APEMANTUS	Dost hate a medlar?

TIMON	Ay, though it look like thee.

APEMANTUS	An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst
	have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou
	ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means?

TIMON	Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou
	ever know beloved?

APEMANTUS	Myself.

TIMON	I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a
	dog.

APEMANTUS	What things in the world canst thou nearest compare
	to thy flatterers?

TIMON	Women nearest; but men, men are the things
	themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world,
	Apemantus, if it lay in thy power?

APEMANTUS	Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.

TIMON	Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of
	men, and remain a beast with the beasts?

APEMANTUS	Ay, Timon.

TIMON	A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t'
	attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would
	beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would
	eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would
	suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by
	the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would
	torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a
	breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy
	greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst
	hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the
	unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and
	make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert
	thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse:
	wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the
	leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to
	the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on
	thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy
	defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that
	were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art
	thou already, that seest not thy loss in
	transformation!

APEMANTUS	If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou
	mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of
	Athens is become a forest of beasts.

TIMON	How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city?

APEMANTUS	Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of
	company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it
	and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll
	see thee again.

TIMON	When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be
	welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus.

APEMANTUS	Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.

TIMON	Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!

APEMANTUS	A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.

TIMON	All villains that do stand by thee are pure.

APEMANTUS	There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.

TIMON	If I name thee.
	I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.

APEMANTUS	I would my tongue could rot them off!

TIMON	Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!
	Choler does kill me that thou art alive;
	I swound to see thee.

APEMANTUS	Would thou wouldst burst!

TIMON	Away,
	Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose
	A stone by thee.

	[Throws a stone at him]

APEMANTUS	                  Beast!

TIMON	Slave!

APEMANTUS	Toad!

TIMON	Rogue, rogue, rogue!
	I am sick of this false world, and will love nought
	But even the mere necessities upon 't.
	Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;
	Lie where the light foam the sea may beat
	Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph,
	That death in me at others' lives may laugh.

	[To the gold]

	O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
	'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
	Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
	Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer,
	Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
	That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
	That solder'st close impossibilities,
	And makest them kiss! that speak'st with
	every tongue,
	To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!
	Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue
	Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
	May have the world in empire!

APEMANTUS	Would 'twere so!
	But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold:
	Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.

TIMON	Throng'd to!

APEMANTUS	Ay.

TIMON	Thy back, I prithee.

APEMANTUS	Live, and love thy misery.

TIMON	Long live so, and so die.

	[Exit APEMANTUS]

		    I am quit.
	Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them.

	[Enter Banditti]

First Bandit	Where should he have this gold? It is some poor
	fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the
	mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his
	friends, drove him into this melancholy.

Second Bandit	It is noised he hath a mass of treasure.

Third Bandit	Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not
	for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously
	reserve it, how shall's get it?

Second Bandit	True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid.

First Bandit	Is not this he?

Banditti	Where?

Second Bandit	'Tis his description.

Third Bandit	He; I know him.

Banditti	Save thee, Timon.

TIMON	Now, thieves?

Banditti	Soldiers, not thieves.

TIMON	Both too; and women's sons.

Banditti	We are not thieves, but men that much do want.

TIMON	Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.
	Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;
	Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;
	The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips;
	The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush
	Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want?

First Bandit	We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,
	As beasts and birds and fishes.

TIMON	Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;
	You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con
	That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not
	In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft
	In limited professions. Rascal thieves,
	Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape,
	Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,
	And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician;
	His antidotes are poison, and he slays
	Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together;
	Do villany, do, since you protest to do't,
	Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery.
	The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
	Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief,
	And her pale fire she snatches from the sun:
	The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
	The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief,
	That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
	From general excrement: each thing's a thief:
	The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
	Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away,
	Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats:
	All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go,
	Break open shops; nothing can you steal,
	But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this
	I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen.

Third Bandit	Has almost charmed me from my profession, by
	persuading me to it.

First Bandit	'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises
	us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.

Second Bandit	I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade.

First Bandit	Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time
	so miserable but a man may be true.

	[Exeunt Banditti]

	[Enter FLAVIUS]

FLAVIUS	O you gods!
	Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord?
	Full of decay and failing? O monument
	And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!
	What an alteration of honour
	Has desperate want made!
	What viler thing upon the earth than friends
	Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
	How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
	When man was wish'd to love his enemies!
	Grant I may ever love, and rather woo
	Those that would mischief me than those that do!
	Has caught me in his eye: I will present
	My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord,
	Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!

TIMON	Away! what art thou?

FLAVIUS	Have you forgot me, sir?

TIMON	Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;
	Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee.

FLAVIUS	An honest poor servant of yours.

TIMON	Then I know thee not:
	I never had honest man about me, I; all
	I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.

FLAVIUS	The gods are witness,
	Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
	For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.

TIMON	What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I
	love thee,
	Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
	Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give
	But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping:
	Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!

FLAVIUS	I beg of you to know me, good my lord,
	To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts
	To entertain me as your steward still.

TIMON	Had I a steward
	So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
	It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.
	Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man
	Was born of woman.
	Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
	You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim
	One honest man--mistake me not--but one;
	No more, I pray,--and he's a steward.
	How fain would I have hated all mankind!
	And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee,
	I fell with curses.
	Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;
	For, by oppressing and betraying me,
	Thou mightst have sooner got another service:
	For many so arrive at second masters,
	Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true--
	For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure--
	Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
	If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts,
	Expecting in return twenty for one?

FLAVIUS	No, my most worthy master; in whose breast
	Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late:
	You should have fear'd false times when you did feast:
	Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
	That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,
	Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind,
	Care of your food and living; and, believe it,
	My most honour'd lord,
	For any benefit that points to me,
	Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange
	For this one wish, that you had power and wealth
	To requite me, by making rich yourself.

TIMON	Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,
	Here, take: the gods out of my misery
	Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy;
	But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men;
	Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,
	But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,
	Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs
	What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em,
	Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like
	blasted woods,
	And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
	And so farewell and thrive.

FLAVIUS	O, let me stay,
	And comfort you, my master.

TIMON	If thou hatest curses,
	Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free:
	Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

	[Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT V



SCENE I	The woods. Before Timon's cave.


	[Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching
	them from his cave]

Painter	As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where
	he abides.

Poet	What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold
	for true, that he's so full of gold?

Painter	Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and
	Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor
	straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said
	he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

Poet	Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.

Painter	Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens
	again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore
	'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this
	supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in
	us; and is very likely to load our purposes with
	what they travail for, if it be a just true report
	that goes of his having.

Poet	What have you now to present unto him?

Painter	Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will
	promise him an excellent piece.

Poet	I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent
	that's coming toward him.

Painter	Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the
	time: it opens the eyes of expectation:
	performance is ever the duller for his act; and,
	but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the
	deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is
	most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind
	of will or testament which argues a great sickness
	in his judgment that makes it.

	[TIMON comes from his cave, behind]

TIMON	[Aside]  Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a
	man so bad as is thyself.

Poet	I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for
	him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire
	against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery
	of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

TIMON	[Aside]  Must thou needs stand for a villain in
	thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in
	other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet	Nay, let's seek him:
	Then do we sin against our own estate,
	When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Painter	True;
	When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
	Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come.

TIMON	[Aside]  I'll meet you at the turn. What a
	god's gold,
	That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple
	Than where swine feed!
	'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam,
	Settlest admired reverence in a slave:
	To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye
	Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey!
	Fit I meet them.

	[Coming forward]

Poet	Hail, worthy Timon!

Painter	Our late noble master!

TIMON	Have I once lived to see two honest men?

Poet	Sir,
	Having often of your open bounty tasted,
	Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off,
	Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!--
	Not all the whips of heaven are large enough:
	What! to you,
	Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
	To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover
	The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
	With any size of words.

TIMON	Let it go naked, men may see't the better:
	You that are honest, by being what you are,
	Make them best seen and known.

Painter	He and myself
	Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts,
	And sweetly felt it.

TIMON	Ay, you are honest men.

Painter	We are hither come to offer you our service.

TIMON	Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?
	Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both	What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.

TIMON	Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold;
	I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men.

Painter	So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
	Came not my friend nor I.

TIMON	Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit
	Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best;
	Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Painter	So, so, my lord.

TIMON	E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction,
	Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth
	That thou art even natural in thine art.
	But, for all this, my honest-natured friends,
	I must needs say you have a little fault:
	Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I
	You take much pains to mend.

Both	Beseech your honour
	To make it known to us.

TIMON	You'll take it ill.

Both	Most thankfully, my lord.

TIMON	Will you, indeed?

Both	Doubt it not, worthy lord.

TIMON	There's never a one of you but trusts a knave,
	That mightily deceives you.

Both	Do we, my lord?

TIMON	Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,
	Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,
	Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured
	That he's a made-up villain.

Painter	I know none such, my lord.

Poet	Nor I.

TIMON	Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold,
	Rid me these villains from your companies:
	Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,
	Confound them by some course, and come to me,
	I'll give you gold enough.

Both	Name them, my lord, let's know them.

TIMON	You that way and you this, but two in company;
	Each man apart, all single and alone,
	Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
	If where thou art two villains shall not be,
	Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside
	But where one villain is, then him abandon.
	Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves:

	[To Painter]

	You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence!

	[To Poet]

	You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
	Out, rascal dogs!

	[Beats them out, and then retires to his cave]

	[Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators]

FLAVIUS	It is in vain that you would speak with Timon;
	For he is set so only to himself
	That nothing but himself which looks like man
	Is friendly with him.

First Senator	Bring us to his cave:
	It is our part and promise to the Athenians
	To speak with Timon.

Second Senator	At all times alike
	Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs
	That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand,
	Offering the fortunes of his former days,
	The former man may make him. Bring us to him,
	And chance it as it may.

FLAVIUS	Here is his cave.
	Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!
	Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians,
	By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee:
	Speak to them, noble Timon.

	[TIMON comes from his cave]

TIMON	Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and
	be hang'd:
	For each true word, a blister! and each false
	Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue,
	Consuming it with speaking!

First Senator	Worthy Timon,--

TIMON	Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.

First Senator	The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.

TIMON	I thank them; and would send them back the plague,
	Could I but catch it for them.

First Senator	O, forget
	What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
	The senators with one consent of love
	Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought
	On special dignities, which vacant lie
	For thy best use and wearing.

Second Senator	They confess
	Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross:
	Which now the public body, which doth seldom
	Play the recanter, feeling in itself
	A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
	Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon;
	And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render,
	Together with a recompense more fruitful
	Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
	Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth
	As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs
	And write in thee the figures of their love,
	Ever to read them thine.

TIMON	You witch me in it;
	Surprise me to the very brink of tears:
	Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,
	And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.

First Senator	Therefore, so please thee to return with us
	And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take
	The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
	Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name
	Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back
	Of Alcibiades the approaches wild,
	Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
	His country's peace.

Second Senator	And shakes his threatening sword
	Against the walls of Athens.

First Senator	Therefore, Timon,--

TIMON	Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus:
	If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,
	Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
	That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens,
	And take our goodly aged men by the beards,
	Giving our holy virgins to the stain
	Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war,
	Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it,
	In pity of our aged and our youth,
	I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not,
	And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,
	While you have throats to answer: for myself,
	There's not a whittle in the unruly camp
	But I do prize it at my love before
	The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you
	To the protection of the prosperous gods,
	As thieves to keepers.

FLAVIUS	Stay not, all's in vain.

TIMON	Why, I was writing of my epitaph;
	it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness
	Of health and living now begins to mend,
	And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;
	Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,
	And last so long enough!

First Senator	We speak in vain.

TIMON	But yet I love my country, and am not
	One that rejoices in the common wreck,
	As common bruit doth put it.

First Senator	That's well spoke.

TIMON	Commend me to my loving countrymen,--

First Senator	These words become your lips as they pass
	thorough them.

Second Senator	And enter in our ears like great triumphers
	In their applauding gates.

TIMON	Commend me to them,
	And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,
	Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
	Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
	That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
	In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them:
	I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.

First Senator	I like this well; he will return again.

TIMON	I have a tree, which grows here in my close,
	That mine own use invites me to cut down,
	And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends,
	Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree
	From high to low throughout, that whoso please
	To stop affliction, let him take his haste,
	Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
	And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting.

FLAVIUS	Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.

TIMON	Come not to me again: but say to Athens,
	Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
	Upon the beached verge of the salt flood;
	Who once a day with his embossed froth
	The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come,
	And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
	Lips, let sour words go by and language end:
	What is amiss plague and infection mend!
	Graves only be men's works and death their gain!
	Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.

	[Retires to his cave]

First Senator	His discontents are unremoveably
	Coupled to nature.

Second Senator	Our hope in him is dead: let us return,
	And strain what other means is left unto us
	In our dear peril.

First Senator	                  It requires swift foot.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT V



SCENE II	Before the walls of Athens.


	[Enter two Senators and a Messenger]

First Senator	Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files
	As full as thy report?

Messenger	have spoke the least:
	Besides, his expedition promises
	Present approach.

Second Senator	We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon.

Messenger	I met a courier, one mine ancient friend;
	Whom, though in general part we were opposed,
	Yet our old love made a particular force,
	And made us speak like friends: this man was riding
	From Alcibiades to Timon's cave,
	With letters of entreaty, which imported
	His fellowship i' the cause against your city,
	In part for his sake moved.

First Senator	Here come our brothers.

	[Enter the Senators from TIMON]

Third Senator	No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.
	The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
	Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare:
	Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare.

	[Exeunt]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT V



SCENE III	The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen.


	[Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON]

Soldier	By all description this should be the place.
	Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this?
	Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span:
	Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man.
	Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb
	I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax:
	Our captain hath in every figure skill,
	An aged interpreter, though young in days:
	Before proud Athens he's set down by this,
	Whose fall the mark of his ambition is.

	[Exit]




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT V



SCENE IV	Before the walls of Athens.


	[Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers]

ALCIBIADES	Sound to this coward and lascivious town
	Our terrible approach.

	[A parley sounded]

	[Enter Senators on the walls]

	Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time
	With all licentious measure, making your wills
	The scope of justice; till now myself and such
	As slept within the shadow of your power
	Have wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed
	Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush,
	When crouching marrow in the bearer strong
	Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong
	Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,
	And pursy insolence shall break his wind
	With fear and horrid flight.

First Senator	Noble and young,
	When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
	Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,
	We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,
	To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
	Above their quantity.

Second Senator	So did we woo
	Transformed Timon to our city's love
	By humble message and by promised means:
	We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
	The common stroke of war.

First Senator	These walls of ours
	Were not erected by their hands from whom
	You have received your griefs; nor are they such
	That these great towers, trophies and schools
	should fall
	For private faults in them.

Second Senator	Nor are they living
	Who were the motives that you first went out;
	Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess
	Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,
	Into our city with thy banners spread:
	By decimation, and a tithed death--
	If thy revenges hunger for that food
	Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth,
	And by the hazard of the spotted die
	Let die the spotted.

First Senator	All have not offended;
	For those that were, it is not square to take
	On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands,
	Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,
	Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage:
	Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin
	Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall
	With those that have offended: like a shepherd,
	Approach the fold and cull the infected forth,
	But kill not all together.

Second Senator	What thou wilt,
	Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile
	Than hew to't with thy sword.

First Senator 	Set but thy foot
	Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope;
	So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,
	To say thou'lt enter friendly.

Second Senator	Throw thy glove,
	Or any token of thine honour else,
	That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress
	And not as our confusion, all thy powers
	Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
	Have seal'd thy full desire.

ALCIBIADES	Then there's my glove;
	Descend, and open your uncharged ports:
	Those enemies of Timon's and mine own
	Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof
	Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears
	With my more noble meaning, not a man
	Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
	Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
	But shall be render'd to your public laws
	At heaviest answer.

Both	'Tis most nobly spoken.

ALCIBIADES	Descend, and keep your words.

	[The Senators descend, and open the gates]

	[Enter Soldier]

Soldier	My noble general, Timon is dead;
	Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea;
	And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which
	With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
	Interprets for my poor ignorance.

ALCIBIADES	[Reads the epitaph]  'Here lies a
	wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:
	Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked
	caitiffs left!
	Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:
	Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay
	not here thy gait.'
	These well express in thee thy latter spirits:
	Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
	Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our
	droplets which
	From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
	Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
	On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
	Is noble Timon: of whose memory
	Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,
	And I will use the olive with my sword,
	Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each
	Prescribe to other as each other's leech.
	Let our drums strike.

	[Exeunt]
	TITUS ANDRONICUS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SATURNINUS	son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards
	declared Emperor.

BASSIANUS	brother to Saturninus; in love with Lavinia.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	a noble Roman, general against the Goths.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	tribune of the people, and brother to Titus.


LUCIUS	|
	|
QUINTUS	|
	|  sons to Titus Andronicus.
MARTIUS	|
	|
MUTIUS	|


Young LUCIUS	a boy, son to Lucius.

PUBLIUS	son to Marcus the Tribune.


SEMPRONIUS	|
	|
CAIUS	|  kinsmen to Titus.
	|
VALENTINE	|


AEMILIUS	a noble Roman.


ALARBUS	|
	|
DEMETRIUS	|  sons to Tamora.
	|
CHIRON	|


AARON	a Moor, beloved by Tamora.

	A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.
	(Captain:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Clown:)

	Goths and Romans.
	(First Goth:)
	(Second Goth:)
	(Third Goth:)

TAMORA	Queen of the Goths.

LAVINIA	daughter of Titus Andronicus.

	A Nurse. (Nurse:)

	Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and
	Attendants.



SCENE	Rome, and the country near it.




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT I



SCENE I	Rome. Before the Capitol.


	[The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes
	and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side,
	SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other
	side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours]

SATURNINUS	Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
	Defend the justice of my cause with arms,
	And, countrymen, my loving followers,
	Plead my successive title with your swords:
	I am his first-born son, that was the last
	That wore the imperial diadem of Rome;
	Then let my father's honours live in me,
	Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

BASSIANUS	Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right,
	If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
	Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
	Keep then this passage to the Capitol
	And suffer not dishonour to approach
	The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
	To justice, continence and nobility;
	But let desert in pure election shine,
	And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

	[Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
	Ambitiously for rule and empery,
	Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
	A special party, have, by common voice,
	In election for the Roman empery,
	Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
	For many good and great deserts to Rome:
	A nobler man, a braver warrior,
	Lives not this day within the city walls:
	He by the senate is accit'd home
	From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
	That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
	Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
	Ten years are spent since first he undertook
	This cause of Rome and chastised with arms
	Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd
	Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
	In coffins from the field;
	And now at last, laden with horror's spoils,
	Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
	Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
	Let us entreat, by honour of his name,
	Whom worthily you would have now succeed.
	And in the Capitol and senate's right,
	Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
	That you withdraw you and abate your strength;
	Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should,
	Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

SATURNINUS	How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!

BASSIANUS	Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally
	In thy uprightness and integrity,
	And so I love and honour thee and thine,
	Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,
	And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
	Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
	That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
	And to my fortunes and the people's favor
	Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

	[Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS]

SATURNINUS	Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,
	I thank you all and here dismiss you all,
	And to the love and favor of my country
	Commit myself, my person and the cause.

	[Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS]

	Rome, be as just and gracious unto me
	As I am confident and kind to thee.
	Open the gates, and let me in.

BASSIANUS	Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

	[Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol]

	[Enter a Captain]

Captain	Romans, make way: the good Andronicus.
	Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
	Successful in the battles that he fights,
	With honour and with fortune is return'd
	From where he circumscribed with his sword,
	And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

	[Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and
	MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin
	covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After
	them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with
	ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths,
	prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The
	Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
	Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught,
	Returns with precious jading to the bay
	From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
	Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
	To re-salute his country with his tears,
	Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
	Thou great defender of this Capitol,
	Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
	Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
	Half of the number that King Priam had,
	Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
	These that survive let Rome reward with love;
	These that I bring unto their latest home,
	With burial amongst their ancestors:
	Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
	Titus, unkind and careless of thine own,
	Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
	To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
	Make way to lay them by their brethren.

	[The tomb is opened]

	There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
	And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
	O sacred receptacle of my joys,
	Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
	How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
	That thou wilt never render to me more!

LUCIUS	Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
	That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
	Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
	Before this earthy prison of their bones;
	That so the shadows be not unappeased,
	Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I give him you, the noblest that survives,
	The eldest son of this distressed queen.

TAMORA	Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror,
	Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
	A mother's tears in passion for her son:
	And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
	O, think my son to be as dear to me!
	Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome,
	To beautify thy triumphs and return,
	Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke,
	But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
	For valiant doings in their country's cause?
	O, if to fight for king and commonweal
	Were piety in thine, it is in these.
	Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
	Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
	Draw near them then in being merciful:
	Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:
	Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
	These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
	Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
	Religiously they ask a sacrifice:
	To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
	To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

LUCIUS	Away with him! and make a fire straight;
	And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
	Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.

	[Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS]

TAMORA	O cruel, irreligious piety!

CHIRON	Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

DEMETRIUS	Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
	Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
	To tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
	Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal
	The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
	With opportunity of sharp revenge
	Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
	May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths--
	When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen--
	To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

	[Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with
	their swords bloody]

LUCIUS	See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
	Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
	And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
	Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
	Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren,
	And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Let it be so; and let Andronicus
	Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

	[Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb]

	In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
	Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
	Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
	Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
	Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms,
	No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
	In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

	[Enter LAVINIA]

LAVINIA	In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;
	My noble lord and father, live in fame!
	Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
	I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
	And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy,
	Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
	O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
	Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
	The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
	Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
	And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!

	[Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes;
	re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
	Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,
	You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
	Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
	That in your country's service drew your swords:
	But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
	That hath aspired to Solon's happiness
	And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.
	Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
	Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
	Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
	This palliament of white and spotless hue;
	And name thee in election for the empire,
	With these our late-deceased emperor's sons:
	Be candidatus then, and put it on,
	And help to set a head on headless Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	A better head her glorious body fits
	Than his that shakes for age and feebleness:
	What should I don this robe, and trouble you?
	Be chosen with proclamations to-day,
	To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,
	And set abroad new business for you all?
	Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,
	And led my country's strength successfully,
	And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
	Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,
	In right and service of their noble country
	Give me a staff of honour for mine age,
	But not a sceptre to control the world:
	Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.

SATURNINUS	Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Patience, Prince Saturninus.

SATURNINUS	Romans, do me right:
	Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not
	Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor.
	Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell,
	Rather than rob me of the people's hearts!

LUCIUS	Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
	That noble-minded Titus means to thee!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee
	The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.

BASSIANUS	Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
	But honour thee, and will do till I die:
	My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
	I will most thankful be; and thanks to men
	Of noble minds is honourable meed.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
	I ask your voices and your suffrages:
	Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Tribunes	To gratify the good Andronicus,
	And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
	The people will accept whom he admits.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make,
	That you create your emperor's eldest son,
	Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,
	Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth,
	And ripen justice in this commonweal:
	Then, if you will elect by my advice,
	Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!'

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	With voices and applause of every sort,
	Patricians and plebeians, we create
	Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor,
	And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'

	[A long flourish till they come down]

SATURNINUS	Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done
	To us in our election this day,
	I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
	And will with deeds requite thy gentleness:
	And, for an onset, Titus, to advance
	Thy name and honourable family,
	Lavinia will I make my empress,
	Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
	And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse:
	Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match
	I hold me highly honour'd of your grace:
	And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine,
	King and commander of our commonweal,
	The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate
	My sword, my chariot and my prisoners;
	Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord:
	Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
	Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.

SATURNINUS	Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
	How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
	Rome shall record, and when I do forget
	The least of these unspeakable deserts,
	Romans, forget your fealty to me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	[To TAMORA]  Now, madam, are you prisoner to
	an emperor;
	To him that, for your honour and your state,
	Will use you nobly and your followers.

SATURNINUS	A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue
	That I would choose, were I to choose anew.
	Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance:
	Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,
	Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome:
	Princely shall be thy usage every way.
	Rest on my word, and let not discontent
	Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you
	Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
	Lavinia, you are not displeased with this?

LAVINIA	Not I, my lord; sith true nobility
	Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

SATURNINUS	Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go;
	Ransomless here we set our prisoners free:
	Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.

	[Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show]

BASSIANUS	Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.

	[Seizing LAVINIA]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord?

BASSIANUS	Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal
	To do myself this reason and this right.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice:
	This prince in justice seizeth but his own.

LUCIUS	And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard?
	Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised!

SATURNINUS	Surprised! by whom?

BASSIANUS	By him that justly may
	Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.

	[Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA]

MUTIUS	Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
	And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

	[Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

MUTIUS	My lord, you pass not here.


TITUS ANDRONICUS	What, villain boy!
	Barr'st me my way in Rome?

	[Stabbing MUTIUS]

MUTIUS	Help, Lucius, help!

	[Dies]

	[During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS,
	CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above]

	[Re-enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS	My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so,
	In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine;
	My sons would never so dishonour me:
	Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

LUCIUS	Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,
	That is another's lawful promised love.

	[Exit]

SATURNINUS	No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,
	Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock:
	I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
	Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
	Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
	Was there none else in Rome to make a stale,
	But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
	Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
	That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O monstrous! what reproachful words are these?

SATURNINUS	But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece
	To him that flourish'd for her with his sword
	A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
	One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
	To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	These words are razors to my wounded heart.

SATURNINUS	And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths,
	That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs
	Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,
	If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice,
	Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride,
	And will create thee empress of Rome,
	Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?
	And here I swear by all the Roman gods,
	Sith priest and holy water are so near
	And tapers burn so bright and every thing
	In readiness for Hymenaeus stand,
	I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
	Or climb my palace, till from forth this place
	I lead espoused my bride along with me.

TAMORA	And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear,
	If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
	She will a handmaid be to his desires,
	A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

SATURNINUS	Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany
	Your noble emperor and his lovely bride,
	Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
	Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered:
	There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

	[Exeunt all but TITUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
	Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
	Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?

	[Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!
	In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,
	Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed
	That hath dishonour'd all our family;
	Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!

LUCIUS	But let us give him burial, as becomes;
	Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb:
	This monument five hundred years hath stood,
	Which I have sumptuously re-edified:
	Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors
	Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls:
	Bury him where you can; he comes not here.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	My lord, this is impiety in you:
	My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him
	He must be buried with his brethren.

QUINTUS	|
	| And shall, or him we will accompany.
MARTIUS	|


TITUS ANDRONICUS	'And shall!' what villain was it that spake
	that word?

QUINTUS	He that would vouch it in any place but here.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	What, would you bury him in my despite?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee
	To pardon Mutius and to bury him.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
	And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded:
	My foes I do repute you every one;
	So, trouble me no more, but get you gone.

MARTIUS	He is not with himself; let us withdraw.

QUINTUS	Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.

	[MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,--

QUINTUS	Father, and in that name doth nature speak,--

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,--

LUCIUS	Dear father, soul and substance of us all,--

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
	His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
	That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
	Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous:
	The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
	That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
	Did graciously plead for his funerals:
	Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy
	Be barr'd his entrance here.


TITUS ANDRONICUS	Rise, Marcus, rise.
	The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,
	To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!
	Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

	[MUTIUS is put into the tomb]

LUCIUS	There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
	Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

All	[Kneeling]  No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
	He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps,
	How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
	Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I know not, Marcus; but I know it is,
	Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell:
	Is she not then beholding to the man
	That brought her for this high good turn so far?
	Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

	[Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS
	attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from
	the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others]

SATURNINUS	So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:
	God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!

BASSIANUS	And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,
	Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave.

SATURNINUS	Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,
	Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

BASSIANUS	Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,
	My truth-betrothed love and now my wife?
	But let the laws of Rome determine all;
	Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine.

SATURNINUS	'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us;
	But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

BASSIANUS	My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
	Answer I must and shall do with my life.
	Only thus much I give your grace to know:
	By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
	This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
	Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd;
	That in the rescue of Lavinia
	With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
	In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath
	To be controll'd in that he frankly gave:
	Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine,
	That hath express'd himself in all his deeds
	A father and a friend to thee and Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds:
	'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me.
	Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
	How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine!

TAMORA	My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
	Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
	Then hear me speak in indifferently for all;
	And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.

SATURNINUS	What, madam! be dishonour'd openly,
	And basely put it up without revenge?

TAMORA	Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend
	I should be author to dishonour you!
	But on mine honour dare I undertake
	For good Lord Titus' innocence in all;
	Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs:
	Then, at my suit, look graciously on him;
	Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,
	Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.
	[Aside to SATURNINUS]  My lord, be ruled by me,
	be won at last;
	Dissemble all your griefs and discontents:
	You are but newly planted in your throne;
	Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,
	Upon a just survey, take Titus' part,
	And so supplant you for ingratitude,
	Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,
	Yield at entreats; and then let me alone:
	I'll find a day to massacre them all
	And raze their faction and their family,
	The cruel father and his traitorous sons,
	To whom I sued for my dear son's life,
	And make them know what 'tis to let a queen
	Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.

	[Aloud]

	Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus;
	Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
	That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

SATURNINUS	Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I thank your majesty, and her, my lord:
	These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.

TAMORA	Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
	A Roman now adopted happily,
	And must advise the emperor for his good.
	This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;
	And let it be mine honour, good my lord,
	That I have reconciled your friends and you.
	For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
	My word and promise to the emperor,
	That you will be more mild and tractable.
	And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia;
	By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
	You shall ask pardon of his majesty.

LUCIUS	We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness,
	That what we did was mildly as we might,
	Tendering our sister's honour and our own.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	That, on mine honour, here I do protest.

SATURNINUS	Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.

TAMORA	Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends:
	The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace;
	I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back.

SATURNINUS	Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here,
	And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
	I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up.
	Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
	I found a friend, and sure as death I swore
	I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
	Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides,
	You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
	This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	To-morrow, an it please your majesty
	To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
	With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour.

SATURNINUS	Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE I	Rome. Before the Palace.


	[Enter AARON]

AARON	Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
	Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft,
	Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash;
	Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach.
	As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
	And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
	Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach,
	And overlooks the highest-peering hills;
	So Tamora:
	Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,
	And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
	Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts,
	To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
	And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long
	Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains
	And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes
	Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
	Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
	I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,
	To wait upon this new-made empress.
	To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen,
	This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,
	This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
	And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
	Holloa! what storm is this?

	[Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving]

DEMETRIUS	Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge,
	And manners, to intrude where I am graced;
	And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

CHIRON	Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
	And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
	'Tis not the difference of a year or two
	Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
	I am as able and as fit as thou
	To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;
	And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
	And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.

AARON	[Aside]  Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep
	the peace.

DEMETRIUS	Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised,
	Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side,
	Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends?
	Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath
	Till you know better how to handle it.

CHIRON	Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,
	Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.

DEMETRIUS	Ay, boy, grow ye so brave?

	[They draw]

AARON	[Coming forward]  Why, how now, lords!
	So near the emperor's palace dare you draw,
	And maintain such a quarrel openly?
	Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
	I would not for a million of gold
	The cause were known to them it most concerns;
	Nor would your noble mother for much more
	Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome.
	For shame, put up.

DEMETRIUS	                  Not I, till I have sheathed
	My rapier in his bosom and withal
	Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat
	That he hath breathed in my dishonour here.

CHIRON	For that I am prepared and full resolved.
	Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
	And with thy weapon nothing darest perform!

AARON	Away, I say!
	Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,
	This petty brabble will undo us all.
	Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous
	It is to jet upon a prince's right?
	What, is Lavinia then become so loose,
	Or Bassianus so degenerate,
	That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd
	Without controlment, justice, or revenge?
	Young lords, beware! and should the empress know
	This discord's ground, the music would not please.

CHIRON	I care not, I, knew she and all the world:
	I love Lavinia more than all the world.

DEMETRIUS	Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:
	Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope.

AARON	Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome
	How furious and impatient they be,
	And cannot brook competitors in love?
	I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths
	By this device.

CHIRON	                  Aaron, a thousand deaths
	Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.

AARON	To achieve her! how?

DEMETRIUS	Why makest thou it so strange?
	She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
	She is a woman, therefore may be won;
	She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved.
	What, man! more water glideth by the mill
	Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
	Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know:
	Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother.
	Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.

AARON	[Aside]  Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.

DEMETRIUS	Then why should he despair that knows to court it
	With words, fair looks and liberality?
	What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,
	And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?

AARON	Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so
	Would serve your turns.

CHIRON	Ay, so the turn were served.

DEMETRIUS	Aaron, thou hast hit it.

AARON	Would you had hit it too!
	Then should not we be tired with this ado.
	Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools
	To square for this? would it offend you, then
	That both should speed?

CHIRON	Faith, not me.

DEMETRIUS	                  Nor me, so I were one.

AARON	For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar:
	'Tis policy and stratagem must do
	That you affect; and so must you resolve,
	That what you cannot as you would achieve,
	You must perforce accomplish as you may.
	Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste
	Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
	A speedier course than lingering languishment
	Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
	My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;
	There will the lovely Roman ladies troop:
	The forest walks are wide and spacious;
	And many unfrequented plots there are
	Fitted by kind for rape and villany:
	Single you thither then this dainty doe,
	And strike her home by force, if not by words:
	This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
	Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit
	To villany and vengeance consecrate,
	Will we acquaint with all that we intend;
	And she shall file our engines with advice,
	That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
	But to your wishes' height advance you both.
	The emperor's court is like the house of Fame,
	The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears:
	The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull;
	There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take
	your turns;
	There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye,
	And revel in Lavinia's treasury.

CHIRON	Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice,

DEMETRIUS	Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream
	To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits.
	Per Styga, per manes vehor.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE II	A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard.


	[Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, &c., MARCUS,
	LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,
	The fields are fragrant and the woods are green:
	Uncouple here and let us make a bay
	And wake the emperor and his lovely bride
	And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal,
	That all the court may echo with the noise.
	Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
	To attend the emperor's person carefully:
	I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
	But dawning day new comfort hath inspired.

	[A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter
	SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS,
	CHIRON, and Attendants]

	Many good morrows to your majesty;
	Madam, to you as many and as good:
	I promised your grace a hunter's peal.

SATURNINUS	And you have rung it lustily, my lord;
	Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.

BASSIANUS	Lavinia, how say you?

LAVINIA	I say, no;
	I have been broad awake two hours and more.

SATURNINUS	Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have,
	And to our sport.

	[To TAMORA]

	Madam, now shall ye see
	Our Roman hunting.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	                  I have dogs, my lord,
	Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
	And climb the highest promontory top.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	And I have horse will follow where the game
	Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.

DEMETRIUS	Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,
	But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE III	A lonely part of the forest.


	[Enter AARON, with a bag of gold]

AARON	He that had wit would think that I had none,
	To bury so much gold under a tree,
	And never after to inherit it.
	Let him that thinks of me so abjectly
	Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
	Which, cunningly effected, will beget
	A very excellent piece of villany:
	And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest

	[Hides the gold]

	That have their alms out of the empress' chest.

	[Enter TAMORA]

TAMORA	My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad,
	When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
	The birds chant melody on every bush,
	The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun,
	The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
	And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground:
	Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
	And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
	Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns,
	As if a double hunt were heard at once,
	Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise;
	And, after conflict such as was supposed
	The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
	When with a happy storm they were surprised
	And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave,
	We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
	Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber;
	Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds
	Be unto us as is a nurse's song
	Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.

AARON	Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
	Saturn is dominator over mine:
	What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
	My silence and my cloudy melancholy,
	My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls
	Even as an adder when she doth unroll
	To do some fatal execution?
	No, madam, these are no venereal signs:
	Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
	Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
	Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul,
	Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,
	This is the day of doom for Bassianus:
	His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,
	Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
	And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
	Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee,
	And give the king this fatal plotted scroll.
	Now question me no more; we are espied;
	Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,
	Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.

TAMORA	Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!

AARON	No more, great empress; Bassianus comes:
	Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons
	To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be.

	[Exit]

	[Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA]

BASSIANUS	Who have we here? Rome's royal empress,
	Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop?
	Or is it Dian, habited like her,
	Who hath abandoned her holy groves
	To see the general hunting in this forest?

TAMORA	Saucy controller of our private steps!
	Had I the power that some say Dian had,
	Thy temples should be planted presently
	With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds
	Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
	Unmannerly intruder as thou art!

LAVINIA	Under your patience, gentle empress,
	'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning;
	And to be doubted that your Moor and you
	Are singled forth to try experiments:
	Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!
	'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.

BASSIANUS	Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian
	Doth make your honour of his body's hue,
	Spotted, detested, and abominable.
	Why are you sequester'd from all your train,
	Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed.
	And wander'd hither to an obscure plot,
	Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,
	If foul desire had not conducted you?

LAVINIA	And, being intercepted in your sport,
	Great reason that my noble lord be rated
	For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence,
	And let her joy her raven-colour'd love;
	This valley fits the purpose passing well.

BASSIANUS	The king my brother shall have note of this.

LAVINIA	Ay, for these slips have made him noted long:
	Good king, to be so mightily abused!

TAMORA	Why have I patience to endure all this?

	[Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON]

DEMETRIUS	How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!
	Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?

TAMORA	Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
	These two have 'ticed me hither to this place:
	A barren detested vale, you see it is;
	The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
	O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:
	Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
	Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven:
	And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
	They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
	A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
	Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
	Would make such fearful and confused cries
	As any mortal body hearing it
	Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
	No sooner had they told this hellish tale,
	But straight they told me they would bind me here
	Unto the body of a dismal yew,
	And leave me to this miserable death:
	And then they call'd me foul adulteress,
	Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
	That ever ear did hear to such effect:
	And, had you not by wondrous fortune come,
	This vengeance on me had they executed.
	Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
	Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.

DEMETRIUS	This is a witness that I am thy son.

	[Stabs BASSIANUS]

CHIRON	And this for me, struck home to show my strength.

	[Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies]

LAVINIA	Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora,
	For no name fits thy nature but thy own!

TAMORA	Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys
	Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.

DEMETRIUS	Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her;
	First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
	This minion stood upon her chastity,
	Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
	And with that painted hope braves your mightiness:
	And shall she carry this unto her grave?

CHIRON	An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
	Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
	And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.

TAMORA	But when ye have the honey ye desire,
	Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.

CHIRON	I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.
	Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
	That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

LAVINIA	O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,--

TAMORA	I will not hear her speak; away with her!

LAVINIA	Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.

DEMETRIUS	Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory
	To see her tears; but be your heart to them
	As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.

LAVINIA	When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
	O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee;
	The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble;
	Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.
	Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:

	[To CHIRON]

	Do thou entreat her show a woman pity.

CHIRON	What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

LAVINIA	'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark:
	Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!--
	The lion moved with pity did endure
	To have his princely paws pared all away:
	Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
	The whilst their own birds famish in their nests:
	O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
	Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

TAMORA	I know not what it means; away with her!

LAVINIA	O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake,
	That gave thee life, when well he might have
	slain thee,
	Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

TAMORA	Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
	Even for his sake am I pitiless.
	Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain,
	To save your brother from the sacrifice;
	But fierce Andronicus would not relent;
	Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will,
	The worse to her, the better loved of me.

LAVINIA	O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,
	And with thine own hands kill me in this place!
	For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long;
	Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.

TAMORA	What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go.

LAVINIA	'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more
	That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:
	O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,
	And tumble me into some loathsome pit,
	Where never man's eye may behold my body:
	Do this, and be a charitable murderer.

TAMORA	So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee:
	No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.

DEMETRIUS	Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long.

LAVINIA	No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature!
	The blot and enemy to our general name!
	Confusion fall--

CHIRON	Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband:
	This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.

	[DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the
	pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging
	off LAVINIA]

TAMORA	Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure.
	Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed,
	Till all the Andronici be made away.
	Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
	And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS]

AARON	Come on, my lords, the better foot before:
	Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
	Where I espied the panther fast asleep.

QUINTUS	My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.

MARTIUS	And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame,
	Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.

	[Falls into the pit]

QUINTUS	What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this,
	Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers,
	Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
	As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers?
	A very fatal place it seems to me.

	Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

MARTIUS	O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt
	That ever eye with sight made heart lament!

AARON	[Aside]  Now will I fetch the king to find them here,
	That he thereby may give a likely guess
	How these were they that made away his brother.

	[Exit]

MARTIUS	Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
	From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole?

QUINTUS	I am surprised with an uncouth fear;
	A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints:
	My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

MARTIUS	To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,
	Aaron and thou look down into this den,
	And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

QUINTUS	Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart
	Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
	The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;
	O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now
	Was I a child to fear I know not what.

MARTIUS	Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,
	All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb,
	In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

QUINTUS	If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?

MARTIUS	Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
	A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,
	Which, like a taper in some monument,
	Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,
	And shows the ragged entrails of the pit:
	So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus
	When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood.
	O brother, help me with thy fainting hand--
	If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath--
	Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
	As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

QUINTUS	Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out;
	Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
	I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
	Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
	I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

MARTIUS	Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

QUINTUS	Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,
	Till thou art here aloft, or I below:
	Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee.

	[Falls in]

	[Enter SATURNINUS with AARON]

SATURNINUS	Along with me: I'll see what hole is here,
	And what he is that now is leap'd into it.
	Say who art thou that lately didst descend
	Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

MARTIUS	The unhappy son of old Andronicus:
	Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
	To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

SATURNINUS	My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:
	He and his lady both are at the lodge
	Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
	'Tis not an hour since I left him there.

MARTIUS	We know not where you left him all alive;
	But, out, alas! here have we found him dead.

	[Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS
	ANDRONICUS, and Lucius]

TAMORA	Where is my lord the king?

SATURNINUS	Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief.

TAMORA	Where is thy brother Bassianus?

SATURNINUS	Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound:
	Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.

TAMORA	Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
	The complot of this timeless tragedy;
	And wonder greatly that man's face can fold
	In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

	[She giveth SATURNINUS a letter]

SATURNINUS	[Reads]  'An if we miss to meet him handsomely--
	Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean--
	Do thou so much as dig the grave for him:
	Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward
	Among the nettles at the elder-tree
	Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
	Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
	Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.'
	O Tamora! was ever heard the like?
	This is the pit, and this the elder-tree.
	Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out
	That should have murdered Bassianus here.

AARON	My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

SATURNINUS	[To TITUS]  Two of thy whelps, fell curs of
	bloody kind,
	Have here bereft my brother of his life.
	Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison:
	There let them bide until we have devised
	Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.

TAMORA	What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!
	How easily murder is discovered!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	High emperor, upon my feeble knee
	I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
	That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
	Accursed if the fault be proved in them,--

SATURNINUS	If it be proved! you see it is apparent.
	Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

TAMORA	Andronicus himself did take it up.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail;
	For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow
	They shall be ready at your highness' will
	To answer their suspicion with their lives.

SATURNINUS	Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me.
	Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers:
	Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain;
	For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,
	That end upon them should be executed.

TAMORA	Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
	Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE IV	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished;
	her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out]

DEMETRIUS	So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
	Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.

CHIRON	Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
	An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.

DEMETRIUS	See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

CHIRON	Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

DEMETRIUS	She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;
	And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

CHIRON	An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.

DEMETRIUS	If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

	[Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON]

	[Enter MARCUS]

MARCUS	Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast!
	Cousin, a word; where is your husband?
	If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
	If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
	That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
	Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
	Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare
	Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
	Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
	And might not gain so great a happiness
	As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
	Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
	Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
	Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
	Coming and going with thy honey breath.
	But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
	And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
	Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
	And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
	As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,
	Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face
	Blushing to be encountered with a cloud.
	Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so?
	O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
	That I might rail at him, to ease my mind!
	Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
	Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
	Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
	And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
	But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
	A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,
	And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
	That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
	O, had the monster seen those lily hands
	Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,
	And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
	He would not then have touch'd them for his life!
	Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony
	Which that sweet tongue hath made,
	He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep
	As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
	Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
	For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
	One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads;
	What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
	Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee
	O, could our mourning ease thy misery!

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT III



SCENE I	Rome. A street.


	[Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS
	and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of
	execution; TITUS going before, pleading]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!
	For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
	In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
	For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed;
	For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
	And for these bitter tears, which now you see
	Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
	Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
	Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
	For two and twenty sons I never wept,
	Because they died in honour's lofty bed.

	[Lieth down; the Judges, &c., pass by him, and Exeunt]

	For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
	My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears:
	Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
	My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
	O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
	That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
	Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
	In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
	In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
	And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
	So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.

	[Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn]

	O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men!
	Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
	And let me say, that never wept before,
	My tears are now prevailing orators.

LUCIUS	O noble father, you lament in vain:
	The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;
	And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.
	Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,--

LUCIUS	My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
	They would not mark me, or if they did mark,
	They would not pity me, yet plead I must;
	And bootless unto them [                  ]
	Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
	Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
	Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,
	For that they will not intercept my tale:
	When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
	Receive my tears and seem to weep with me;
	And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
	Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
	A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones;
	A stone is silent, and offendeth not,
	And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

	[Rises]

	But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

LUCIUS	To rescue my two brothers from their death:
	For which attempt the judges have pronounced
	My everlasting doom of banishment.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O happy man! they have befriended thee.
	Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
	That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
	Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
	But me and mine: how happy art thou, then,
	From these devourers to be banished!
	But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

	[Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep;
	Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break:
	I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Will it consume me? let me see it, then.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	This was thy daughter.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, Marcus, so she is.

LUCIUS	Ay me, this object kills me!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.
	Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand
	Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
	What fool hath added water to the sea,
	Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
	My grief was at the height before thou camest,
	And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.
	Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too;
	For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
	And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life;
	In bootless prayer have they been held up,
	And they have served me to effectless use:
	Now all the service I require of them
	Is that the one will help to cut the other.
	'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;
	For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.

LUCIUS	Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O, that delightful engine of her thoughts
	That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
	Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
	Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
	Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!

LUCIUS	O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
	Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer
	That hath received some unrecuring wound.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	It was my deer; and he that wounded her
	Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead:
	For now I stand as one upon a rock
	Environed with a wilderness of sea,
	Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
	Expecting ever when some envious surge
	Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
	This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
	Here stands my other son, a banished man,
	And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
	But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn,
	Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.
	Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
	It would have madded me: what shall I do
	Now I behold thy lively body so?
	Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears:
	Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee:
	Thy husband he is dead: and for his death
	Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
	Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her!
	When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
	Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
	Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;
	Perchance because she knows them innocent.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful
	Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
	No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
	Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.
	Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips.
	Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:
	Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
	And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain,
	Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks
	How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry,
	With miry slime left on them by a flood?
	And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
	Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
	And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
	Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
	Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
	Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
	What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
	Plot some deuce of further misery,
	To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

LUCIUS	Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,
	See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot
	Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
	For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.

LUCIUS	Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:
	Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
	That to her brother which I said to thee:
	His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
	Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
	O, what a sympathy of woe is this,
	As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!

	[Enter AARON]

AARON	Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
	Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons,
	Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
	Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
	And send it to the king: he for the same
	Will send thee hither both thy sons alive;
	And that shall be the ransom for their fault.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron!
	Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
	That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
	With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand:
	Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

LUCIUS	Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,
	That hath thrown down so many enemies,
	Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn:
	My youth can better spare my blood than you;
	And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	 Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
	And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
	Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
	O, none of both but are of high desert:
	My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
	To ransom my two nephews from their death;
	Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

AARON	Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
	For fear they die before their pardon come.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	My hand shall go.

LUCIUS	                  By heaven, it shall not go!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these
	Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

LUCIUS	Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
	Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	And, for our father's sake and mother's care,
	Now let me show a brother's love to thee.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Agree between you; I will spare my hand.

LUCIUS	Then I'll go fetch an axe.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	But I will use the axe.

	[Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:
	Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AARON	[Aside]  If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
	And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:
	But I'll deceive you in another sort,
	And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass.

	[Cuts off TITUS's hand]

	[Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd.
	Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand:
	Tell him it was a hand that warded him
	From thousand dangers; bid him bury it
	More hath it merited; that let it have.
	As for my sons, say I account of them
	As jewels purchased at an easy price;
	And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

AARON	I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand
	Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.

	[Aside]

	Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany
	Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
	Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace.
	Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

	[Exit]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
	And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
	If any power pities wretched tears,
	To that I call!

	[To LAVINIA]
	What, wilt thou kneel with me?
	Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers;
	Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
	And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds
	When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O brother, speak with possibilities,
	And do not break into these deep extremes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
	Then be my passions bottomless with them.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	But yet let reason govern thy lament.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	If there were reason for these miseries,
	Then into limits could I bind my woes:
	When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
	If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
	Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?
	And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
	I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!
	She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:
	Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
	Then must my earth with her continual tears
	Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;
	For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,
	But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
	Then give me leave, for losers will have leave
	To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

	[Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand]

Messenger	Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid
	For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
	Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
	And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back;
	Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd;
	That woe is me to think upon thy woes
	More than remembrance of my father's death.

	[Exit]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily,
	And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
	These miseries are more than may be borne.
	To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal;
	But sorrow flouted at is double death.

LUCIUS	Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,
	And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
	That ever death should let life bear his name,
	Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

	[LAVINIA kisses TITUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless
	As frozen water to a starved snake.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	When will this fearful slumber have an end?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus;
	Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads,
	Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here:
	Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
	Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
	Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
	Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs:
	Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
	Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
	The closing up of our most wretched eyes;
	Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Ha, ha, ha!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, I have not another tear to shed:
	Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
	And would usurp upon my watery eyes
	And make them blind with tributary tears:
	Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?
	For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
	And threat me I shall never come to bliss
	Till all these mischiefs be return'd again
	Even in their throats that have committed them.
	Come, let me see what task I have to do.
	You heavy people, circle me about,
	That I may turn me to each one of you,
	And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
	The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head;
	And in this hand the other I will bear.
	Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms!
	Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
	As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight;
	Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:
	Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:
	And, if you love me, as I think you do,
	Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

	[Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA]

LUCIUS	Farewell Andronicus, my noble father,
	The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome:
	Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
	He leaves his pledges dearer than his life:
	Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
	O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
	But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
	But in oblivion and hateful griefs.
	If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
	And make proud Saturnine and his empress
	Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
	Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,
	To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine.

	[Exit]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT III



SCENE II	A room in Titus's house. A banquet set out.


	[Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA and Young LUCIUS, a boy]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more
	Than will preserve just so much strength in us
	As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
	Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:
	Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
	And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
	With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
	Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
	Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
	Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
	Then thus I thump it down.

	[To LAVINIA]

	Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
	When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
	Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
	Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
	Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
	And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
	That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
	May run into that sink, and soaking in
	Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
	Such violent hands upon her tender life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?
	Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
	What violent hands can she lay on her life?
	Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;
	To bid AEneas tell the tale twice o'er,
	How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
	O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
	Lest we remember still that we have none.
	Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
	As if we should forget we had no hands,
	If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
	Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:
	Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
	I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
	She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
	Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks:
	Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
	In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
	As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
	Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
	Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
	But I of these will wrest an alphabet
	And by still practise learn to know thy meaning.

Young LUCIUS	Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments:
	Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved,
	Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,
	And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

	[MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]

	What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
	Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
	A deed of death done on the innocent
	Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone:
	I see thou art not for my company.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	But how, if that fly had a father and mother?
	How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
	And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
	Poor harmless fly,
	That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
	Came here to make us merry! and thou hast
	kill'd him.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favor'd fly,
	Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O, O, O,
	Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
	For thou hast done a charitable deed.
	Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
	Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor
	Come hither purposely to poison me.--
	There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
	Ah, sirrah!
	Yet, I think, we are not brought so low,
	But that between us we can kill a fly
	That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
	He takes false shadows for true substances.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me:
	I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
	Sad stories chanced in the times of old.
	Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young,
	And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE I	Rome. Titus's garden.


	[Enter young LUCIUS, and LAVINIA running after him,
	and the boy flies from her, with books under his
	arm. Then enter TITUS and MARCUS]

Young LUCIUS	Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
	Follows me every where, I know not why:
	Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes.
	Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

Young LUCIUS	Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she mean:
	See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee:
	Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
	Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
	Read to her sons than she hath read to thee
	Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

Young LUCIUS	My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
	Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:
	For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
	Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
	And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
	Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear;
	Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
	Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
	And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
	Which made me down to throw my books, and fly--
	Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt:
	And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
	I will most willingly attend your ladyship.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Lucius, I will.

	[LAVINIA turns over with her stumps the books which
	LUCIUS has let fall]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?
	Some book there is that she desires to see.
	Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
	But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd
	Come, and take choice of all my library,
	And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
	Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.
	Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	I think she means that there was more than one
	Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was;
	Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?

Young LUCIUS	Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
	My mother gave it me.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	For love of her that's gone,
	Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Soft! see how busily she turns the leaves!

	[Helping her]

	What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?
	This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
	And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape:
	And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	See, brother, see; note how she quotes the leaves.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl,
	Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
	Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see!
	Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt--
	O, had we never, never hunted there!--
	Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
	By nature made for murders and for rapes.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O, why should nature build so foul a den,
	Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none
	but friends,
	What Roman lord it was durst do the deed:
	Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
	That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down by me.
	Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
	Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
	My lord, look here: look here, Lavinia:
	This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst
	This after me, when I have writ my name
	Without the help of any hand at all.

	[He writes his name with his staff, and guides it
	with feet and mouth]

	Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift!
	Write thou good niece; and here display, at last,
	What God will have discover'd for revenge;
	Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
	That we may know the traitors and the truth!

	[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it
	with her stumps, and writes]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
	'Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.'

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora
	Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Magni Dominator poli,
	Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O, calm thee, gentle lord; although I know
	There is enough written upon this earth
	To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts
	And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
	My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
	And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
	And swear with me, as, with the woful fere
	And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
	Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,
	That we will prosecute by good advice
	Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
	And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
	But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:
	The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
	She's with the lion deeply still in league,
	And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,
	And when he sleeps will she do what she list.
	You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
	And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
	And with a gad of steel will write these words,
	And lay it by: the angry northern wind
	Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad,
	And where's your lesson, then? Boy, what say you?

Young LUCIUS	I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
	Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
	For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
	For his ungrateful country done the like.

Young LUCIUS	And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, go with me into mine armoury;
	Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy,
	Shalt carry from me to the empress' sons
	Presents that I intend to send them both:
	Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?

Young LUCIUS	Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course.
	Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house:
	Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court:
	Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on.

	[Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and Young LUCIUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
	And not relent, or not compassion him?
	Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,
	That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
	Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield;
	But yet so just that he will not revenge.
	Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!

	[Exit]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same. A room in the palace.


	[Enter, from one side, AARON, DEMETRIUS, and
	CHIRON; from the other side, Young LUCIUS, and an
	Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses
	writ upon them]

CHIRON	Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;
	He hath some message to deliver us.

AARON	Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.

Young LUCIUS	My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
	I greet your honours from Andronicus.

	[Aside]

	And pray the Roman gods confound you both!

DEMETRIUS	Gramercy, lovely Lucius: what's the news?

Young LUCIUS	[Aside]  That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,
	For villains mark'd with rape.--May it please you,
	My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me
	The goodliest weapons of his armoury
	To gratify your honourable youth,
	The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say;
	And so I do, and with his gifts present
	Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,
	You may be armed and appointed well:
	And so I leave you both:

	[Aside]
		   like bloody villains.

	[Exeunt Young LUCIUS, and Attendant]

DEMETRIUS	What's here? A scroll; and written round about?
	Let's see;

	[Reads]

	'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
	Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.'

CHIRON	O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well:
	I read it in the grammar long ago.

AARON	Ay, just; a verse in Horace; right, you have it.

	[Aside]

	Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
	Here's no sound jest! the old man hath found their guilt;
	And sends them weapons wrapped about with lines,
	That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.
	But were our witty empress well afoot,
	She would applaud Andronicus' conceit:
	But let her rest in her unrest awhile.

	And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
	Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
	Captives, to be advanced to this height?
	It did me good, before the palace gate
	To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.

DEMETRIUS	But me more good, to see so great a lord
	Basely insinuate and send us gifts.

AARON	Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?
	Did you not use his daughter very friendly?

DEMETRIUS	I would we had a thousand Roman dames
	At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.

CHIRON	A charitable wish and full of love.

AARON	Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.

CHIRON	And that would she for twenty thousand more.

DEMETRIUS	Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods
	For our beloved mother in her pains.

AARON	[Aside]  Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.

	[Trumpets sound within]

DEMETRIUS	Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

CHIRON	Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.

DEMETRIUS	Soft! who comes here?

	[Enter a Nurse, with a blackamoor Child in her arms]

Nurse	Good morrow, lords:
	O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?

AARON	Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
	Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?

Nurse	O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
	Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!

AARON	Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!
	What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?

Nurse	O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
	Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace!
	She is deliver'd, lords; she is deliver'd.

AARON	To whom?

Nurse	       I mean, she is brought a-bed.

AARON	Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?

Nurse	A devil.

AARON	Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joyful issue.

Nurse	A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue:
	Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
	Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime:
	The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
	And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.

AARON	'Zounds, ye whore! is black so base a hue?
	Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.

DEMETRIUS	Villain, what hast thou done?

AARON	That which thou canst not undo.

CHIRON	Thou hast undone our mother.

AARON	Villain, I have done thy mother.

DEMETRIUS	And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone.
	Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!
	Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend!

CHIRON	It shall not live.

AARON	It shall not die.

Nurse	Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.

AARON	What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I
	Do execution on my flesh and blood.

DEMETRIUS	I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point:
	Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.

AARON	Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.

	[Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws]

	Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother?
	Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
	That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
	He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point
	That touches this my first-born son and heir!
	I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
	With all his threatening band of Typhon's brood,
	Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
	Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
	What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
	Ye white-limed walls! ye alehouse painted signs!
	Coal-black is better than another hue,
	In that it scorns to bear another hue;
	For all the water in the ocean
	Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
	Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
	Tell the empress from me, I am of age
	To keep mine own, excuse it how she can.

DEMETRIUS	Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?

AARON	My mistress is my mistress; this myself,
	The vigour and the picture of my youth:
	This before all the world do I prefer;
	This maugre all the world will I keep safe,
	Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

DEMETRIUS	By this our mother is forever shamed.

CHIRON	Rome will despise her for this foul escape.

Nurse	The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.

CHIRON	I blush to think upon this ignomy.

AARON	Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
	Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing
	The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
	Here's a young lad framed of another leer:
	Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father,
	As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.'
	He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed
	Of that self-blood that first gave life to you,
	And from that womb where you imprison'd were
	He is enfranchised and come to light:
	Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,
	Although my seal be stamped in his face.

Nurse	Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?

DEMETRIUS	Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
	And we will all subscribe to thy advice:
	Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.

AARON	Then sit we down, and let us all consult.
	My son and I will have the wind of you:
	Keep there: now talk at pleasure of your safety.

	[They sit]

DEMETRIUS	How many women saw this child of his?

AARON	Why, so, brave lords! when we join in league,
	I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor,
	The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
	The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.
	But say, again; how many saw the child?

Nurse	Cornelia the midwife and myself;
	And no one else but the deliver'd empress.

AARON	The empress, the midwife, and yourself:
	Two may keep counsel when the third's away:
	Go to the empress, tell her this I said.

	[He kills the nurse]

	Weke, weke! so cries a pig prepared to the spit.

DEMETRIUS	What mean'st thou, Aaron? wherefore didst thou this?

AARON	O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy:
	Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours,
	A long-tongued babbling gossip? no, lords, no:
	And now be it known to you my full intent.
	Not far, one Muli lives, my countryman;
	His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;
	His child is like to her, fair as you are:
	Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,
	And tell them both the circumstance of all;
	And how by this their child shall be advanced,
	And be received for the emperor's heir,
	And substituted in the place of mine,
	To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
	And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
	Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her physic,

	[Pointing to the nurse]

	And you must needs bestow her funeral;
	The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms:
	This done, see that you take no longer days,
	But send the midwife presently to me.
	The midwife and the nurse well made away,
	Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

CHIRON	Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
	With secrets.

DEMETRIUS	                  For this care of Tamora,
	Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.

	[Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON bearing off the
	Nurse's body]

AARON	Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies;
	There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
	And secretly to greet the empress' friends.
	Come on, you thick lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
	For it is you that puts us to our shifts:
	I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
	And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
	And cabin in a cave, and bring you up
	To be a warrior, and command a camp.

	[Exit]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same. A public place.


	[Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters at the
	ends of them; with him, MARCUS, Young LUCIUS,
	PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, CAIUS, and other Gentlemen,
	with bows]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the way.
	Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
	Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
	Terras Astraea reliquit:
	Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
	Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
	Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
	Happily you may catch her in the sea;
	Yet there's as little justice as at land:
	No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
	'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
	And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
	Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
	I pray you, deliver him this petition;
	Tell him, it is for justice and for aid,
	And that it comes from old Andronicus,
	Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
	Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable
	What time I threw the people's suffrages
	On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
	Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
	And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd:
	This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence;
	And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
	To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

PUBLIUS	Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns
	By day and night to attend him carefully,
	And feed his humour kindly as we may,
	Till time beget some careful remedy.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
	Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
	Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
	And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Publius, how now! how now, my masters!
	What, have you met with her?

PUBLIUS	No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
	If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall:
	Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,
	He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
	So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
	I'll dive into the burning lake below,
	And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
	Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we
	No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size;
	But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
	Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear:
	And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,
	We will solicit heaven and move the gods
	To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
	Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus;

	[He gives them the arrows]

	'Ad Jovem,' that's for you: here, 'Ad Apollinem:'
	'Ad Martem,' that's for myself:
	Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury:
	To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine;
	You were as good to shoot against the wind.
	To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.
	Of my word, I have written to effect;
	There's not a god left unsolicited.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:
	We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Now, masters, draw.

	[They shoot]
		O, well said, Lucius!
	Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
	Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Ha, ha!
	Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
	See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
	The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
	That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;
	And who should find them but the empress' villain?
	She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose
	But give them to his master for a present.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy!

	[Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in
	it]

	News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
	Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
	Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clown	O, the gibbet-maker! he says that he hath taken
	them down again, for the man must not be hanged till
	the next week.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clown	Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him
	in all my life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

Clown	Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

Clown	From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there     God
	forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my
	young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the
	tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl
	betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for
	your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to
	the emperor from you.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor
	with a grace?

Clown	Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado,
	But give your pigeons to the emperor:
	By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
	Hold, hold; meanwhile here's money for thy charges.
	Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace
	deliver a supplication?

Clown	Ay, sir.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Then here is a supplication for you. And when you
	come to him, at the first approach you must kneel,
	then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and
	then look for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir; see
	you do it bravely.

Clown	I warrant you, sir, let me alone.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Sirrah, hast thou a knife? come, let me see it.
	Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
	For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.
	And when thou hast given it the emperor,
	Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

Clown	God be with you, sir; I will.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The same. Before the palace.


	[Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON,
	Lords, and others; SATURNINUS with the arrows in
	his hand that TITUS shot]

SATURNINUS	Why, lords, what wrongs are these! was ever seen
	An emperor in Rome thus overborne,
	Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
	Of egal justice, used in such contempt?
	My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,
	However these disturbers of our peace
	Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd,
	But even with law, against the willful sons
	Of old Andronicus. And what an if
	His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
	Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
	His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
	And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
	See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury;
	This to Apollo; this to the god of war;
	Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
	What's this but libelling against the senate,
	And blazoning our injustice every where?
	A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
	As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
	But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
	Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
	But he and his shall know that justice lives
	In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep,
	He'll so awake as she in fury shall
	Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.

TAMORA	My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
	Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
	Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
	The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,
	Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarr'd his heart;
	And rather comfort his distressed plight
	Than prosecute the meanest or the best
	For these contempts.

	[Aside]

		Why, thus it shall become
	High-witted Tamora to gloze with all:
	But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick,
	Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise,
	Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.

	[Enter Clown]

	How now, good fellow! wouldst thou speak with us?

Clown	Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be emperial.

TAMORA	Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

Clown	'Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good den:
	I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

	[SATURNINUS reads the letter]

SATURNINUS	Go, take him away, and hang him presently.

Clown	How much money must I have?

TAMORA	Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.

Clown	Hanged! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to
	a fair end.

	[Exit, guarded]

SATURNINUS	Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
	Shall I endure this monstrous villany?
	I know from whence this same device proceeds:
	May this be borne?--as if his traitorous sons,
	That died by law for murder of our brother,
	Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully!
	Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;
	Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege:
	For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman;
	Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
	In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

	[Enter AEMILIUS]

	What news with thee, AEmilius?

AEMILIUS	Arm, arm, my lord;--Rome never had more cause.
	The Goths have gather'd head; and with a power
	high-resolved men, bent to the spoil,
	They hither march amain, under conduct
	Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
	Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
	As much as ever Coriolanus did.

SATURNINUS	Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
	These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
	As flowers with frost or grass beat down with storms:
	Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach:
	'Tis he the common people love so much;
	Myself hath often over-heard them say,
	When I have walked like a private man,
	That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
	And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.

TAMORA	Why should you fear? is not your city strong?

SATURNINUS	Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius,
	And will revolt from me to succor him.

TAMORA	King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name.
	Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?
	The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
	And is not careful what they mean thereby,
	Knowing that with the shadow of his wings
	He can at pleasure stint their melody:
	Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome.
	Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor,
	I will enchant the old Andronicus
	With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
	Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep,
	When as the one is wounded with the bait,
	The other rotted with delicious feed.

SATURNINUS	But he will not entreat his son for us.

TAMORA	If Tamora entreat him, then he will:
	For I can smooth and fill his aged ear
	With golden promises; that, were his heart
	Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,
	Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.

	[To AEmilius]

	Go thou before, be our ambassador:
	Say that the emperor requests a parley
	Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
	Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.

SATURNINUS	AEmilius, do this message honourably:
	And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
	Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.

AEMILIUS	Your bidding shall I do effectually.

	[Exit]

TAMORA	Now will I to that old Andronicus;
	And temper him with all the art I have,
	To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
	And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again,
	And bury all thy fear in my devices.

SATURNINUS	Then go successantly, and plead to him.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE I	Plains near Rome.


	[Enter LUCIUS with an army of Goths, with drum and colours]

LUCIUS	Approved warriors, and my faithful friends,
	I have received letters from great Rome,
	Which signify what hate they bear their emperor
	And how desirous of our sight they are.
	Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,
	Imperious and impatient of your wrongs,
	And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,
	Let him make treble satisfaction.

First Goth	Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,
	Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort;
	Whose high exploits and honourable deeds
	Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,
	Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,
	Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day
	Led by their master to the flowered fields,
	And be avenged on cursed Tamora.

All the Goths	And as he saith, so say we all with him.

LUCIUS	I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
	But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?

	[Enter a Goth, leading AARON with his Child in his arms]

Second Goth	Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd
	To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;
	And, as I earnestly did fix mine eye
	Upon the wasted building, suddenly
	I heard a child cry underneath a wall.
	I made unto the noise; when soon I heard
	The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:
	'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!
	Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,
	Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,
	Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor:
	But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,
	They never do beget a coal-black calf.
	Peace, villain, peace!'--even thus he rates
	the babe,--
	'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth;
	Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe,
	Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'
	With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,
	Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither,
	To use as you think needful of the man.

LUCIUS	O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil
	That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;
	This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye,
	And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.
	Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey
	This growing image of thy fiend-like face?
	Why dost not speak? what, deaf? not a word?
	A halter, soldiers! hang him on this tree.
	And by his side his fruit of bastardy.

AARON	Touch not the boy; he is of royal blood.

LUCIUS	Too like the sire for ever being good.
	First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl;
	A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
	Get me a ladder.

	[A ladder brought, which AARON is made to ascend]

AARON	                  Lucius, save the child,
	And bear it from me to the empress.
	If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things,
	That highly may advantage thee to hear:
	If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
	I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!'

LUCIUS	Say on: an if it please me which thou speak'st
	Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.

AARON	An if it please thee! why, assure thee, Lucius,
	'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;
	For I must talk of murders, rapes and massacres,
	Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
	Complots of mischief, treason, villanies
	Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd:
	And this shall all be buried by my death,
	Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.

LUCIUS	Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.

AARON	Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.

LUCIUS	Who should I swear by? thou believest no god:
	That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?

AARON	What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not;
	Yet, for I know thou art religious
	And hast a thing within thee called conscience,
	With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies,
	Which I have seen thee careful to observe,
	Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know
	An idiot holds his bauble for a god
	And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,
	To that I'll urge him: therefore thou shalt vow
	By that same god, what god soe'er it be,
	That thou adorest and hast in reverence,
	To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;
	Or else I will discover nought to thee.

LUCIUS	Even by my god I swear to thee I will.

AARON	First know thou, I begot him on the empress.

LUCIUS	O most insatiate and luxurious woman!

AARON	Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity
	To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
	'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus;
	They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish'd her
	And cut her hands and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.

LUCIUS	O detestable villain! call'st thou that trimming?

AARON	Why, she was wash'd and cut and trimm'd, and 'twas
	Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.

LUCIUS	O barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself!

AARON	Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them:
	That codding spirit had they from their mother,
	As sure a card as ever won the set;
	That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me,
	As true a dog as ever fought at head.
	Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
	I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole
	Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay:
	I wrote the letter that thy father found
	And hid the gold within the letter mention'd,
	Confederate with the queen and her two sons:
	And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
	Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?
	I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand,
	And, when I had it, drew myself apart
	And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter:
	I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall
	When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads;
	Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily,
	That both mine eyes were rainy like to his :
	And when I told the empress of this sport,
	She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,
	And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.

First Goth	What, canst thou say all this, and never blush?

AARON	Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.

LUCIUS	Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?

AARON	Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
	Even now I curse the day--and yet, I think,
	Few come within the compass of my curse,--
	Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
	As kill a man, or else devise his death,
	Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,
	Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,
	Set deadly enmity between two friends,
	Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
	Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
	And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
	Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
	And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
	Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
	And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
	Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
	'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
	Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
	As willingly as one would kill a fly,
	And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
	But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

LUCIUS	Bring down the devil; for he must not die
	So sweet a death as hanging presently.

AARON	If there be devils, would I were a devil,
	To live and burn in everlasting fire,
	So I might have your company in hell,
	But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

LUCIUS	Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.

	[Enter a Goth]

Third Goth	My lord, there is a messenger from Rome
	Desires to be admitted to your presence.

LUCIUS	Let him come near.

	[Enter AEMILIUS]

	Welcome, AEmilius	what's the news from Rome?

AEMILIUS	Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,
	The Roman emperor greets you all by me;
	And, for he understands you are in arms,
	He craves a parley at your father's house,
	Willing you to demand your hostages,
	And they shall be immediately deliver'd.

First Goth	What says our general?

LUCIUS	AEmilius, let the emperor give his pledges
	Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,
	And we will come. March away.

	[Exeunt]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE II	Rome. Before TITUS's house.


	[Enter TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, disguised]

TAMORA	Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
	I will encounter with Andronicus,
	And say I am Revenge, sent from below
	To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.
	Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps,
	To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
	Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,
	And work confusion on his enemies.

	[They knock]

	[Enter TITUS, above]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Who doth molest my contemplation?
	Is it your trick to make me ope the door,
	That so my sad decrees may fly away,
	And all my study be to no effect?
	You are deceived: for what I mean to do
	See here in bloody lines I have set down;
	And what is written shall be executed.

TAMORA	Titus, I am come to talk with thee.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	No, not a word; how can I grace my talk,
	Wanting a hand to give it action?
	Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.

TAMORA	If thou didst know me, thou wouldest talk with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I am not mad; I know thee well enough:
	Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;
	Witness these trenches made by grief and care,
	Witness the tiring day and heavy night;
	Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well
	For our proud empress, mighty Tamora:
	Is not thy coming for my other hand?

TAMORA	Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora;
	She is thy enemy, and I thy friend:
	I am Revenge: sent from the infernal kingdom,
	To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind,
	By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
	Come down, and welcome me to this world's light;
	Confer with me of murder and of death:
	There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,
	No vast obscurity or misty vale,
	Where bloody murder or detested rape
	Can couch for fear, but I will find them out;
	And in their ears tell them my dreadful name,
	Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me,
	To be a torment to mine enemies?

TAMORA	I am; therefore come down, and welcome me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Do me some service, ere I come to thee.
	Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;
	Now give me some surance that thou art Revenge,
	Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels;
	And then I'll come and be thy waggoner,
	And whirl along with thee about the globe.
	Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,
	To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,
	And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
	And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
	I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel
	Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,
	Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
	Until his very downfall in the sea:
	And day by day I'll do this heavy task,
	So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.

TAMORA	These are my ministers, and come with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Are these thy ministers? what are they call'd?

TAMORA	Rapine and Murder; therefore called so,
	Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Good Lord, how like the empress' sons they are!
	And you, the empress! but we worldly men
	Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
	O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;
	And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,
	I will embrace thee in it by and by.

	[Exit above]

TAMORA	This closing with him fits his lunacy
	Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits,
	Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,
	For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;
	And, being credulous in this mad thought,
	I'll make him send for Lucius his son;
	And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,
	I'll find some cunning practise out of hand,
	To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
	Or, at the least, make them his enemies.
	See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.

	[Enter TITUS below]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee:
	Welcome, dread Fury, to my woful house:
	Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.
	How like the empress and her sons you are!
	Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor:
	Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
	For well I wot the empress never wags
	But in her company there is a Moor;
	And, would you represent our queen aright,
	It were convenient you had such a devil:
	But welcome, as you are. What shall we do?

TAMORA	What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?

DEMETRIUS	Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.

CHIRON	Show me a villain that hath done a rape,
	And I am sent to be revenged on him.

TAMORA	Show me a thousand that have done thee wrong,
	And I will be revenged on them all.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Look round about the wicked streets of Rome;
	And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself.
	Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer.
	Go thou with him; and when it is thy hap
	To find another that is like to thee,
	Good Rapine, stab him; he's a ravisher.
	Go thou with them; and in the emperor's court
	There is a queen, attended by a Moor;
	Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion,
	for up and down she doth resemble thee:
	I pray thee, do on them some violent death;
	They have been violent to me and mine.

TAMORA	Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do.
	But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
	To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,
	Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,
	And bid him come and banquet at thy house;
	When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
	I will bring in the empress and her sons,
	The emperor himself and all thy foes;
	And at thy mercy shalt they stoop and kneel,
	And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
	What says Andronicus to this device?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Marcus, my brother! 'tis sad Titus calls.

	[Enter MARCUS]

	Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;
	Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths:
	Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
	Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;
	Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are:
	Tell him the emperor and the empress too
	Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.
	This do thou for my love; and so let him,
	As he regards his aged father's life.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	This will I do, and soon return again.

	[Exit]

TAMORA	Now will I hence about thy business,
	And take my ministers along with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me;
	Or else I'll call my brother back again,
	And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.

TAMORA	[Aside to her sons]  What say you, boys? will you
	bide with him,
	Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor
	How I have govern'd our determined jest?
	Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,
	And tarry with him till I turn again.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	[Aside]  I know them all, though they suppose me mad,
	And will o'erreach them in their own devices:
	A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam!

DEMETRIUS	Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.

TAMORA	Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes
	To lay a complot to betray thy foes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.

	[Exit TAMORA]

CHIRON	Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Tut, I have work enough for you to do.
	Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine!

	[Enter PUBLIUS and others]

PUBLIUS	What is your will?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Know you these two?

PUBLIUS	The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron and Demetrius.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceived;
	The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name;
	And therefore bind them, gentle Publius.
	Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.
	Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
	And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,
	And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.

	[Exit]

	[PUBLIUS, &c. lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]

CHIRON	Villains, forbear! we are the empress' sons.

PUBLIUS	And therefore do we what we are commanded.
	Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.
	Is he sure bound? look that you bind them fast.

	[Re-enter TITUS, with LAVINIA; he bearing a knife,
	and she a basin]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.
	Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;
	But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
	O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
	Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud,
	This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
	You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault
	Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death,
	My hand cut off and made a merry jest;
	Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
	Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
	Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced.
	What would you say, if I should let you speak?
	Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
	Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.
	This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
	Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
	The basin that receives your guilty blood.
	You know your mother means to feast with me,
	And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad:
	Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust
	And with your blood and it I'll make a paste,
	And of the paste a coffin I will rear
	And make two pasties of your shameful heads,
	And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam,
	Like to the earth swallow her own increase.
	This is the feast that I have bid her to,
	And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
	For worse than Philomel you used my daughter,
	And worse than Progne I will be revenged:
	And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,

	[He cuts their throats]

	Receive the blood: and when that they are dead,
	Let me go grind their bones to powder small
	And with this hateful liquor temper it;
	And in that paste let their vile heads be baked.
	Come, come, be every one officious
	To make this banquet; which I wish may prove
	More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.
	So, now bring them in, for I'll play the cook,
	And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes.

	[Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies]




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE III	Court of TITUS's house. A banquet set out.


	[Enter LUCIUS, MARCUS, and Goths, with AARON prisoner]

LUCIUS	Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's mind
	That I repair to Rome, I am content.

First Goth	And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.

LUCIUS	Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,
	This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;
	Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him
	Till he be brought unto the empress' face,
	For testimony of her foul proceedings:
	And see the ambush of our friends be strong;
	I fear the emperor means no good to us.

AARON	Some devil whisper curses in mine ear,
	And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth
	The venomous malice of my swelling heart!

LUCIUS	Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave!
	Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.

	[Exeunt Goths, with AARON. Flourish within]

	The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.

	[Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with AEMILIUS,
	Tribunes, Senators, and others]

SATURNINUS	What, hath the firmament more suns than one?

LUCIUS	What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
	These quarrels must be quietly debated.
	The feast is ready, which the careful Titus
	Hath ordain'd to an honourable end,
	For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome:
	Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places.

SATURNINUS	Marcus, we will.

	[Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at table]

	[Enter TITUS dressed like a Cook, LAVINIA veiled,
	Young LUCIUS, and others. TITUS places the dishes
	on the table]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread queen;
	Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
	And welcome, all: although the cheer be poor,
	'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.

SATURNINUS	Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Because I would be sure to have all well,
	To entertain your highness and your empress.

TAMORA	We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	An if your highness knew my heart, you were.
	My lord the emperor, resolve me this:
	Was it well done of rash Virginius
	To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
	Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflower'd?

SATURNINUS	It was, Andronicus.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Your reason, mighty lord?

SATURNINUS	Because the girl should not survive her shame,
	And by her presence still renew his sorrows.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
	A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant,
	For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
	Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;

	[Kills LAVINIA]

	And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die!

SATURNINUS	What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind.
	I am as woful as Virginius was,
	And have a thousand times more cause than he
	To do this outrage: and it now is done.

SATURNINUS	What, was she ravish'd? tell who did the deed.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Will't please you eat? will't please your
	highness feed?

TAMORA	Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius:
	They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue;
	And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.

SATURNINUS	Go fetch them hither to us presently.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Why, there they are both, baked in that pie;
	Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
	Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
	'Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's sharp point.

	[Kills TAMORA]

SATURNINUS	Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!

	[Kills TITUS]

LUCIUS	Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?
	There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed!

	[Kills SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, MARCUS,
	and others go up into the balcony]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome,
	By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl
	Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
	O, let me teach you how to knit again
	This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf,
	These broken limbs again into one body;
	Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
	And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to,
	Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
	Do shameful execution on herself.
	But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
	Grave witnesses of true experience,
	Cannot induce you to attend my words,

	[To LUCIUS]

	Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor,
	When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
	To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
	The story of that baleful burning night
	When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy,
	Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
	Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
	That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
	My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
	Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
	But floods of tears will drown my oratory,
	And break my utterance, even in the time
	When it should move you to attend me most,
	Lending your kind commiseration.
	Here is a captain, let him tell the tale;
	Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.

LUCIUS	Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
	That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
	Were they that murdered our emperor's brother;
	And they it were that ravished our sister:
	For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded;
	Our father's tears despised, and basely cozen'd
	Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out,
	And sent her enemies unto the grave.
	Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
	The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
	To beg relief among Rome's enemies:
	Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears.
	And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend.
	I am the turned forth, be it known to you,
	That have preserved her welfare in my blood;
	And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
	Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body.
	Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I;
	My scars can witness, dumb although they are,
	That my report is just and full of truth.
	But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,
	Citing my worthless praise: O, pardon me;
	For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Now is my turn to speak. Behold this child:

	[Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant]

	Of this was Tamora delivered;
	The issue of an irreligious Moor,
	Chief architect and plotter of these woes:
	The villain is alive in Titus' house,
	And as he is, to witness this is true.
	Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
	These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
	Or more than any living man could bear.
	Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romans?
	Have we done aught amiss,--show us wherein,
	And, from the place where you behold us now,
	The poor remainder of Andronici
	Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down.
	And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains,
	And make a mutual closure of our house.
	Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,
	Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.

AEMILIUS	Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
	And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,
	Lucius our emperor; for well I know
	The common voice do cry it shall be so.

All	Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal emperor!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house,

	[To Attendants]

	And hither hale that misbelieving Moor,
	To be adjudged some direful slaughtering death,
	As punishment for his most wicked life.

	[Exeunt Attendants]

	[LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend]

All	Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor!

LUCIUS	Thanks, gentle Romans: may I govern so,
	To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe!
	But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,
	For nature puts me to a heavy task:
	Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near,
	To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.
	O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips,

	[Kissing TITUS]

	These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face,
	The last true duties of thy noble son!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss,
	Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips:
	O were the sum of these that I should pay
	Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!

LUCIUS	Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us
	To melt in showers: thy grandsire loved thee well:
	Many a time he danced thee on his knee,
	Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow:
	Many a matter hath he told to thee,
	Meet and agreeing with thine infancy;
	In that respect, then, like a loving child,
	Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring,
	Because kind nature doth require it so:
	Friends should associate friends in grief and woe:
	Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;
	Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.

Young LUCIUS	O grandsire, grandsire! even with all my heart
	Would I were dead, so you did live again!
	O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;
	My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.

	[Re-enter Attendants with AARON]

AEMILIUS	You sad Andronici, have done with woes:
	Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
	That hath been breeder of these dire events.

LUCIUS	Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;
	There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food;
	If any one relieves or pities him,
	For the offence he dies. This is our doom:
	Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth.

AARON	O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb?
	I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
	I should repent the evils I have done:
	Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
	Would I perform, if I might have my will;
	If one good deed in all my life I did,
	I do repent it from my very soul.

LUCIUS	Some loving friends convey the emperor hence,
	And give him burial in his father's grave:
	My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
	Be closed in our household's monument.
	As for that heinous tiger, Tamora,
	No funeral rite, nor man m mourning weeds,
	No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
	But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey:
	Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity;
	And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
	See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
	By whom our heavy haps had their beginning:
	Then, afterwards, to order well the state,
	That like events may ne'er it ruinate.

	[Exeunt]
