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changeset 4:1f9d3d3db9af draft
another copy
| author | Richard Burhans <burhans@bx.psu.edu> |
|---|---|
| date | Fri, 01 Feb 2013 12:33:21 -0500 |
| parents | 2f26141604ec |
| children | 1e5c40a198b6 |
| files | bill/bill.2.txt |
| diffstat | 1 files changed, 124796 insertions(+), 0 deletions(-) [+] |
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--- /dev/null Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 1970 +0000 +++ b/bill/bill.2.txt Fri Feb 01 12:33:21 2013 -0500 @@ -0,0 +1,124796 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by +William Shakespeare + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +1609 + +THE SONNETS + +by William Shakespeare + + + + 1 + From fairest creatures we desire increase, + That thereby beauty's rose might never die, + But as the riper should by time decease, + His tender heir might bear his memory: + But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, + Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, + Making a famine where abundance lies, + Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: + Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, + And only herald to the gaudy spring, + Within thine own bud buriest thy content, + And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding: + Pity the world, or else this glutton be, + To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. + + + 2 + When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, + And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, + Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, + Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: + Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, + Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; + To say within thine own deep sunken eyes, + Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. + How much more praise 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. + + + 3 + Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, + Now is the time that face should form another, + Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, + Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. + For where is she so fair whose uneared womb + Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? + Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, + Of his self-love to stop posterity? + Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee + Calls back the lovely April of her prime, + So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, + Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. + But if thou live remembered not to be, + Die single and thine image dies with thee. + + + 4 + Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, + Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? + Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, + And being frank she lends to those are free: + Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, + The bounteous largess given thee to give? + Profitless usurer why dost thou use + So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? + For having traffic with thy self alone, + Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, + Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, + What acceptable audit canst thou leave? + Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, + Which used lives th' executor to be. + + + 5 + Those hours that with gentle work did frame + The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell + Will play the tyrants to the very same, + And that unfair which fairly doth excel: + For never-resting time leads summer on + To hideous winter and confounds him there, + Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, + Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where: + Then were not summer's distillation left + A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, + Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, + Nor it nor no remembrance what it was. + But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, + Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet. + + + 6 + Then let not winter's ragged hand deface, + In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: + Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, + With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed: + That use is not forbidden usury, + Which happies those that pay the willing loan; + That's for thy self to breed another thee, + Or ten times happier be it ten for one, + Ten times thy self were happier than thou art, + If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: + Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, + Leaving thee living in posterity? + Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, + To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. + + + 7 + Lo in the orient when the gracious light + Lifts up his burning head, each under eye + Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, + Serving with looks his sacred majesty, + And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, + Resembling strong youth in his middle age, + Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, + Attending on his golden pilgrimage: + But when from highmost pitch with weary car, + Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, + The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are + From his low tract and look another way: + So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: + Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. + + + 8 + Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? + Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: + Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, + Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? + If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, + By unions married do offend thine ear, + They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds + In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear: + Mark how one string sweet husband to another, + Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; + Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, + Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: + Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, + Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'. + + + 9 + Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, + That thou consum'st thy self in single life? + Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, + The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, + The world will be thy widow and still weep, + That thou no form of thee hast left behind, + When every private widow well may keep, + By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind: + Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend + Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; + But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, + And kept unused the user so destroys it: + No love toward others in that bosom sits + That on himself such murd'rous shame commits. + + + 10 + For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any + Who for thy self art so unprovident. + Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, + But that thou none lov'st is most evident: + For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate, + That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire, + Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate + Which to repair should be thy chief desire: + O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, + Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? + Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, + Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, + Make thee another self for love of me, + That beauty still may live in thine or thee. + + + 11 + As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st, + In one of thine, from that which thou departest, + And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, + Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest, + Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, + Without this folly, age, and cold decay, + If all were minded so, the times should cease, + And threescore year would make the world away: + Let those whom nature hath not made for store, + Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: + Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more; + Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: + She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, + Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. + + + 12 + When I do count the clock that tells the time, + And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, + When I behold the violet past prime, + And sable curls all silvered o'er with white: + When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, + Which erst from heat did canopy the herd + And summer's green all girded up in sheaves + Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: + Then of thy beauty do I question make + That thou among the wastes of time must go, + Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, + And die as fast as they see others grow, + And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence + Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence. + + + 13 + O that you were your self, but love you are + No longer yours, than you your self here live, + Against this coming end you should prepare, + And your sweet semblance to some other give. + So should that beauty which you hold in lease + Find no determination, then you were + Your self again after your self's decease, + When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. + Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, + Which husbandry in honour might uphold, + Against the stormy gusts of winter's day + And barren rage of death's eternal cold? + O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, + You had a father, let your son say so. + + + 14 + Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, + And yet methinks I have astronomy, + But not to tell of good, or evil luck, + Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality, + Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell; + Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, + Or say with princes if it shall go well + By oft predict that I in heaven find. + But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, + And constant stars in them I read such art + As truth and beauty shall together thrive + If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert: + Or else of thee this I prognosticate, + Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. + + + 15 + When I consider every thing that grows + Holds in perfection but a little moment. + That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows + Whereon the stars in secret influence comment. + When I perceive that men as plants increase, + Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky: + Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, + And wear their brave state out of memory. + Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, + Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, + Where wasteful time debateth with decay + To change your day of youth to sullied night, + And all in war with Time for love of you, + As he takes from you, I engraft you new. + + + 16 + But wherefore do not you a mightier way + Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time? + And fortify your self in your decay + With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? + Now stand you on the top of happy hours, + And many maiden gardens yet unset, + With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, + Much liker than your painted counterfeit: + So should the lines of life that life repair + Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen + Neither in inward worth nor outward fair + Can make you live your self in eyes of men. + To give away your self, keeps your self still, + And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill. + + + 17 + Who will believe my verse in time to come + If it were filled with your most high deserts? + Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb + Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: + If I could write the beauty of your eyes, + And in fresh numbers number all your graces, + The age to come would say this poet lies, + Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces. + So should my papers (yellowed with their age) + Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, + And your true rights be termed a poet's rage, + And stretched metre of an antique song. + But were some child of yours alive that time, + You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme. + + + 18 + Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? + Thou art more lovely and more temperate: + Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, + And summer's lease hath all too short a date: + Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, + And often is his gold complexion dimmed, + And every fair from fair sometime declines, + By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: + But thy eternal summer shall not fade, + Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, + Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, + When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, + So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + + 19 + Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws, + And make the earth devour her own sweet brood, + Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, + And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood, + Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st, + And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time + To the wide world and all her fading sweets: + But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, + O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, + Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen, + Him in thy course untainted do allow, + For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. + Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, + My love shall in my verse ever live young. + + + 20 + A woman's face with nature's own hand painted, + Hast thou the master mistress of my passion, + A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted + With shifting change as is false women's fashion, + An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling: + Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth, + A man in hue all hues in his controlling, + Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. + And for a woman wert thou first created, + Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, + And by addition me of thee defeated, + By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. + But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure, + Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. + + + 21 + So is it not with me as with that muse, + Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, + Who heaven it self for ornament doth use, + And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, + Making a couplement of proud compare + With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems: + With April's first-born flowers and all things rare, + That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. + O let me true in love but truly write, + And then believe me, my love is as fair, + As any mother's child, though not so bright + As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air: + Let them say more that like of hearsay well, + I will not praise that purpose not to sell. + + + 22 + My glass shall not persuade me I am old, + So long as youth and thou are of one date, + But when in thee time's furrows I behold, + Then look I death my days should expiate. + For all that beauty that doth cover thee, + Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, + Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me, + How can I then be elder than thou art? + O therefore love be of thyself so wary, + As I not for my self, but for thee will, + Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary + As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. + Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, + Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. + + + 23 + As an unperfect actor on the stage, + Who with his fear is put beside his part, + Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, + Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; + So I for fear of trust, forget to say, + The perfect ceremony of love's rite, + And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, + O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might: + O let my looks be then the eloquence, + And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, + Who plead for love, and look for recompense, + More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. + O learn to read what silent love hath writ, + To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. + + + 24 + Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled, + Thy beauty's form in table of my heart, + My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, + And perspective it is best painter's art. + For through the painter must you see his skill, + To find where your true image pictured lies, + Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, + That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes: + Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done, + Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me + Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun + Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; + Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, + They draw but what they see, know not the heart. + + + 25 + Let those who are in favour with their stars, + Of public honour and proud titles boast, + Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars + Unlooked for joy in that I honour most; + Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, + But as the marigold at the sun's eye, + And in themselves their pride lies buried, + For at a frown they in their glory die. + The painful warrior famoused for fight, + After a thousand victories once foiled, + Is from the book of honour razed quite, + And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: + Then happy I that love and am beloved + Where I may not remove nor be removed. + + + 26 + Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage + Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit; + To thee I send this written embassage + To witness duty, not to show my wit. + Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine + May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it; + But that I hope some good conceit of thine + In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it: + Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, + Points on me graciously with fair aspect, + And puts apparel on my tattered loving, + To show me worthy of thy sweet respect, + Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, + Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. + + + 27 + Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, + The dear respose for limbs with travel tired, + But then begins a journey in my head + To work my mind, when body's work's expired. + For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) + Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, + And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, + Looking on darkness which the blind do see. + Save that my soul's imaginary sight + Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, + Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night) + Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. + Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, + For thee, and for my self, no quiet find. + + + 28 + How can I then return in happy plight + That am debarred the benefit of rest? + When day's oppression is not eased by night, + But day by night and night by day oppressed. + And each (though enemies to either's reign) + Do in consent shake hands to torture me, + The one by toil, the other to complain + How far I toil, still farther off from thee. + I tell the day to please him thou art bright, + And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: + So flatter I the swart-complexioned night, + When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. + But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, + And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger + + + 29 + When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, + I all alone beweep my outcast state, + And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, + And look upon my self and curse my fate, + Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, + Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, + Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, + With what I most enjoy contented least, + Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, + Haply I think on thee, and then my state, + (Like to the lark at break of day arising + From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate, + For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, + That then I scorn to change my state with kings. + + + 30 + When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, + I summon up remembrance of things past, + I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, + And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: + Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow) + For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, + And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, + And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight. + Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, + And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er + The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, + Which I new pay as if not paid before. + But if the while I think on thee (dear friend) + All losses are restored, and sorrows end. + + + 31 + Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, + Which I by lacking have supposed dead, + And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, + And all those friends which I thought buried. + How many a holy and obsequious tear + Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, + As interest of the dead, which now appear, + But things removed that hidden in thee lie. + Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, + Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, + Who all their parts of me to thee did give, + That due of many, now is thine alone. + Their images I loved, I view in thee, + And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. + + + 32 + If thou survive my well-contented day, + When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover + And shalt by fortune once more re-survey + These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover: + Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, + And though they be outstripped by every pen, + Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, + Exceeded by the height of happier men. + O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought, + 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, + A dearer birth than this his love had brought + To march in ranks of better equipage: + But since he died and poets better prove, + Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'. + + + 33 + Full many a glorious morning have I seen, + Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, + Kissing with golden face the meadows green; + Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy: + Anon permit the basest clouds to ride, + With ugly rack on his celestial face, + And from the forlorn world his visage hide + Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: + Even so my sun one early morn did shine, + With all triumphant splendour on my brow, + But out alack, he was but one hour mine, + The region cloud hath masked him from me now. + Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth, + Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. + + + 34 + Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, + And make me travel forth without my cloak, + To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, + Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke? + 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, + To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, + For no man well of such a salve can speak, + That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: + Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief, + Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss, + Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief + To him that bears the strong offence's cross. + Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, + And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. + + + 35 + No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, + Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, + Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, + And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. + All men make faults, and even I in this, + Authorizing thy trespass with compare, + My self corrupting salving thy amiss, + Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: + For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, + Thy adverse party is thy advocate, + And 'gainst my self a lawful plea commence: + Such civil war is in my love and hate, + That I an accessary needs must be, + To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. + + + 36 + Let me confess that we two must be twain, + Although our undivided loves are one: + So shall those blots that do with me remain, + Without thy help, by me be borne alone. + In our two loves there is but one respect, + Though in our lives a separable spite, + Which though it alter not love's sole effect, + Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. + I may not evermore acknowledge thee, + Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, + Nor thou with public kindness honour me, + Unless thou take that honour from thy name: + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 37 + As a decrepit father takes delight, + To see his active child do deeds of youth, + So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite + Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. + For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, + Or any of these all, or all, or more + Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, + I make my love engrafted to this store: + So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, + Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, + That I in thy abundance am sufficed, + And by a part of all thy glory live: + Look what is best, that best I wish in thee, + This wish I have, then ten times happy me. + + + 38 + How can my muse want subject to invent + While thou dost breathe that pour'st into my verse, + Thine own sweet argument, too excellent, + For every vulgar paper to rehearse? + O give thy self the thanks if aught in me, + Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, + For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, + When thou thy self dost give invention light? + Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth + Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, + And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth + Eternal numbers to outlive long date. + If my slight muse do please these curious days, + The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. + + + 39 + O how thy worth with manners may I sing, + When thou art all the better part of me? + What can mine own praise to mine own self bring: + And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? + Even for this, let us divided live, + And our dear love lose name of single one, + That by this separation I may give: + That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone: + O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, + Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, + To entertain the time with thoughts of love, + Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive. + And that thou teachest how to make one twain, + By praising him here who doth hence remain. + + + 40 + Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, + What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? + No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, + All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: + Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, + I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, + But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest + By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. + I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief + Although thou steal thee all my poverty: + And yet love knows it is a greater grief + To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury. + Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, + Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. + + + 41 + Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, + When I am sometime absent from thy heart, + Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, + For still temptation follows where thou art. + Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, + Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. + And when a woman woos, what woman's son, + Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? + Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, + And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth, + Who lead thee in their riot even there + Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: + Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, + Thine by thy beauty being false to me. + + + 42 + That thou hast her it is not all my grief, + And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, + That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, + A loss in love that touches me more nearly. + Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, + Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her, + And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, + Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. + If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, + And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, + Both find each other, and I lose both twain, + And both for my sake lay on me this cross, + But here's the joy, my friend and I are one, + Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone. + + + 43 + When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, + For all the day they view things unrespected, + But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, + And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. + Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright + How would thy shadow's form, form happy show, + To the clear day with thy much clearer light, + When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! + How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made, + By looking on thee in the living day, + When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade, + Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! + All days are nights to see till I see thee, + And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. + + + 44 + If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, + Injurious distance should not stop my way, + For then despite of space I would be brought, + From limits far remote, where thou dost stay, + No matter then although my foot did stand + Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, + For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, + As soon as think the place where he would be. + But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought + To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, + But that so much of earth and water wrought, + I must attend, time's leisure with my moan. + Receiving nought by elements so slow, + But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. + + + 45 + The other two, slight air, and purging fire, + Are both with thee, wherever I abide, + The first my thought, the other my desire, + These present-absent with swift motion slide. + For when these quicker elements are gone + In tender embassy of love to thee, + My life being made of four, with two alone, + Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy. + Until life's composition be recured, + By those swift messengers returned from thee, + Who even but now come back again assured, + Of thy fair health, recounting it to me. + This told, I joy, but then no longer glad, + I send them back again and straight grow sad. + + + 46 + Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, + How to divide the conquest of thy sight, + Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar, + My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right, + My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, + (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes) + But the defendant doth that plea deny, + And says in him thy fair appearance lies. + To side this title is impanelled + A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, + And by their verdict is determined + The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part. + As thus, mine eye's due is thy outward part, + And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart. + + + 47 + Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, + And each doth good turns now unto the other, + When that mine eye is famished for a look, + Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother; + With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, + And to the painted banquet bids my heart: + Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, + And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. + So either by thy picture or my love, + Thy self away, art present still with me, + For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, + And I am still with them, and they with thee. + Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight + Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight. + + + 48 + How careful was I when I took my way, + Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, + That to my use it might unused stay + From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! + But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, + Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, + Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, + Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. + Thee have I not locked up in any chest, + Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, + Within the gentle closure of my breast, + From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part, + And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear, + For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. + + + 49 + Against that time (if ever that time come) + When I shall see thee frown on my defects, + When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, + Called to that audit by advised respects, + Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, + And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, + When love converted from the thing it was + Shall reasons find of settled gravity; + Against that time do I ensconce me here + Within the knowledge of mine own desert, + And this my hand, against my self uprear, + To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, + To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, + Since why to love, I can allege no cause. + + + 50 + How heavy do I journey on the way, + When what I seek (my weary travel's end) + Doth teach that case and that repose to say + 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.' + The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, + Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, + As if by some instinct the wretch did know + His rider loved not speed being made from thee: + The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, + That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, + Which heavily he answers with a groan, + More sharp to me than spurring to his side, + For that same groan doth put this in my mind, + My grief lies onward and my joy behind. + + + 51 + Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, + Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, + From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? + Till I return of posting is no need. + O what excuse will my poor beast then find, + When swift extremity can seem but slow? + Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, + In winged speed no motion shall I know, + Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, + Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made) + Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race, + But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade, + Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, + Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. + + + 52 + So am I as the rich whose blessed key, + Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, + The which he will not every hour survey, + For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. + Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, + Since seldom coming in that long year set, + Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, + Or captain jewels in the carcanet. + So is the time that keeps you as my chest + Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, + To make some special instant special-blest, + By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. + Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, + Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. + + + 53 + What is your substance, whereof are you made, + That millions of strange shadows on you tend? + Since every one, hath every one, one shade, + And you but one, can every shadow lend: + Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, + Is poorly imitated after you, + On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, + And you in Grecian tires are painted new: + Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, + The one doth shadow of your beauty show, + The other as your bounty doth appear, + And you in every blessed shape we know. + In all external grace you have some part, + But you like none, none you for constant heart. + + + 54 + O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, + By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! + The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem + For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: + The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, + As the perfumed tincture of the roses, + Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, + When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: + But for their virtue only is their show, + They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, + Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, + Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: + And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, + When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth. + + + 55 + Not marble, nor the gilded monuments + Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, + But you shall shine more bright in these contents + Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. + When wasteful war shall statues overturn, + And broils root out the work of masonry, + Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn: + The living record of your memory. + 'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity + Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, + Even in the eyes of all posterity + That wear this world out to the ending doom. + So till the judgment that your self arise, + You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. + + + 56 + Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said + Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, + Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, + To-morrow sharpened in his former might. + So love be thou, although to-day thou fill + Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, + To-morrow see again, and do not kill + The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness: + Let this sad interim like the ocean be + Which parts the shore, where two contracted new, + Come daily to the banks, that when they see: + Return of love, more blest may be the view. + Or call it winter, which being full of care, + Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. + + + 57 + Being your slave what should I do but tend, + Upon the hours, and times of your desire? + I have no precious time at all to spend; + Nor services to do till you require. + Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, + Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, + Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, + When you have bid your servant once adieu. + Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, + Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, + But like a sad slave stay and think of nought + Save where you are, how happy you make those. + So true a fool is love, that in your will, + (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. + + + 58 + That god forbid, that made me first your slave, + I should in thought control your times of pleasure, + Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, + Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. + O let me suffer (being at your beck) + Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty, + And patience tame to sufferance bide each check, + Without accusing you of injury. + Be where you list, your charter is so strong, + That you your self may privilage your time + To what you will, to you it doth belong, + Your self to pardon of self-doing crime. + I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, + Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. + + + 59 + If there be nothing new, but that which is, + Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, + Which labouring for invention bear amis + The second burthen of a former child! + O that record could with a backward look, + Even of five hundred courses of the sun, + Show me your image in some antique book, + Since mind at first in character was done. + That I might see what the old world could say, + To this composed wonder of your frame, + Whether we are mended, or whether better they, + Or whether revolution be the same. + O sure I am the wits of former days, + To subjects worse have given admiring praise. + + + 60 + Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, + So do our minutes hasten to their end, + Each changing place with that which goes before, + In sequent toil all forwards do contend. + Nativity once in the main of light, + Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, + Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, + And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. + Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, + And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, + Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, + And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. + And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand + Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. + + + 61 + Is it thy will, thy image should keep open + My heavy eyelids to the weary night? + Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, + While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? + Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee + So far from home into my deeds to pry, + To find out shames and idle hours in me, + The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? + O no, thy love though much, is not so great, + It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, + Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, + To play the watchman ever for thy sake. + For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, + From me far off, with others all too near. + + + 62 + Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, + And all my soul, and all my every part; + And for this sin there is no remedy, + It is so grounded inward in my heart. + Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, + No shape so true, no truth of such account, + And for my self mine own worth do define, + As I all other in all worths surmount. + But when my glass shows me my self indeed + beated and chopt with tanned antiquity, + Mine own self-love quite contrary I read: + Self, so self-loving were iniquity. + 'Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise, + Painting my age with beauty of thy days. + + + 63 + Against my love shall be as I am now + With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn, + When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow + With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn + Hath travelled on to age's steepy night, + And all those beauties whereof now he's king + Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, + Stealing away the treasure of his spring: + For such a time do I now fortify + Against confounding age's cruel knife, + That he shall never cut from memory + My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. + His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, + And they shall live, and he in them still green. + + + 64 + When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced + The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age, + When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased, + And brass eternal slave to mortal rage. + When I have seen the hungry ocean gain + Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, + And the firm soil win of the watery main, + Increasing store with loss, and loss with store. + When I have seen such interchange of State, + Or state it self confounded, to decay, + Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate + That Time will come and take my love away. + This thought is as a death which cannot choose + But weep to have, that which it fears to lose. + + + 65 + Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, + But sad mortality o'ersways their power, + How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, + Whose action is no stronger than a flower? + O how shall summer's honey breath hold out, + Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days, + When rocks impregnable are not so stout, + Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays? + O fearful meditation, where alack, + Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? + Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, + Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? + O none, unless this miracle have might, + That in black ink my love may still shine bright. + + + 66 + Tired with all these for restful death I cry, + As to behold desert a beggar born, + And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, + And purest faith unhappily forsworn, + And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, + And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, + And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, + And strength by limping sway disabled + And art made tongue-tied by authority, + And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, + And simple truth miscalled simplicity, + And captive good attending captain ill. + Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, + Save that to die, I leave my love alone. + + + 67 + Ah wherefore with infection should he live, + And with his presence grace impiety, + That sin by him advantage should achieve, + And lace it self with his society? + Why should false painting imitate his cheek, + And steal dead seeming of his living hue? + Why should poor beauty indirectly seek, + Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? + Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is, + Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins, + For she hath no exchequer now but his, + And proud of many, lives upon his gains? + O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, + In days long since, before these last so bad. + + + 68 + Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, + When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, + Before these bastard signs of fair were born, + Or durst inhabit on a living brow: + Before the golden tresses of the dead, + The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, + To live a second life on second head, + Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: + In him those holy antique hours are seen, + Without all ornament, it self and true, + Making no summer of another's green, + Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, + And him as for a map doth Nature store, + To show false Art what beauty was of yore. + + + 69 + Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, + Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: + All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, + Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. + Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, + But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, + In other accents do this praise confound + By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. + They look into the beauty of thy mind, + And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, + Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) + To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: + But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, + The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. + + + 70 + That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, + For slander's mark was ever yet the fair, + The ornament of beauty is suspect, + A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. + So thou be good, slander doth but approve, + Thy worth the greater being wooed of time, + For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, + And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. + Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, + Either not assailed, or victor being charged, + Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, + To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, + If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, + Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. + + + 71 + No longer mourn for me when I am dead, + Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell + Give warning to the world that I am fled + From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: + Nay if you read this line, remember not, + The hand that writ it, for I love you so, + That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, + If thinking on me then should make you woe. + O if (I say) you look upon this verse, + When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, + Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; + But let your love even with my life decay. + Lest the wise world should look into your moan, + And mock you with me after I am gone. + + + 72 + O lest the world should task you to recite, + What merit lived in me that you should love + After my death (dear love) forget me quite, + For you in me can nothing worthy prove. + Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, + To do more for me than mine own desert, + And hang more praise upon deceased I, + Than niggard truth would willingly impart: + O lest your true love may seem false in this, + That you for love speak well of me untrue, + My name be buried where my body is, + And live no more to shame nor me, nor you. + For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, + And so should you, to love things nothing worth. + + + 73 + That time of year thou mayst in me behold, + When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang + Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, + Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. + In me thou seest the twilight of such day, + As after sunset fadeth in the west, + Which by and by black night doth take away, + Death's second self that seals up all in rest. + In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, + That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, + As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, + Consumed with that which it was nourished by. + This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, + To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. + + + 74 + But be contented when that fell arrest, + Without all bail shall carry me away, + My life hath in this line some interest, + Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. + When thou reviewest this, thou dost review, + The very part was consecrate to thee, + The earth can have but earth, which is his due, + My spirit is thine the better part of me, + So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, + The prey of worms, my body being dead, + The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, + Too base of thee to be remembered, + The worth of that, is that which it contains, + And that is this, and this with thee remains. + + + 75 + So are you to my thoughts as food to life, + Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground; + And for the peace of you I hold such strife + As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. + Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon + Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, + Now counting best to be with you alone, + Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure, + Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, + And by and by clean starved for a look, + Possessing or pursuing no delight + Save what is had, or must from you be took. + Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, + Or gluttoning on all, or all away. + + + 76 + Why is my verse so barren of new pride? + So far from variation or quick change? + Why with the time do I not glance aside + To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? + Why write I still all one, ever the same, + And keep invention in a noted weed, + That every word doth almost tell my name, + Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? + O know sweet love I always write of you, + And you and love are still my argument: + So all my best is dressing old words new, + Spending again what is already spent: + For as the sun is daily new and old, + So is my love still telling what is told. + + + 77 + Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, + Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, + These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, + And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. + The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, + Of mouthed graves will give thee memory, + Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know, + Time's thievish progress to eternity. + Look what thy memory cannot contain, + Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find + Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, + To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. + These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, + Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. + + + 78 + So oft have I invoked thee for my muse, + And found such fair assistance in my verse, + As every alien pen hath got my use, + And under thee their poesy disperse. + Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, + And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, + Have added feathers to the learned's wing, + And given grace a double majesty. + Yet be most proud of that which I compile, + Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, + In others' works thou dost but mend the style, + And arts with thy sweet graces graced be. + But thou art all my art, and dost advance + As high as learning, my rude ignorance. + + + 79 + Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, + My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, + But now my gracious numbers are decayed, + And my sick muse doth give an other place. + I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument + Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, + Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, + He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, + He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word, + From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give + And found it in thy cheek: he can afford + No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. + Then thank him not for that which he doth say, + Since what he owes thee, thou thy self dost pay. + + + 80 + O how I faint when I of you do write, + Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, + And in the praise thereof spends all his might, + To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. + But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) + The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, + My saucy bark (inferior far to his) + On your broad main doth wilfully appear. + Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, + Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, + Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat, + He of tall building, and of goodly pride. + Then if he thrive and I be cast away, + The worst was this, my love was my decay. + + + 81 + Or I shall live your epitaph to make, + Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, + From hence your memory death cannot take, + Although in me each part will be forgotten. + Your name from hence immortal life shall have, + Though I (once gone) to all the world must die, + The earth can yield me but a common grave, + When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie, + Your monument shall be my gentle verse, + Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, + And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, + When all the breathers of this world are dead, + You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) + Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. + + + 82 + I grant thou wert not married to my muse, + And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook + The dedicated words which writers use + Of their fair subject, blessing every book. + Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, + Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, + And therefore art enforced to seek anew, + Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. + And do so love, yet when they have devised, + What strained touches rhetoric can lend, + Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized, + In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend. + And their gross painting might be better used, + Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused. + + + 83 + I never saw that you did painting need, + And therefore to your fair no painting set, + I found (or thought I found) you did exceed, + That barren tender of a poet's debt: + And therefore have I slept in your report, + That you your self being extant well might show, + How far a modern quill doth come too short, + Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. + This silence for my sin you did impute, + Which shall be most my glory being dumb, + For I impair not beauty being mute, + When others would give life, and bring a tomb. + There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, + Than both your poets can in praise devise. + + + 84 + Who is it that says most, which can say more, + Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you? + In whose confine immured is the store, + Which should example where your equal grew. + Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, + That to his subject lends not some small glory, + But he that writes of you, if he can tell, + That you are you, so dignifies his story. + Let him but copy what in you is writ, + Not making worse what nature made so clear, + And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, + Making his style admired every where. + You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, + Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. + + + 85 + My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, + While comments of your praise richly compiled, + Reserve their character with golden quill, + And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. + I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, + And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen, + To every hymn that able spirit affords, + In polished form of well refined pen. + Hearing you praised, I say 'tis so, 'tis true, + And to the most of praise add something more, + But that is in my thought, whose love to you + (Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before, + Then others, for the breath of words respect, + Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. + + + 86 + Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, + Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you, + That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, + Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? + Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, + Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? + No, neither he, nor his compeers by night + Giving him aid, my verse astonished. + He nor that affable familiar ghost + Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, + As victors of my silence cannot boast, + I was not sick of any fear from thence. + But when your countenance filled up his line, + Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine. + + + 87 + Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, + And like enough thou know'st thy estimate, + The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing: + My bonds in thee are all determinate. + For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, + And for that riches where is my deserving? + The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, + And so my patent back again is swerving. + Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, + Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking, + So thy great gift upon misprision growing, + Comes home again, on better judgement making. + Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, + In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. + + + 88 + When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, + And place my merit in the eye of scorn, + Upon thy side, against my self I'll fight, + And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: + With mine own weakness being best acquainted, + Upon thy part I can set down a story + Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted: + That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory: + And I by this will be a gainer too, + For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, + The injuries that to my self I do, + Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. + Such is my love, to thee I so belong, + That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong. + + + 89 + Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, + And I will comment upon that offence, + Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt: + Against thy reasons making no defence. + Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill, + To set a form upon desired change, + As I'll my self disgrace, knowing thy will, + I will acquaintance strangle and look strange: + Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue, + Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, + Lest I (too much profane) should do it wronk: + And haply of our old acquaintance tell. + For thee, against my self I'll vow debate, + For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. + + + 90 + Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, + Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, + join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, + And do not drop in for an after-loss: + Ah do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, + Come in the rearward of a conquered woe, + Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, + To linger out a purposed overthrow. + If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, + When other petty griefs have done their spite, + But in the onset come, so shall I taste + At first the very worst of fortune's might. + And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, + Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so. + + + 91 + Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, + Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, + Some in their garments though new-fangled ill: + Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse. + And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, + Wherein it finds a joy above the rest, + But these particulars are not my measure, + All these I better in one general best. + Thy love is better than high birth to me, + Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs, + Of more delight than hawks and horses be: + And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. + Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take, + All this away, and me most wretchcd make. + + + 92 + But do thy worst to steal thy self away, + For term of life thou art assured mine, + And life no longer than thy love will stay, + For it depends upon that love of thine. + Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, + When in the least of them my life hath end, + I see, a better state to me belongs + Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. + Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, + Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, + O what a happy title do I find, + Happy to have thy love, happy to die! + But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? + Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. + + + 93 + So shall I live, supposing thou art true, + Like a deceived husband, so love's face, + May still seem love to me, though altered new: + Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place. + For there can live no hatred in thine eye, + Therefore in that I cannot know thy change, + In many's looks, the false heart's history + Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. + But heaven in thy creation did decree, + That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell, + Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be, + Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell. + How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, + If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show. + + + 94 + They that have power to hurt, and will do none, + That do not do the thing, they most do show, + Who moving others, are themselves as stone, + Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow: + They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, + And husband nature's riches from expense, + Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces, + Others, but stewards of their excellence: + The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, + Though to it self, it only live and die, + But if that flower with base infection meet, + The basest weed outbraves his dignity: + For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds, + Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds. + + + 95 + How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, + Which like a canker in the fragrant rose, + Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! + O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! + That tongue that tells the story of thy days, + (Making lascivious comments on thy sport) + Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise, + Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. + O what a mansion have those vices got, + Which for their habitation chose out thee, + Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, + And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see! + Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege, + The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. + + + 96 + Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, + Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, + Both grace and faults are loved of more and less: + Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort: + As on the finger of a throned queen, + The basest jewel will be well esteemed: + So are those errors that in thee are seen, + To truths translated, and for true things deemed. + How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, + If like a lamb he could his looks translate! + How many gazers mightst thou lead away, + if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 97 + How like a winter hath my absence been + From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! + What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! + What old December's bareness everywhere! + And yet this time removed was summer's time, + The teeming autumn big with rich increase, + Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, + Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease: + Yet this abundant issue seemed to me + But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit, + For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, + And thou away, the very birds are mute. + Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, + That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. + + + 98 + From you have I been absent in the spring, + When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim) + Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: + That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. + Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell + Of different flowers in odour and in hue, + Could make me any summer's story tell: + Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: + Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, + Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, + They were but sweet, but figures of delight: + Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. + Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, + As with your shadow I with these did play. + + + 99 + The forward violet thus did I chide, + Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, + If not from my love's breath? The purple pride + Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells, + In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. + The lily I condemned for thy hand, + And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair, + The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, + One blushing shame, another white despair: + A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both, + And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, + But for his theft in pride of all his growth + A vengeful canker eat him up to death. + More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, + But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee. + + + 100 + Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long, + To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? + Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, + Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? + Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem, + In gentle numbers time so idly spent, + Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, + And gives thy pen both skill and argument. + Rise resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, + If time have any wrinkle graven there, + If any, be a satire to decay, + And make time's spoils despised everywhere. + Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, + So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. + + + 101 + O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, + For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? + Both truth and beauty on my love depends: + So dost thou too, and therein dignified: + Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, + 'Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, + Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay: + But best is best, if never intermixed'? + Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? + Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee, + To make him much outlive a gilded tomb: + And to be praised of ages yet to be. + Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, + To make him seem long hence, as he shows now. + + + 102 + My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming, + I love not less, though less the show appear, + That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, + The owner's tongue doth publish every where. + Our love was new, and then but in the spring, + When I was wont to greet it with my lays, + As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, + And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: + Not that the summer is less pleasant now + Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, + But that wild music burthens every bough, + And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. + Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue: + Because I would not dull you with my song. + + + 103 + Alack what poverty my muse brings forth, + That having such a scope to show her pride, + The argument all bare is of more worth + Than when it hath my added praise beside. + O blame me not if I no more can write! + Look in your glass and there appears a face, + That over-goes my blunt invention quite, + Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. + Were it not sinful then striving to mend, + To mar the subject that before was well? + For to no other pass my verses tend, + Than of your graces and your gifts to tell. + And more, much more than in my verse can sit, + Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. + + + 104 + To me fair friend you never can be old, + For as you were when first your eye I eyed, + Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold, + Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, + Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned, + In process of the seasons have I seen, + Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, + Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. + Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand, + Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, + So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand + Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. + For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred, + Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. + + + 105 + Let not my love be called idolatry, + Nor my beloved as an idol show, + Since all alike my songs and praises be + To one, of one, still such, and ever so. + Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, + Still constant in a wondrous excellence, + Therefore my verse to constancy confined, + One thing expressing, leaves out difference. + Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, + Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words, + And in this change is my invention spent, + Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. + Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone. + Which three till now, never kept seat in one. + + + 106 + When in the chronicle of wasted time, + I see descriptions of the fairest wights, + And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, + In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, + Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, + Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, + I see their antique pen would have expressed, + Even such a beauty as you master now. + So all their praises are but prophecies + Of this our time, all you prefiguring, + And for they looked but with divining eyes, + They had not skill enough your worth to sing: + For we which now behold these present days, + Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. + + + 107 + Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul, + Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, + Can yet the lease of my true love control, + Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. + The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, + And the sad augurs mock their own presage, + Incertainties now crown themselves assured, + And peace proclaims olives of endless age. + Now with the drops of this most balmy time, + My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, + Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, + While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. + And thou in this shalt find thy monument, + When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. + + + 108 + What's in the brain that ink may character, + Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit, + What's new to speak, what now to register, + That may express my love, or thy dear merit? + Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, + I must each day say o'er the very same, + Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, + Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. + So that eternal love in love's fresh case, + Weighs not the dust and injury of age, + Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, + But makes antiquity for aye his page, + Finding the first conceit of love there bred, + Where time and outward form would show it dead. + + + 109 + O never say that I was false of heart, + Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, + As easy might I from my self depart, + As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: + That is my home of love, if I have ranged, + Like him that travels I return again, + Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, + So that my self bring water for my stain, + Never believe though in my nature reigned, + All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, + That it could so preposterously be stained, + To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: + For nothing this wide universe I call, + Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. + + + 110 + Alas 'tis true, I have gone here and there, + And made my self a motley to the view, + Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, + Made old offences of affections new. + Most true it is, that I have looked on truth + Askance and strangely: but by all above, + These blenches gave my heart another youth, + And worse essays proved thee my best of love. + Now all is done, have what shall have no end, + Mine appetite I never more will grind + On newer proof, to try an older friend, + A god in love, to whom I am confined. + Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, + Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. + + + 111 + O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, + The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, + That did not better for my life provide, + Than public means which public manners breeds. + Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, + And almost thence my nature is subdued + To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: + Pity me then, and wish I were renewed, + Whilst like a willing patient I will drink, + Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection, + No bitterness that I will bitter think, + Nor double penance to correct correction. + Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye, + Even that your pity is enough to cure me. + + + 112 + Your love and pity doth th' impression fill, + Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, + For what care I who calls me well or ill, + So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? + You are my all the world, and I must strive, + To know my shames and praises from your tongue, + None else to me, nor I to none alive, + That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. + In so profound abysm I throw all care + Of others' voices, that my adder's sense, + To critic and to flatterer stopped are: + Mark how with my neglect I do dispense. + You are so strongly in my purpose bred, + That all the world besides methinks are dead. + + + 113 + Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, + And that which governs me to go about, + Doth part his function, and is partly blind, + Seems seeing, but effectually is out: + For it no form delivers to the heart + Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch, + Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, + Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: + For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, + The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, + The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night: + The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. + Incapable of more, replete with you, + My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. + + + 114 + Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you + Drink up the monarch's plague this flattery? + Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, + And that your love taught it this alchemy? + To make of monsters, and things indigest, + Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, + Creating every bad a perfect best + As fast as objects to his beams assemble: + O 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, + And my great mind most kingly drinks it up, + Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, + And to his palate doth prepare the cup. + If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin, + That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. + + + 115 + Those lines that I before have writ do lie, + Even those that said I could not love you dearer, + Yet then my judgment knew no reason why, + My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer, + But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents + Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, + Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, + Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things: + Alas why fearing of time's tyranny, + Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,' + When I was certain o'er incertainty, + Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? + Love is a babe, then might I not say so + To give full growth to that which still doth grow. + + + 116 + Let me not to the marriage of true minds + Admit impediments, love is not love + Which alters when it alteration finds, + Or bends with the remover to remove. + O no, it is an ever-fixed mark + That looks on tempests and is never shaken; + It is the star to every wand'ring bark, + Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. + Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks + Within his bending sickle's compass come, + Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, + But bears it out even to the edge of doom: + If this be error and upon me proved, + I never writ, nor no man ever loved. + + + 117 + Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all, + Wherein I should your great deserts repay, + Forgot upon your dearest love to call, + Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day, + That I have frequent been with unknown minds, + And given to time your own dear-purchased right, + That I have hoisted sail to all the winds + Which should transport me farthest from your sight. + Book both my wilfulness and errors down, + And on just proof surmise, accumulate, + Bring me within the level of your frown, + But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: + Since my appeal says I did strive to prove + The constancy and virtue of your love. + + + 118 + Like as to make our appetite more keen + With eager compounds we our palate urge, + As to prevent our maladies unseen, + We sicken to shun sickness when we purge. + Even so being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, + To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; + And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness, + To be diseased ere that there was true needing. + Thus policy in love t' anticipate + The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, + And brought to medicine a healthful state + Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured. + But thence I learn and find the lesson true, + Drugs poison him that so feil sick of you. + + + 119 + What potions have I drunk of Siren tears + Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, + Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, + Still losing when I saw my self to win! + What wretched errors hath my heart committed, + Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never! + How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted + In the distraction of this madding fever! + O benefit of ill, now I find true + That better is, by evil still made better. + And ruined love when it is built anew + Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. + So I return rebuked to my content, + And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent. + + + 120 + That you were once unkind befriends me now, + And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, + Needs must I under my transgression bow, + Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. + For if you were by my unkindness shaken + As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time, + And I a tyrant have no leisure taken + To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. + O that our night of woe might have remembered + My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, + And soon to you, as you to me then tendered + The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! + But that your trespass now becomes a fee, + Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. + + + 121 + 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, + When not to be, receives reproach of being, + And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, + Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. + For why should others' false adulterate eyes + Give salutation to my sportive blood? + Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, + Which in their wills count bad what I think good? + No, I am that I am, and they that level + At my abuses, reckon up their own, + I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; + By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown + Unless this general evil they maintain, + All men are bad and in their badness reign. + + + 122 + Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain + Full charactered with lasting memory, + Which shall above that idle rank remain + Beyond all date even to eternity. + Or at the least, so long as brain and heart + Have faculty by nature to subsist, + Till each to razed oblivion yield his part + Of thee, thy record never can be missed: + That poor retention could not so much hold, + Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score, + Therefore to give them from me was I bold, + To trust those tables that receive thee more: + To keep an adjunct to remember thee + Were to import forgetfulness in me. + + + 123 + No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change, + Thy pyramids built up with newer might + To me are nothing novel, nothing strange, + They are but dressings Of a former sight: + Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire, + What thou dost foist upon us that is old, + And rather make them born to our desire, + Than think that we before have heard them told: + Thy registers and thee I both defy, + Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past, + For thy records, and what we see doth lie, + Made more or less by thy continual haste: + This I do vow and this shall ever be, + I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. + + + 124 + If my dear love were but the child of state, + It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, + As subject to time's love or to time's hate, + Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. + No it was builded far from accident, + It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls + Under the blow of thralled discontent, + Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls: + It fears not policy that heretic, + Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, + But all alone stands hugely politic, + That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. + To this I witness call the fools of time, + Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. + + + 125 + Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, + With my extern the outward honouring, + Or laid great bases for eternity, + Which proves more short than waste or ruining? + Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour + Lose all, and more by paying too much rent + For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, + Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent? + No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, + And take thou my oblation, poor but free, + Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, + But mutual render, only me for thee. + Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul + When most impeached, stands least in thy control. + + + 126 + O thou my lovely boy who in thy power, + Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour: + Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st, + Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st. + If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack) + As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, + She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill + May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. + Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure, + She may detain, but not still keep her treasure! + Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, + And her quietus is to render thee. + + + 127 + In the old age black was not counted fair, + Or if it were it bore not beauty's name: + But now is black beauty's successive heir, + And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, + For since each hand hath put on nature's power, + Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face, + Sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower, + But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. + Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, + Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem, + At such who not born fair no beauty lack, + Slandering creation with a false esteem, + Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, + That every tongue says beauty should look so. + + + 128 + How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, + Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds + With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st + The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, + Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, + To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, + Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, + At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand. + To be so tickled they would change their state + And situation with those dancing chips, + O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, + Making dead wood more blest than living lips, + Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, + Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. + + + 129 + Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame + Is lust in action, and till action, lust + Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody full of blame, + Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, + Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight, + Past reason hunted, and no sooner had + Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, + On purpose laid to make the taker mad. + Mad in pursuit and in possession so, + Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme, + A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe, + Before a joy proposed behind a dream. + All this the world well knows yet none knows well, + To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. + + + 130 + My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, + Coral is far more red, than her lips red, + If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: + If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: + I have seen roses damasked, red and white, + But no such roses see I in her cheeks, + And in some perfumes is there more delight, + Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. + I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, + That music hath a far more pleasing sound: + I grant I never saw a goddess go, + My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. + And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, + As any she belied with false compare. + + + 131 + Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, + As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; + For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart + Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. + Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, + Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; + To say they err, I dare not be so bold, + Although I swear it to my self alone. + And to be sure that is not false I swear, + A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, + One on another's neck do witness bear + Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. + In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, + And thence this slander as I think proceeds. + + + 132 + Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, + Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, + Have put on black, and loving mourners be, + Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. + And truly not the morning sun of heaven + Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, + Nor that full star that ushers in the even + Doth half that glory to the sober west + As those two mourning eyes become thy face: + O let it then as well beseem thy heart + To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, + And suit thy pity like in every part. + Then will I swear beauty herself is black, + And all they foul that thy complexion lack. + + + 133 + Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan + For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; + Is't not enough to torture me alone, + But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? + Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, + And my next self thou harder hast engrossed, + Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, + A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed: + Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, + But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail, + Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard, + Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol. + And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, + Perforce am thine and all that is in me. + + + 134 + So now I have confessed that he is thine, + And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, + My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, + Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: + But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, + For thou art covetous, and he is kind, + He learned but surety-like to write for me, + Under that bond that him as fist doth bind. + The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, + Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use, + And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake, + So him I lose through my unkind abuse. + Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, + He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. + + + 135 + Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, + And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus, + More than enough am I that vex thee still, + To thy sweet will making addition thus. + Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, + Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? + Shall will in others seem right gracious, + And in my will no fair acceptance shine? + The sea all water, yet receives rain still, + And in abundance addeth to his store, + So thou being rich in will add to thy will + One will of mine to make thy large will more. + Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill, + Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.' + + + 136 + If thy soul check thee that I come so near, + Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will', + And will thy soul knows is admitted there, + Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil. + 'Will', will fulfil the treasure of thy love, + Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one, + In things of great receipt with case we prove, + Among a number one is reckoned none. + Then in the number let me pass untold, + Though in thy store's account I one must be, + For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, + That nothing me, a something sweet to thee. + Make but my name thy love, and love that still, + And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will. + + + 137 + Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, + That they behold and see not what they see? + They know what beauty is, see where it lies, + Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. + If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, + Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, + Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, + Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? + Why should my heart think that a several plot, + Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? + Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not + To put fair truth upon so foul a face? + In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, + And to this false plague are they now transferred. + + + 138 + When my love swears that she is made of truth, + I do believe her though I know she lies, + That she might think me some untutored youth, + Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. + Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, + Although she knows my days are past the best, + Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, + On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: + But wherefore says she not she is unjust? + And wherefore say not I that I am old? + O love's best habit is in seeming trust, + And age in love, loves not to have years told. + Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, + And in our faults by lies we flattered be. + + + 139 + O call not me to justify the wrong, + That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, + Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, + Use power with power, and slay me not by art, + Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, + Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside, + What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might + Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? + Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows, + Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, + And therefore from my face she turns my foes, + That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: + Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, + Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. + + + 140 + Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press + My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: + Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, + The manner of my pity-wanting pain. + If I might teach thee wit better it were, + Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, + As testy sick men when their deaths be near, + No news but health from their physicians know. + For if I should despair I should grow mad, + And in my madness might speak ill of thee, + Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, + Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. + That I may not be so, nor thou belied, + Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. + + + 141 + In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, + For they in thee a thousand errors note, + But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, + Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. + Nor are mine cars with thy tongue's tune delighted, + Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, + Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited + To any sensual feast with thee alone: + But my five wits, nor my five senses can + Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, + Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, + Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: + Only my plague thus far I count my gain, + That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. + + + 142 + Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, + Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, + O but with mine, compare thou thine own state, + And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, + Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, + That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, + And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, + Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents. + Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those, + Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, + Root pity in thy heart that when it grows, + Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. + If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, + By self-example mayst thou be denied. + + + 143 + Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch, + One of her feathered creatures broke away, + Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch + In pursuit of the thing she would have stay: + Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, + Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent, + To follow that which flies before her face: + Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; + So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, + Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind, + But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me: + And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind. + So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, + If thou turn back and my loud crying still. + + + 144 + Two loves I have of comfort and despair, + Which like two spirits do suggest me still, + The better angel is a man right fair: + The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. + To win me soon to hell my female evil, + Tempteth my better angel from my side, + And would corrupt my saint to be a devil: + Wooing his purity with her foul pride. + And whether that my angel be turned fiend, + Suspect I may, yet not directly tell, + But being both from me both to each friend, + I guess one angel in another's hell. + Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt, + Till my bad angel fire my good one out. + + + 145 + Those lips that Love's own hand did make, + Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate', + To me that languished for her sake: + But when she saw my woeful state, + Straight in her heart did mercy come, + Chiding that tongue that ever sweet, + Was used in giving gentle doom: + And taught it thus anew to greet: + 'I hate' she altered with an end, + That followed it as gentle day, + Doth follow night who like a fiend + From heaven to hell is flown away. + 'I hate', from hate away she threw, + And saved my life saying 'not you'. + + + 146 + Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, + My sinful earth these rebel powers array, + Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth + Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? + Why so large cost having so short a lease, + Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? + Shall worms inheritors of this excess + Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? + Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss, + And let that pine to aggravate thy store; + Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; + Within be fed, without be rich no more, + So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, + And death once dead, there's no more dying then. + + + 147 + My love is as a fever longing still, + For that which longer nurseth the disease, + Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, + Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please: + My reason the physician to my love, + Angry that his prescriptions are not kept + Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, + Desire is death, which physic did except. + Past cure I am, now reason is past care, + And frantic-mad with evermore unrest, + My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, + At random from the truth vainly expressed. + For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, + Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. + + + 148 + O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, + Which have no correspondence with true sight, + Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, + That censures falsely what they see aright? + If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, + What means the world to say it is not so? + If it be not, then love doth well denote, + Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, + How can it? O how can love's eye be true, + That is so vexed with watching and with tears? + No marvel then though I mistake my view, + The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears. + O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind, + Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. + + + 149 + Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not, + When I against my self with thee partake? + Do I not think on thee when I forgot + Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake? + Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, + On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, + Nay if thou lour'st on me do I not spend + Revenge upon my self with present moan? + What merit do I in my self respect, + That is so proud thy service to despise, + When all my best doth worship thy defect, + Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? + But love hate on for now I know thy mind, + Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. + + + 150 + O from what power hast thou this powerful might, + With insufficiency my heart to sway, + To make me give the lie to my true sight, + And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? + Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, + That in the very refuse of thy deeds, + There is such strength and warrantise of skill, + That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? + Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, + The more I hear and see just cause of hate? + O though I love what others do abhor, + With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. + If thy unworthiness raised love in me, + More worthy I to be beloved of thee. + + + 151 + Love is too young to know what conscience is, + Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? + Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss, + Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. + For thou betraying me, I do betray + My nobler part to my gross body's treason, + My soul doth tell my body that he may, + Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason, + But rising at thy name doth point out thee, + As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride, + He is contented thy poor drudge to be, + To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. + No want of conscience hold it that I call, + Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. + + + 152 + In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, + But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing, + In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, + In vowing new hate after new love bearing: + But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, + When I break twenty? I am perjured most, + For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee: + And all my honest faith in thee is lost. + For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness: + Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, + And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, + Or made them swear against the thing they see. + For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I, + To swear against the truth so foul a be. + + + 153 + Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, + A maid of Dian's this advantage found, + And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep + In a cold valley-fountain of that ground: + Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, + A dateless lively heat still to endure, + And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove, + Against strange maladies a sovereign cure: + But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, + The boy for trial needs would touch my breast, + I sick withal the help of bath desired, + And thither hied a sad distempered guest. + But found no cure, the bath for my help lies, + Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. + + + 154 + The little Love-god lying once asleep, + Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, + Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep, + Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand, + The fairest votary took up that fire, + Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, + And so the general of hot desire, + Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed. + This brand she quenched in a cool well by, + Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, + Growing a bath and healthful remedy, + For men discased, but I my mistress' thrall, + Came there for cure and this by that I prove, + Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1603 + +ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL + +by William Shakespeare + + +Dramatis Personae + + KING OF FRANCE + THE DUKE OF FLORENCE + BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon + LAFEU, an old lord + PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram + TWO FRENCH LORDS, serving with Bertram + + STEWARD, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon + LAVACHE, a clown and Servant to the Countess of Rousillon + A PAGE, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon + + COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, mother to Bertram + HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess + A WIDOW OF FLORENCE. + DIANA, daughter to the Widow + + + VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow + MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow + + Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +SCENE: +Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. +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 abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose + practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other + advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. + COUNTESS. This young gentlewoman had a father- O, that 'had,' how + sad a passage 'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his + honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature + immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for + the King's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of + the King's disease. + LAFEU. How call'd 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 + liv'd 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 to have- + 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 check'd for silence, + But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, + That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, + Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord, + 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, + Advise him. + LAFEU. He cannot want the best + That shall attend his love. + COUNTESS. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit + BERTRAM. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoughts be + servants to you! [To HELENA] Be comfortable to my mother, your + mistress, and make much of her. + 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. + Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself: + The hind that would be mated by the lion + Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, + To see him every hour; to sit and draw + His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, + In our heart's table-heart too capable + Of every line and trick of his sweet favour. + But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy + Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? + + Enter PAROLLES + + [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 fix'd evils sit so fit in him + That they take place when virtue's steely bones + Looks bleak i' th' cold wind; withal, full oft we see + Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. + PAROLLES. Save you, fair queen! + HELENA. And you, monarch! + PAROLLES. No. + HELENA. And no. + PAROLLES. Are you meditating on virginity? + HELENA. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a + question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it + against him? + PAROLLES. Keep him out. + HELENA. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the + defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance. + PAROLLES. There is none. Man, setting down before you, will + undermine you and blow you up. + HELENA. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! + Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men? + PAROLLES. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown + up; marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves + made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth + of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational + increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first + lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity + by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it + is ever lost. 'Tis too cold a companion; away with'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 lose 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 toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your + pie and your porridge than in your cheek. And your virginity, + your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears: it + looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear; it was + formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you + anything with it? + HELENA. Not my virginity yet. + There shall your master have a thousand loves, + A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, + A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, + A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, + A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; + His humble ambition, proud humility, + His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, + His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world + Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms + That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he- + I know not what he shall. God send him well! + The court's a learning-place, and he is one- + PAROLLES. What one, i' faith? + HELENA. That I wish well. 'Tis pity- + PAROLLES. What's pity? + HELENA. That wishing well had not a body in't + Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, + Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, + Might with effects of them follow our friends + And show what we alone must think, which never + Returns us thanks. + + Enter PAGE + + PAGE. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAGE + PAROLLES. Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will + think of thee at court. + HELENA. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. + PAROLLES. Under Mars, I. + HELENA. I especially think, under Mars. + PAROLLES. Why under Man? + HELENA. The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born + under Mars. + PAROLLES. When he was predominant. + HELENA. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. + PAROLLES. Why think you so? + HELENA. You go so much backward when you fight. + PAROLLES. That's for advantage. + HELENA. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the + composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of + a good wing, and I like the wear well. + PAROLLES. I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I + will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall + serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's + counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else + thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes + thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; + when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good + husband and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell. + Exit + HELENA. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, + Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky + Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull + Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. + What power is it which mounts my love so high, + That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? + The mightiest space in fortune nature brings + To join like likes, and kiss like native things. + Impossible be strange attempts to those + That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose + What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove + To show her merit that did miss her love? + The King's disease-my project may deceive me, + But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. Exit + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 2. +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 th' ears; + Have fought with equal fortune, and continue + A braving war. + FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir. + KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it, + A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, + With caution, that the Florentine will move us + For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend + Prejudicates the business, and would seem + To have us make denial. + FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom, + Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead + For amplest credence. + KING. He hath arm'd our answer, + And Florence is denied before he comes; + Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see + The Tuscan service, freely have they leave + To stand on either part. + SECOND LORD. It well may serve + A nursery to our gentry, who are sick + For breathing and exploit. + KING. What's he comes here? + + Enter BERTRAM, 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 compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts + Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. + BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's. + KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now, + As when thy father and myself in friendship + First tried our soldiership. He did look far + Into the service of the time, and was + Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long; + But on us both did haggish age steal on, + And wore us out of act. It much repairs me + To talk of your good father. In his youth + He had the wit which I can well observe + 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 awak'd them; and his honour, + Clock to itself, knew the true minute when + Exception bid him speak, and at this time + His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him + He us'd as creatures of another place; + And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, + Making them proud of his humility + In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man + Might be a copy to these younger times; + Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now + But goers backward. + BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir, + Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; + So in approof lives not his epitaph + As in your royal speech. + KING. Would I were with him! He would always say- + Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words + He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them + To grow there, and to bear- 'Let me not live'- + This his good melancholy oft began, + On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, + When it was out-'Let me not live' quoth he + 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff + Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses + All but new things disdain; whose judgments are + Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies + Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd. + I, after him, do after him wish too, + Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, + I quickly were dissolved from my hive, + To give some labourers room. + SECOND LORD. You're 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 fam'd. + BERTRAM. Some six months since, my lord. + KING. If he were living, I would try him yet- + Lend me an arm-the rest have worn me out + With several applications. Nature and sickness + Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count; + My son's no dearer. + BERTRAM. Thank your Majesty. Exeunt [Flourish] + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 3. +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 damn'd; 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 bames 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. Y'are 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 sever'd in religion, their + heads are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer + i' th' herd. + COUNTESS. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? + CLOWN. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: + + For I the ballad will repeat, + Which men full true shall find: + Your marriage comes by destiny, + Your cuckoo sings by kind. + + COUNTESS. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. + STEWARD. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you. + Of her I am to speak. + COUNTESS. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen + I mean. + CLOWN. [Sings] + + 'Was this fair face the cause' quoth she + 'Why the Grecians sacked Troy? + Fond done, done fond, + Was this King Priam's joy?' + With that she sighed as she stood, + With that she sighed as she stood, + And gave this sentence then: + 'Among nine bad if one be good, + Among nine bad if one be good, + There's yet one good in ten.' + + COUNTESS. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. + CLOWN. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o' th' + song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd find + no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, + quoth 'a! An we might have a good woman born before 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 bequeath'd her to me; and she + herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as + much love as she finds. There is more owing her than is paid; and + more shall be paid her than she'll demand. + STEWARD. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she + wish'd me. Alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own + words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they + touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your + son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such + difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not + extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana no queen + of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd without + rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she + deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard + virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you + withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you + something to know it. + COUNTESS. YOU have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself. + Many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so + tott'ring in the balance that I could neither believe nor + misdoubt. Pray you leave me. Stall this in your bosom; and I + thank you for your honest care. I will speak with you further + anon. Exit STEWARD + + Enter HELENA + + Even so it was with me when I was young. + If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn + Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; + Our blood to us, this to our blood is born. + It is the show and seal of nature's truth, + Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth. + By our remembrances of days foregone, + Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. + Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. + HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam? + COUNTESS. You know, Helen, + I am a mother to you. + HELENA. Mine honourable mistress. + COUNTESS. Nay, a mother. + Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' + Methought you saw a serpent. What's in 'mother' + That you start at it? I say I am your mother, + And put you in the catalogue of those + That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen + Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds + A native slip to us from foreign seeds. + You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, + Yet I express to you a mother's care. + God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood + To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, + That this distempered messenger of wet, + The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? + Why, that you are my daughter? + HELENA. That I am not. + COUNTESS. I say I am your mother. + HELENA. Pardon, madam. + The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: + I am from humble, he from honoured name; + No note upon my parents, his all noble. + My master, my dear lord he is; and I + His servant live, and will his vassal die. + He must not be my brother. + COUNTESS. Nor I your mother? + HELENA. You are my mother, madam; would you were- + So that my lord your son were not my brother- + Indeed my mother! Or were you both our mothers, + I care no more for than I do for heaven, + So I were not his sister. Can't no other, + But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? + COUNTESS. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. + God shield you mean it not! 'daughter' and 'mother' + So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again? + My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I see + The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find + Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross + You love my son; invention is asham'd, + Against the proclamation of thy passion, + To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; + But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks + Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes + See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours + That in their kind they speak it; only sin + And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, + That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? + If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; + If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee, + As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, + To tell me truly. + HELENA. Good madam, pardon me. + COUNTESS. Do you love my son? + HELENA. Your pardon, noble mistress. + COUNTESS. Love you my son? + HELENA. Do not you love him, madam? + COUNTESS. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond + Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose + The state of your affection; for your passions + Have to the full appeach'd. + HELENA. Then I confess, + Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, + That before you, and next unto high heaven, + I love your son. + My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love. + Be not offended, for it hurts not him + That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not + By any token of presumptuous suit, + Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; + Yet never know how that desert should be. + I know I love in vain, strive against hope; + Yet in this captious and 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 prov'd effects, such as his reading + And manifest experience had collected + For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me + In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, + As notes whose faculties inclusive were + More than they were in note. Amongst the rest + There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, + To cure the desperate languishings whereof + The King is render'd lost. + COUNTESS. This was your motive + For Paris, was it? Speak. + HELENA. My lord your son made me to think of this, + Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King, + Had from the conversation of my thoughts + Haply been absent then. + COUNTESS. But think you, Helen, + If you should tender your supposed aid, + He would receive it? He and his physicians + Are of a mind: he, that they cannot help him; + They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit + A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, + Embowell'd of their doctrine, have let off + The danger to itself? + HELENA. There's something in't + More than my father's skill, which was the great'st + Of his profession, that his good receipt + Shall for my legacy be sanctified + By th' luckiest stars in heaven; and, would your honour + But give me leave to try success, I'd venture + The well-lost life of mine on his Grace's cure. + By such a day 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 + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. +Paris. The KING'S palace + +Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING with divers young LORDS taking leave +for the Florentine war; BERTRAM and PAROLLES; ATTENDANTS + + KING. Farewell, young lords; these war-like principles + Do not throw from you. And you, my lords, farewell; + Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, + The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, + And is enough for both. + FIRST LORD. 'Tis our hope, sir, + After well-ent'red soldiers, to return + And find your Grace in health. + KING. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart + Will not confess he owes the malady + That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; + Whether I live or die, be you the sons + Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher Italy- + Those bated that inherit but the fall + Of the last monarchy-see that you come + Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when + The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, + That fame may cry you aloud. 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. [To ATTENDANTS] Come hither to me. + The KING retires 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 next year' and "Tis too early.' + PAROLLES. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. + BERTRAM. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, + Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, + Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn + But one to dance with. By heaven, I'll steal away. + FIRST LORD. There's honour in the theft. + PAROLLES. Commit it, Count. + SECOND LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell. + BERTRAM. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body. + FIRST LORD. Farewell, Captain. + SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles! + PAROLLES. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and + lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of + the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of + war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword + entrench'd it. Say to him I live; and observe his reports for me. + FIRST LORD. We shall, noble Captain. + PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices! Exeunt LORDS + What will ye do? + + Re-enter the KING + + BERTRAM. Stay; the King! + PAROLLES. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have + restrain'd yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more + expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the + time; there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the + influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the devil lead + the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more + dilated farewell. + BERTRAM. And I will do so. + PAROLLES. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. + Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES + + Enter 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 cur'd + 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 arriv'd, + If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, + If seriously I may convey my thoughts + In this my light deliverance, I have spoke + With one that in her sex, her years, profession, + Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more + Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, + For that is her demand, and know her business? + That done, laugh well at me. + KING. Now, good Lafeu, + Bring in the admiration, that we with the + May spend our wonder too, or take off thine + By wond'ring how thou took'st it. + LAFEU. Nay, I'll fit you, + And not be all day neither. Exit LAFEU + 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 practice, + And of his old experience th' only darling, + He bade me store up as a triple eye, + Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so: + And, hearing your high Majesty is touch'd + With that malignant cause wherein the honour + Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, + I come to tender it, and my appliance, + With all bound humbleness. + KING. We thank you, maiden; + But may not be so credulous of cure, + When our most learned doctors leave us, and + The congregated college have concluded + That labouring art can never ransom nature + From her inaidable estate-I say we must not + So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, + To prostitute our past-cure malady + To empirics; or to dissever so + Our great self and our credit to esteem + A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. + HELENA. My duty then shall pay me for my pains. + I will no more enforce mine office on you; + Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts + A modest one to bear me back again. + KING. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful. + Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give + As one near death to those that wish him live. + But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; + I knowing all my peril, thou no art. + HELENA. What I can do can do no hurt to try, + Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. + He that of greatest works is finisher + Oft does them by the weakest minister. + So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, + When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown + From simple sources, and great seas have dried + When miracles have by the 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 us'd, must by thyself be paid; + Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. + HELENA. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd. + It is not so with Him that all things knows, + As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; + But most it is presumption in us when + The help of heaven we count the act of men. + Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; + Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. + I am not an impostor, that proclaim + Myself against the level of mine aim; + But know I think, and think I know most sure, + My art is not past power nor you past cure. + KING. Art thou so confident? Within what space + Hop'st thou my cure? + HELENA. The greatest Grace lending grace. + Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring + Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, + Ere twice in murk and occidental damp + Moist Hesperus hath quench'd 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 dar'st thou venture? + HELENA. Tax of impudence, + A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, + Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name + Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst-extended + With vilest torture let my life be ended. + KING. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak + His powerful sound within an organ weak; + And what impossibility would slay + In common sense, sense saves another way. + Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate + Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: + Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all + That happiness and prime can happy call. + Thou this to hazard needs must intimate + Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. + Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, + That ministers thine own death if I die. + HELENA. If I break time, or flinch in property + Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; + And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee; + But, if I help, what do you promise me? + KING. Make thy demand. + HELENA. But will you make it even? + KING. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. + HELENA. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand + What husband in thy power I will command. + Exempted be from me the arrogance + To choose from forth the royal blood of France, + My low and humble name to propagate + With any branch or image of thy state; + But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know + Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. + KING. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, + Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd. + So make the choice of thy own time, for I, + Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. + More should I question thee, and more I must, + Though more to know could not be more to trust, + From whence thou cam'st, how tended on. But rest + Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. + Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed + As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. + [Flourish. Exeunt] + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 2. +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 taffety punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's + forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for Mayday, + as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding + quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's + mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. + COUNTESS. Have you, I, say, an answer of such fitness for all + questions? + CLOWN. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit + any question. + COUNTESS. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit + all demands. + CLOWN. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should + speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me + if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. + COUNTESS. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in + question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, + are you a courtier? + CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-There's a simple putting off. More, more, a + hundred of them. + COUNTESS. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. + CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Thick, thick; spare not me. + COUNTESS. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. + CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. + COUNTESS. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think. + CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Spare not me. + COUNTESS. Do you cry 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare + not me'? Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your + whipping. You would answer very well to a whipping, if you were + but bound to't. + CLOWN. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see + thing's may serve long, but not serve ever. + COUNTESS. I play the noble housewife with the time, + To entertain it so merrily with a fool. + CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Why, there't serves well again. + COUNTESS. An end, sir! To your business: give Helen this, + And urge her to a present answer back; + Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. This is not much. + CLOWN. Not much commendation to them? + COUNTESS. Not much employment for you. You understand me? + CLOWN. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. + COUNTESS. Haste you again. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 3. +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-both of Galen and Paracelsus. + 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 help'd- + PAROLLES. Right; as 'twere a man assur'd 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-ye-call't here. + LAFEU. [Reading the ballad title] '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- + PAROLLES. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence; + which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone + the recov'ry of the King, as to be- + LAFEU. Generally thankful. + + Enter KING, HELENA, and ATTENDANTS + + PAROLLES. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the King. + 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. + Exit an ATTENDANT + Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; + And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense + Thou has repeal'd, a second time receive + The confirmation of my promis'd gift, + Which but attends thy naming. + + Enter 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'd give bay Curtal and his furniture + My mouth no more were broken than these boys', + And writ as little beard. + KING. Peruse them well. + Not one of those but had a noble father. + HELENA. Gentlemen, + Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to health. + ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. + HELENA. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest + That I protest I simply am a maid. + Please it your Majesty, I have done already. + The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me: + 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, + Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, + We'll ne'er come there again.' + KING. Make choice and see: + Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. + HELENA. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, + And to imperial Love, that god most high, + Do my sighs stream. 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 threat'ningly replies. + Love make your fortunes twenty times above + Her that so wishes, and her humble love! + SECOND LORD. No better, if you please. + HELENA. My wish receive, + Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave. + LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I'd have + them whipt; or I would send them to th' 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 rais'd me from my sickly bed. + BERTRAM. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down + Must answer for your raising? I know her well: + She had her breeding at my father's charge. + A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain + Rather corrupt me ever! + KING. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which + I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, + Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, + Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off + In differences so mighty. If she be + All that is virtuous-save what thou dislik'st, + A poor physician's daughter-thou dislik'st + Of virtue for the name; but do not so. + From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, + The place is dignified by the doer's deed; + Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, + It is a dropsied honour. Good alone + Is good without a name. Vileness is so: + The property by what it is should go, + Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; + In these to nature she's immediate heir; + And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn + Which challenges itself as honour's born + And is not like the sire. Honours thrive + When rather from our acts we them derive + Than our fore-goers. The mere word's a slave, + Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave + A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb + Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb + Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? + If thou canst like this creature as a maid, + I can create the rest. Virtue and she + Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. + BERTRAM. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. + KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. + HELENA. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'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. Check thy contempt; + Obey our will, which travails in thy good; + Believe not thy disdain, but presently + Do thine own fortunes that obedient right + Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; + Or I will throw thee from my care for ever + Into the staggers and the careless lapse + Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate + Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, + Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. + BERTRAM. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit + My fancy to your eyes. When I consider + What great creation and what dole of honour + Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late + Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now + The praised of the King; who, so ennobled, + Is as 'twere born so. + KING. Take her by the hand, + And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise + A counterpoise, if not to thy estate + A balance more replete. + BERTRAM. I take her hand. + KING. Good fortune and the favour of the King + Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony + Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, + And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feast + Shall more attend upon the coming space, + Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, + Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. + Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES who stay behind, + commenting of this wedding + LAFEU. 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 burden. I + have now found thee; when I lose thee again I care not; yet art + thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt 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, deserv'd it. + LAFEU. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee + a scruple. + PAROLLES. Well, I shall be wiser. + LAFEU. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack + o' th' 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 have of- + I'll beat him, and 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 thy sleeves? Do other + servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose + stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat + thee. Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should + beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe + themselves upon thee. + PAROLLES. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. + 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'd call you knave. I leave you. + Exit + + Enter BERTRAM + + PAROLLES. Good, very, good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it + be conceal'd awhile. + BERTRAM. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! + PAROLLES. What's the matter, sweetheart? + BERTRAM. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, + I will not bed her. + PAROLLES. What, what, sweetheart? + BERTRAM. O my Parolles, they have married me! + I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. + PAROLLES. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits + The tread of a man's foot. To th' wars! + BERTRAM. There's letters from my mother; what th' import is I know + not yet. + PAROLLES. Ay, that would be known. To th' wars, my boy, to th' + wars! + He wears his honour in a box unseen + That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, + Spending his manly marrow in her arms, + Which should sustain the bound and high curvet + Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions! + France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; + Therefore, to th' war! + BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, + Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, + And wherefore I am fled; write to the King + That which I durst not speak. His present gift + Shall furnish me to those Italian fields + Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife + To the dark house and the detested wife. + PAROLLES. Will this 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 + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 4. +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' th' 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! th'art a knave. + CLOWN. You should have said, sir, 'Before a knave th'art a knave'; + that's 'Before me th'art a knave.' This had been truth, sir. + PAROLLES. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. + CLOWN. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find + me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find + in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of + laughter. + PAROLLES. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. + Madam, my lord will go away 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 else? + PAROLLES. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King, + And make this haste as your own good proceeding, + Strength'ned with what apology you think + May make it probable need. + HELENA. What more commands he? + PAROLLES. That, having this obtain'd, you presently + Attend his further pleasure. + HELENA. In everything I wait upon his will. + PAROLLES. I shall report it so. + HELENA. I pray you. Exit PAROLLES + Come, sirrah. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 5. +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 sinn'd against his experience and transgress'd + 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. Ay, 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 leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run + again, rather than suffer question for your residence. + BERTRAM. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. + 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 + kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; + trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them + tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken + better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we + must do good against evil. Exit + PAROLLES. An idle lord, I swear. + BERTRAM. I think so. + PAROLLES. Why, do you not know him? + BERTRAM. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech + Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. + + Enter HELENA + + HELENA. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, + Spoke with the King, and have procur'd his leave + For present parting; only he desires + Some private speech with you. + BERTRAM. I shall obey his will. + You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, + Which holds not colour with the time, nor does + The ministration and required office + On my particular. Prepar'd I was not + For such a business; therefore am I found + So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you + That presently you take your way for home, + And rather muse than ask why I entreat you; + For my respects are better than they seem, + And my appointments have in them a need + Greater than shows itself at the first view + To you that know them not. This to my mother. + [Giving a letter] + 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so + I leave you to your wisdom. + HELENA. Sir, I can nothing say + But that I am your most obedient servant. + BERTRAM. Come, come, no more of that. + HELENA. And ever shall + With true observance seek to eke out that + Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd + To equal my great fortune. + BERTRAM. Let that go. + My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home. + HELENA. Pray, sir, your pardon. + BERTRAM. Well, what would you say? + HELENA. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, + Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; + But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal + What law does vouch mine own. + BERTRAM. What would you have? + HELENA. Something; and scarce so much; nothing, indeed. + I would not tell you what I would, my lord. + Faith, yes: + Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. + BERTRAM. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. + HELENA. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. + 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 + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. +Florence. The DUKE's palace + + Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two + FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS + + DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear + 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 th' field. Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 2. +Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace + +Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN + + COUNTESS. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save that he + comes not along with her. + CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy + man. + COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you? + CLOWN. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and + sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a + man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a + song. + COUNTESS. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. + [Opening a letter] + CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old ling + and our Isbels o' th' country are nothing like your old ling and + your Isbels o' th' court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd out; + and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. + COUNTESS. What have we here? + CLOWN. E'en that you have there. Exit + COUNTESS. [Reads] 'I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath + recovered the King and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded + her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall hear I am run + away; know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough + in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. + Your unfortunate son, + BERTRAM.' + This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, + To fly the favours of so good a king, + To pluck his indignation on thy head + By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous + For the contempt of empire. + + 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 kill'd so soon as I thought he would. + COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd? + CLOWN. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the + danger is in standing to 't; that's the loss of men, though it be + the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my + part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit + + Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN + + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam. + HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. + FIRST 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? + FIRST 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 this letter, madam; here's my passport. + [Reads] 'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which + never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body + that I am father to, then call me husband; but in such a "then" I + write a "never." + This is a dreadful sentence. + COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam; + And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. + COUNTESS. I 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? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam. + COUNTESS. And to be a soldier? + FIRST 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? + SECOND 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. + SECOND 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? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman + Which I have sometime known. + COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not? + SECOND 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. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady, + The fellow has a deal of that too much + Which holds him much to have. + COUNTESS. Y'are welcome, gentlemen. + I will entreat you, when you see my son, + To tell him that his sword can never win + The honour that he loses. More I'll entreat you + Written to bear along. + FIRST 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 + That chase thee from thy country, and expose + Those tender limbs of thine to the event + Of the non-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-piecing 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 offic'd all. I will be gone, + That pitiful rumour may report my flight + To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day. + For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 3. +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 th' extreme edge of hazard. + DUKE. Then go thou forth; + And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, + As thy auspicious mistress! + BERTRAM. This very day, + Great Mars, I put myself into thy file; + Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove + A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 4. +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 fervour sanctify. + His taken labours bid him me forgive; + I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth + From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, + Where death and danger 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'er ta'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 + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 5. + +Without the walls of Florence +A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter 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 great'st 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 + threatens them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I + hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there + were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. + DIANA. You shall not need to fear me. + + Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim + + WIDOW. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie + at my house: thither they send one another. I'll question her. + God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound? + HELENA. To Saint Jaques le Grand. + Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? + WIDOW. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. + HELENA. Is this the way? + [A march afar] + WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way. + If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, + But till the troops come by, + I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; + The rather for I think I know your hostess + As ample as myself. + HELENA. Is it yourself? + WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim. + HELENA. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. + WIDOW. You came, I think, from France? + HELENA. I did so. + WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours + That has done worthy service. + HELENA. His name, I pray you. + DIANA. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one? + HELENA. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; + His face I know not. + DIANA. What some'er he is, + He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, + As 'tis reported, for the King had married him + Against his liking. Think you it is so? + HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. + DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count + Reports but coarsely of her. + HELENA. What's his name? + DIANA. Monsieur Parolles. + HELENA. O, I believe with him, + In argument of praise, or to the worth + Of the great Count himself, she is too mean + To have her name repeated; all her deserving + Is a reserved honesty, and that + I have not heard examin'd. + DIANA. Alas, poor lady! + 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife + Of a detesting lord. + WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is + Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her + A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. + HELENA. How do you mean? + 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. + + Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the + whole ARMY + + MARIANA. The gods forbid else! + WIDOW. So, now they come. + That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son; + That, Escalus. + HELENA. Which is the Frenchman? + DIANA. He- + That with the plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow. + I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester + He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman? + HELENA. I like him well. + DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave + That leads him to these places; were I his lady + I would poison that vile rascal. + HELENA. Which is he? + DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? + HELENA. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle. + PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well. + MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something. + Look, he has spied us. + WIDOW. Marry, hang you! + MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! + Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, 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 + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 6. +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 hiding, 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 anything. + 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. 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 blam'd in the command of the + service; it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not + have prevented, if he had been there to command. + BERTRAM. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success. + Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to + be recovered. + PAROLLES. It might have been recovered. + BERTRAM. It might, but it is not now. + PAROLLES. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is + seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have + that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' + BERTRAM. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur. If you think + your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour + again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, + and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit. If you + speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it and extend to + you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost + syllable of our worthiness. + PAROLLES. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. + BERTRAM. But you must not now slumber in it. + PAROLLES. I'll about it this evening; and I will presently pen + down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself + into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further + from me. + BERTRAM. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it? + PAROLLES. I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the + attempt I vow. + BERTRAM. I know th' art valiant; and, to the 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 damn'd 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 + emboss'd 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 smok'd 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' th' 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 + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 7. +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 fall'n, I was well born, + Nothing acquainted with these businesses; + And would not put my reputation now + In any staining act. + HELENA. Nor would I wish you. + FIRST give me trust the Count he is my husband, + And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken + Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, + By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, + Err in bestowing it. + WIDOW. I should believe you; + For you have show'd me that which well approves + Y'are great in fortune. + HELENA. Take this purse of gold, + And let me buy your friendly help thus far, + Which I will over-pay and pay again + When I have found it. The Count he woos your daughter + Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, + Resolv'd to carry her. Let her in fine consent, + As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. + Now his important blood will 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 pass'd already. + WIDOW. I have yielded. + Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, + That time and place with this deceit so lawful + May prove coherent. Every night he comes + With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd + To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us + To chide him from our eaves, for he persists + As if his life lay on 't. + HELENA. Why then 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 + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. +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 th' 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 has 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' th' + adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all + neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of + his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we + seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, + gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must + seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two + hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. + + Enter PAROLLES + + PAROLLES. Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time + enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a + very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me; + and disgraces have of late knock'd to 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 butterwoman'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 stripp'd. + SECOND LORD. Hardly serve. + PAROLLES. Though I swore I leap'd 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 + recover'd it. + SECOND LORD. You shall hear one anon. [Alarum within] + PAROLLES. A drum now of the enemy's! + SECOND LORD. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. + ALL. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. + PAROLLES. O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes. + [They 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, 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 + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 2. +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 the quick fire of youth light not your mind, + You are no maiden, but a monument; + When you are dead, you should be such a one + As you are now, for you are cold and stern; + And now you should be as your mother was + When your sweet self was got. + DIANA. She then was honest. + BERTRAM. So should you be. + DIANA. No. + My mother did but duty; such, my lord, + As you owe to your wife. + BERTRAM. No more o'that! + I prithee do not strive against my vows. + I was compell'd to her; but I love the + 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 Jove's great attributes + I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths + When I did love you ill? This has no holding, + To swear by him whom I protest to love + That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths + Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd- + At least in my opinion. + BERTRAM. Change it, change it; + Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy; + And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts + That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, + But give thyself unto my sick desires, + Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever + My love as it begins shall so persever. + DIANA. I see that men make 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' th' 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' th' 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 + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 3. +The Florentine camp + +Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS + + SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter? + FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something + in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd + almost into another man. + SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off + so good a wife and so sweet a lady. + FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure + of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to + him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly + with you. + SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave + of it. + FIRST 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. + SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, + what things are we! + FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of + all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain + to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives + against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows + himself. + SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our + unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? + FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. + SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his + company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own + judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. + FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his + presence must be the whip of the other. + SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars? + FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace. + SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. + FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel + higher, or return again into France? + SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether + of his counsel. + FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal + of his act. + SECOND 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 + accomplish'd; 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. + FIRST LORD. How is this justified? + SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which + makes her story true even to the point of her death. Her death + itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was + faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place. + FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence? + SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from + point, to the full arming of the verity. + FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. + SECOND LORD. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our + losses! + FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in + tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for + him shall at home be encount'red with a shame as ample. + SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill + together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them + not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherish'd by + our virtues. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + How now? Where's your master? + 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 dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's + length apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the + Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for + her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd 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 has + deceiv'd me like a double-meaning prophesier. + SECOND LORD. Bring him forth. [Exeunt SOLDIERS] Has sat i' th' + stocks all night, poor gallant knave. + BERTRAM. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his + spurs so long. How does he carry himself? + 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 confess'd 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' th' + stocks. And what think you he hath confess'd? + 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 as interpreter + + BERTRAM. A plague upon him! muffled! He can say nothing of me. + SECOND LORD. Hush, hush! Hoodman comes. Portotartarossa. + FIRST SOLDIER. He calls for the tortures. What will you say without + 'em? + PAROLLES. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye + pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. + FIRST SOLDIER. Bosko chimurcho. + SECOND LORD. Boblibindo chicurmurco. + FIRST SOLDIER. YOU are a merciful general. Our General bids you + answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. + PAROLLES. And truly, as I hope to live. + FIRST SOLDIER. 'First demand of him how many horse the Duke is + strong.' What say you to that? + PAROLLES. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable. + The troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor + rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. + FIRST SOLDIER. Shall I set down your answer so? + PAROLLES. Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you + will. + BERTRAM. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! + SECOND LORD. Y'are deceiv'd, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, + the gallant militarist-that was his own phrase-that had the whole + theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the + chape of his dagger. + FIRST LORD. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword + clean; nor believe he can have everything in him by wearing his + apparel neatly. + FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. + PAROLLES. 'Five or six thousand horse' I said-I will say true- 'or + thereabouts' set down, for I'll speak truth. + SECOND LORD. He's very near the truth in this. + BERTRAM. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it. + PAROLLES. 'Poor rogues' I pray you say. + FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. + PAROLLES. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth-the rogues are + marvellous poor. + FIRST SOLDIER. 'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.' + What say you to that? + PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I + will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; + Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, + Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own + company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each; so + that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not + to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the + snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to + pieces. + BERTRAM. What shall be done to him? + SECOND LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my + condition, and what credit I have with the Duke. + FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. 'You shall demand of him + whether one Captain Dumain be i' th' camp, a Frenchman; what his + reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honesty, expertness + in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with + well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What say + you to this? What do you know of it? + PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the + inter'gatories. Demand them singly. + FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumain? + PAROLLES. I know him: 'a was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from + whence he was whipt 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. + SECOND 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' th' 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. + SECOND 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 vow'd to thee in thine ear, + PAROLLES.' + BERTRAM. He shall be whipt through the army with this rhyme in's + forehead. + FIRST LORD. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold + linguist, and the amnipotent soldier. + BERTRAM. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he's a + cat to me. + FIRST SOLDIER. I perceive, sir, by our General's looks we shall be + fain to hang you. + PAROLLES. My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid to die, + but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the + remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' th' + stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. + FIRST SOLDIER. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; + therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answer'd to + his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour; what is his + honesty? + PAROLLES. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes + and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of + oaths; in breaking '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 bedclothes about + him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have + but little more to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything + that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should + have he has nothing. + SECOND LORD. I begin to love him for this. + BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! For + me, he's more and more a cat. + FIRST SOLDIER. What say you to his expertness in war? + PAROLLES. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English + tragedians-to belie him I will not-and more of his soldier-ship + 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. + SECOND LORD. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far that the rarity + redeems him. + BERTRAM. A pox on him! he's a cat still. + FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not + to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. + PAROLLES. Sir, for a cardecue he will sell the fee-simple of his + salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut th' entail from all + remainders and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. + FIRST SOLDIER. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? + FIRST LORD. Why does he ask him of me? + FIRST SOLDIER. What's he? + PAROLLES. E'en a crow o' th' 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 discover'd 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, of with his head. + PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! + FIRST SOLDIER. That shall you, and take your leave of all your + friends. [Unmuffling him] So look about you; know you any here? + BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain. + FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles. + SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain. + FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am + for France. + SECOND 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'd 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 crush'd 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 fool'ry thrive. + There's place and means for every man alive. + I'll after them. Exit + + + + +ACT IV SCENE 4. +The WIDOW'S house + +Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA + + HELENA. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you! + One of the greatest in the Christian world + Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 'tis needful, + Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. + Time was I did him a desired office, + Dear almost as his life; which gratitude + Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, + And answer 'Thanks.' I duly am inform'd + His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place + We have convenient convoy. You must know + I am supposed dead. The army breaking, + My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, + And by the leave of my good lord the King, + We'll be before our welcome. + WIDOW. Gentle madam, + You never had a servant to whose trust + Your business was more welcome. + HELENA. Nor you, mistress, + Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour + To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven + Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, + As it hath fated her to be my motive + And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! + That can such sweet use make of what they hate, + When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts + Defiles the pitchy night. So lust doth play + With what it loathes, for that which is away. + But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, + Under my poor instructions yet must suffer + Something in my behalf. + DIANA. Let death and honesty + Go with your impositions, I am yours + Upon your will to suffer. + HELENA. Yet, I pray you: + But with the word the time will bring on summer, + When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns + And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; + Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us. + All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown. + Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV SCENE 5. +Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace + +Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN + + LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow + there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbak'd + and doughy youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law + had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more + advanc'd by the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak + of. + COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most + virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If + she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a + mother. I could not have owed her a more rooted love. + LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand + sallets ere we light on such another herb. + CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or, + rather, the herb of grace. + LAFEU. They are not sallet-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 talk'st of; serve him still. + CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; + and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he + is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I + am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too + little for pomp to enter. Some that humble themselves may; but + the many will be too chill and tender: and they'll be for the + flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. + 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 look'd to, without any tricks. + CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' + tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. + Exit + LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. + COUNTESS. So 'a 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 promis'd me to do it; and, to + stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there + is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? + COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily + effected. + LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as + when he number'd thirty; 'a will be here to-morrow, or I am + deceiv'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldom fail'd. + COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. + I have letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech + your lordship to remain with me tal 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 liv'ry of + honour; so belike is that. + CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd 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 + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. +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. + + Enter a GENTLEMAN + + In happy time! + 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 fall'n + From the report that goes upon your goodness; + And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, + Which lay nice manners by, I put you to + The use of your own virtues, for the which + I shall continue thankful. + GENTLEMAN. What's your will? + HELENA. That it will please you + To give this poor petition to the King; + And aid me with that store of power you have + To come into his presence. + GENTLEMAN. The King's not here. + HELENA. Not here, sir? + GENTLEMAN. Not indeed. + He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste + Than is his use. + WIDOW. Lord, how we lose our pains! + HELENA. All's Well That Ends Well yet, + Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. + I do beseech you, whither is he gone? + GENTLEMAN. Marry, as I take it, to 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 + + + + +ACT V SCENE 2. +Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palace + +Enter CLOWN and PAROLLES + + 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 speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish + of Fortune's butt'ring. 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 pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not + a musk-cat, that has fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her + displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, + use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, + ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress + in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. + Exit + PAROLLES. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch'd. + 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 cardecue 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 the in grace, and the + other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound] The King's coming; I + know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had + talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you + shall eat. Go to; follow. + PAROLLES. I praise God for you. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V SCENE 3. +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' th' 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 reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill + All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon; + The nature of his great offence is dead, + And deeper than oblivion do we bury + Th' incensing relics of it; let him approach, + A stranger, no offender; and inform him + So 'tis our will he should. + GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege. Exit GENTLEMAN + KING. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke? + LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness. + KING. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me + That sets him high in fame. + + Enter BERTRAM + + 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 + Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time + Steals ere we can effect them. You remember + The daughter of this lord? + BERTRAM. Admiringly, my liege. At first + I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart + Durst make too bold herald of my tongue; + Where the impression of mine eye infixing, + Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, + Which warp'd the line of every other favour, + Scorn'd a fair colour or express'd it stol'n, + Extended or contracted all proportions + To a most hideous object. Thence it came + That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, + Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye + The dust that did offend it. + KING. Well excus'd. + That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away + From the great compt; but love that comes too late, + Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, + To the great sender turns a sour offence, + Crying 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults + Make trivial price of serious things we have, + Not knowing them until we know their grave. + Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, + Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust; + Our own love waking cries to see what's done, + While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. + Be this sweet Helen's knell. And now forget her. + Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. + The main consents are had; and here we'll stay + To see our widower's second marriage-day. + COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! + Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! + 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 ev'ry hair that's on 't, Helen, that's dead, + Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, + The last that e'er I took her leave at court, + I saw upon her finger. + BERTRAM. Hers it was not. + KING. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, + While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to'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 deceiv'd, my lord; she never saw it. + In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, + Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name + Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought + I stood engag'd; but when I had subscrib'd + To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully + I could not answer in that course of honour + As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, + In heavy satisfaction, and would never + Receive the ring again. + KING. Plutus himself, + That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, + Hath not in nature's mystery more science + Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's, + Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know + That you are well acquainted with yourself, + Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement + You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety + That she would never put it from her finger + Unless she gave it to yourself in bed- + Where you have never come- or sent it us + Upon her great disaster. + BERTRAM. She never saw it. + KING. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; + And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me + Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove + That thou art so inhuman- 'twill not prove so. + And yet I know not- thou didst hate her deadly, + And she is dead; which nothing, but to close + Her eyes myself, could win me to believe + More than to see this ring. Take him away. + [GUARDS seize BERTRAM] + My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, + Shall tax my fears of little vanity, + Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him. + We'll sift this matter further. + BERTRAM. If you shall prove + This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy + Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, + Where she yet never was. Exit, guarded + KING. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. + + Enter a GENTLEMAN + + GENTLEMAN. Gracious sovereign, + Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: + Here's a petition from a Florentine, + Who hath, for four or five removes, come short + To tender it herself. I undertook it, + Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech + Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, + Is here attending; her business looks in her + With an importing visage; and she told me + In a sweet verbal brief it did concern + Your Highness with herself. + KING. [Reads the letter] '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 discov'ry. Seek these suitors. + Go speedily, and bring again the Count. + Exeunt ATTENDANTS + I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, + Was foully snatch'd. + COUNTESS. Now, justice on the doers! + + Enter BERTRAM, guarded + + KING. I wonder, sir, 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. [To BERTRAM] Your reputation comes too short for + my daughter; you are no husband for her. + BERTRAM. My lord, this is a fond and desp'rate 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' th' camp, + If I be one. + COUNTESS. He blushes, and 'tis it. + Of six preceding ancestors, that gem + Conferr'd by testament to th' sequent issue, + Hath it been ow'd 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' th' world tax'd and debauch'd, + Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. + Am I or that or this for what he'll utter + That will speak anything? + KING. She hath that ring of yours. + BERTRAM. I think she has. Certain it is I lik'd her, + And boarded her i' th' wanton way of youth. + She knew her distance, and did angle for me, + Madding my eagerness with her restraint, + As all impediments in fancy's course + Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, + Her infinite cunning with her modern grace + Subdu'd me to her rate. She got the ring; + And I had that which any inferior might + At market-price have bought. + DIANA. I must be patient. + You that have turn'd off a first so noble wife + May justly diet me. I pray you yet- + Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband- + Send for your ring, I will return it home, + And give me mine again. + BERTRAM. I have it not. + KING. What ring was yours, I pray you? + DIANA. Sir, much like + The same upon your finger. + KING. Know you this ring? This ring was his of late. + DIANA. And this was it I gave him, being abed. + KING. The story, then, goes false you threw it him + Out of a casement. + DIANA. I have spoke the truth. + + Enter PAROLLES + + BERTRAM. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. + KING. You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you. + Is this the man you speak of? + DIANA. Ay, my lord. + KING. Tell me, sirrah-but tell me true I charge you, + Not fearing the displeasure of your master, + Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off- + By him and by this woman here what know you? + PAROLLES. So please your Majesty, my master hath been an honourable + gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. + KING. Come, come, to th' purpose. Did he love this woman? + PAROLLES. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? + KING. How, I pray you? + PAROLLES. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. + KING. How is that? + PAROLLES. He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not. + KING. As thou art a knave and no knave. + What an equivocal companion is this! + PAROLLES. I am a poor man, and at your Majesty's command. + LAFEU. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. + DIANA. Do you know he promis'd me marriage? + PAROLLES. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. + KING. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? + PAROLLES. Yes, so please your Majesty. I did go between them, as I + said; but more than that, he loved her-for indeed he was mad for + her, and talk'd 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 of 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 accus'd him all this while? + DIANA. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty. + He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't: + I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. + Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life; + I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. + [Pointing to LAFEU] + KING. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. + DIANA. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir; + Exit WIDOW + The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, + And he shall surety me. But for this lord + Who hath abus'd me as he knows himself, + Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him. + He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd; + And at that time he got his wife with child. + Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; + So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick- + And now behold the meaning. + + 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,' etc. 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 curtsies alone, they are scurvy ones. + KING. Let us from point to point this story know, + To make the even truth in pleasure flow. + [To DIANA] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, + Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; + For I can guess that by thy honest aid + Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.- + Of that and all the progress, more and less, + Resolvedly more leisure shall express. + All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, + The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish] + +EPILOGUE + 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 omnes + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1607 + +THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + MARK ANTONY, Triumvirs + OCTAVIUS CAESAR, " + M. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS, " + SEXTUS POMPEIUS, " + DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, friend to Antony + VENTIDIUS, " " " + EROS, " " " + SCARUS, " " " + DERCETAS, " " " + DEMETRIUS, " " " + PHILO, " " " + MAECENAS, friend to Caesar + AGRIPPA, " " " + DOLABELLA, " " " + PROCULEIUS, " " " + THYREUS, " " " + GALLUS, " " " + MENAS, friend to Pompey + MENECRATES, " " " + 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, attendant on Cleopatra + MARDIAN, " " " + SELEUCUS, " " " + DIOMEDES, " " " + A SOOTHSAYER + A CLOWN + + CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt + OCTAVIA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony + CHARMIAN, lady attending on Cleopatra + IRAS, " " " " + + + + Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +SCENE: +The Roman Empire + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Alexandria. 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. + ANTONY. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. + CLEOPATRA. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. + ANTONY. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. News, my good lord, from Rome. + ANTONY. Grates me the sum. + CLEOPATRA. Nay, hear them, Antony. + Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows + If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent + His pow'rful mandate to you: 'Do this or this; + Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that; + Perform't, or else we damn thee.' + ANTONY. How, my love? + CLEOPATRA. Perchance? Nay, and most like, + You must not stay here longer; your dismission + Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. + Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? Both? + Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's Queen, + Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine + Is Caesar's homager. Else so thy cheek pays shame + When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The messengers! + ANTONY. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch + Of the rang'd 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 [emhracing], when such a mutual pair + And such a twain can do't, in which I bind, + On pain of punishment, the world to weet + We stand up peerless. + CLEOPATRA. Excellent falsehood! + Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? + I'll seem the fool I am not. Antony + Will be himself. + ANTONY. But 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 to-night? + CLEOPATRA. Hear the ambassadors. + ANTONY. Fie, wrangling queen! + Whom everything becomes- to chide, to laugh, + To weep; whose every passion fully strives + To make itself in thee fair and admir'd. + 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 ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with the train + DEMETRIUS. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd 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 + + + + +SCENE II. +Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace + +Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a SOOTHSAYER + + CHARMIAN. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost + most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so + to th' Queen? O that I knew this husband, which you say must + charge his horns with garlands! + ALEXAS. Soothsayer! + SOOTHSAYER. Your will? + CHARMIAN. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things? + SOOTHSAYER. In nature's infinite book of secrecy + A little I can read. + ALEXAS. Show him your hand. + + Enter ENOBARBUS + + 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 prov'd a fairer former fortune + Than that which is to approach. + CHARMIAN. Then belike my children shall have no names. + Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have? + SOOTHSAYER. If every of your wishes had a womb, + And fertile every wish, a million. + CHARMIAN. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. + ALEXAS. You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. + CHARMIAN. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. + ALEXAS. We'll know all our fortunes. + ENOBARBUS. Mine, and most of our fortunes, 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 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 worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow + him laughing to his grave, fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear + me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good + Isis, I beseech thee! + IRAS. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as + it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wiv'd, 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! + + Enter CLEOPATRA + + ENOBARBUS. Hush! Here comes Antony. + CHARMIAN. Not he; the Queen. + CLEOPATRA. Saw you my lord? + ENOBARBUS. No, lady. + CLEOPATRA. Was he not here? + CHARMIAN. No, madam. + CLEOPATRA. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden + A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus! + ENOBARBUS. Madam? + CLEOPATRA. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? + ALEXAS. Here, at your service. My lord approaches. + + Enter ANTONY, with a MESSENGER and attendants + + CLEOPATRA. We will not look upon him. Go with us. + Exeunt CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, and the rest + MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. + ANTONY. Against my brother Lucius? + MESSENGER. Ay. + But soon that war had end, and the time's state + Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Caesar, + Whose better issue in the war from Italy + Upon the first encounter drave them. + ANTONY. Well, what worst? + MESSENGER. The nature of bad news infects the teller. + ANTONY. When it concerns the fool or coward. On! + Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus: + Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, + I hear him as he 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- + ANTONY. Antony, thou wouldst say. + MESSENGER. O, my lord! + 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 + 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. + ANTONY. Let him appear. + These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, + Or lose myself in dotage. + + Enter another MESSENGER with a letter + + What are you? + SECOND MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead. + ANTONY. Where died she? + SECOND MESSENGER. In Sicyon. + Her length of sickness, with what else more serious + Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives the letter] + ANTONY. Forbear me. Exit MESSENGER + There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. + What our contempts doth often hurl from us + We wish it ours again; the present pleasure, + By revolution low'ring, does become + The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone; + The hand could pluck her back that shov'd 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 ENOBARBUS + + ENOBARBUS. What's your pleasure, sir? + ANTONY. I must with haste from hence. + ENOBARBUS. Why, then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an + unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the + word. + ANTONY. I must be gone. + ENOBARBUS. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity + to cast them away for nothing, though between them and a great + cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but + the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die + twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle + in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a + celerity in dying. + ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought. + ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but the + finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters + sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than + almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she + makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove. + ANTONY. Would I had never seen her! + ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of + work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited + your travel. + ANTONY. Fulvia is dead. + ENOBARBUS. Sir? + ANTONY. Fulvia is dead. + ENOBARBUS. Fulvia? + ANTONY. Dead. + ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it + pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it + shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein that + when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If + there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, + and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with + consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and + indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. + ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state + Cannot endure my absence. + ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be + without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends + on your abode. + ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers + Have notice what we purpose. I shall break + The cause of our expedience to the Queen, + And get her leave to part. For not alone + The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, + Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to + 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' th' world may danger. Much is breeding + Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life + And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure, + To such whose place is under us, requires + Our quick remove from hence. + ENOBARBUS. I shall do't. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace + +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 in nothing. + CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool- the way to lose him. + CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear; + In time we hate that which we often fear. + + Enter ANTONY + + But here comes Antony. + CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen. + ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose- + CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall. + It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature + Will not sustain it. + ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen- + CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me. + ANTONY. What's the matter? + CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news. + What says the married woman? You may go. + Would she had never given you leave to come! + Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here- + I have no power upon you; hers you are. + ANTONY. The gods best know- + CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen + So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first + I saw the treasons planted. + ANTONY. Cleopatra- + CLEOPATRA. Why should I think you can be mine and true, + Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, + Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, + To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, + Which break themselves in swearing! + ANTONY. Most sweet queen- + CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, + But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying, + Then was the time for words. No going then! + Eternity was in our lips and eyes, + Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor + But was a race of heaven. They are so still, + Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, + Art turn'd the greatest liar. + ANTONY. How now, lady! + CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches. Thou shouldst know + There were a heart in Egypt. + ANTONY. Hear me, queen: + The strong necessity of time commands + Our services awhile; but my full heart + Remains in use with you. Our Italy + Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius + Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; + Equality of two domestic powers + Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, + Are newly grown to love. The 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? + ANTONY. She's dead, my Queen. + Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read + The garboils she awak'd. 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 receiv'd shall be. + ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know + The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, + As you shall give th' advice. By the fire + That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence + Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war + As thou affects. + CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come! + But let it be; I am quickly ill and well- + So Antony loves. + ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear, + And give true evidence to his love, which stands + An honourable trial. + CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me. + I prithee turn aside and weep for her; + Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears + Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene + Of excellent dissembling, and let it look + Like perfect honour. + ANTONY. You'll heat my blood; no more. + CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. + ANTONY. Now, by my sword- + CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends; + But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, + How this Herculean Roman does become + The carriage of his chafe. + ANTONY. I'll leave you, lady. + CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word. + Sir, you and I must part- but that's not it. + Sir, you and I have lov'd- but there's not it. + That you know well. Something it is I would- + O, my oblivion is a very Antony, + And I am all forgotten! + ANTONY. But that your royalty + Holds idleness your subject, I should take you + For idleness itself. + CLEOPATRA. 'Tis sweating labour + To bear such idleness so near the heart + As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me; + Since my becomings kill me when they do not + Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; + Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, + And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword + Sit laurel victory, and smooth success + Be strew'd before your feet! + ANTONY. Let us go. Come. + Our separation so abides and flies + That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, + And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. + Away! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rome. CAESAR'S house + +Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter; LEPIDUS, and their train + + CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, + It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate + Our great competitor. From Alexandria + This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes + The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike + Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy + More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or + Vouchsaf'd 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 purchas'd; what he cannot change + Than what he chooses. + CAESAR. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is not + Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, + To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit + And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, + To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet + With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him- + As his composure must be rare indeed + Whom these things cannot blemish- yet must Antony + No way excuse his foils when we do bear + So great weight in his lightness. If he 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 belov'd of those + That only have fear'd Caesar. To the ports + The discontents repair, and men's reports + Give him much wrong'd. + 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 lov'd 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. + CAESAR. Antony, + Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once + Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st + Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel + Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, + Though daintily brought up, with patience more + Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink + The stale of horses and the gilded puddle + Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign + The roughest berry on the rudest hedge; + Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets, + The barks of trees thou brows'd. 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. + CAESAR. Let his shames quickly + Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain + Did show ourselves i' th' field; and to that end + Assemble we immediate council. Pompey + Thrives in our idleness. + LEPIDUS. 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. + CAESAR. Till which encounter + It is my business too. Farewell. + LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime + Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, + To let me be partaker. + CAESAR. Doubt not, sir; + I knew it for my bond. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Alexandria. 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 mov'st? + The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm + And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, + Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?' + For so he calls me. Now I feed myself + With most delicious poison. Think on me, + That am with 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 + + ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! + CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! + Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine 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' th' year between the extremes + Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry. + CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him, + Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him! + He was not sad, for he would shine on those + That make their looks by his; he was not merry, + Which 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 chok'd 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 + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +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 pow'rs + Deny us for our good; so find we profit + By losing of our prayers. + POMPEY. I shall do well. + The people love me, and the sea is mine; + My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope + Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony + In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make + No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where + He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both, + Of both is 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 wan'd lip! + Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both; + Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, + Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks + Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, + That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour + Even till a Lethe'd dullness- + + Enter VARRIUS + + How now, Varrius! + VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver: + Mark Antony is every hour in Rome + Expected. Since he went from Egypt 'tis + A space for farther travel. + POMPEY. I could have given less matter + A better ear. Menas, I did not think + This amorous surfeiter would have 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 mov'd by Antony. + POMPEY. I know not, Menas, + How lesser enmities may give way to greater. + Were't not that we stand up against them all, + 'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves; + For they have entertained cause enough + To draw their swords. But how the fear of us + May cement their divisions, and bind up + The petty difference we yet not know. + Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands + Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. + Come, Menas. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. The house of LEPIDUS + +Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS + + LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, + And shall become you well, to entreat your captain + To soft and gentle speech. + ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him + To answer like himself. If Caesar move him, + Let Antony look over Caesar's head + And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, + Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, + I would not shave't to-day. + LEPIDUS. 'Tis not a time + For private stomaching. + ENOBARBUS. Every time + Serves for the matter that is then born in't. + LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way. + ENOBARBUS. Not if the small come first. + LEPIDUS. Your speech is passion; + But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes + The noble Antony. + + Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS + + ENOBARBUS. And yonder, Caesar. + + Enter CAESAR, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA + + ANTONY. If we compose well here, to Parthia. + Hark, Ventidius. + CAESAR. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa. + LEPIDUS. Noble friends, + That which combin'd us was most great, and let not + A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, + May it be gently heard. When we debate + Our trivial difference loud, we do commit + Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners, + The rather for I earnestly beseech, + Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, + Nor curstness grow to th' matter. + ANTONY. 'Tis spoken well. + Were we before our arinies, and to fight, + I should do thus. [Flourish] + CAESAR. Welcome to Rome. + ANTONY. Thank you. + CAESAR. Sit. + ANTONY. Sit, sir. + CAESAR. Nay, then. [They sit] + ANTONY. I learn you take things ill which are not so, + Or being, concern you not. + CAESAR. I must be laugh'd at + If, or for nothing or a little, + 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. + ANTONY. My being in Egypt, Caesar, + What was't to you? + CAESAR. No more than my residing here at Rome + Might be to you in Egypt. Yet, if you there + Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt + Might be my question. + ANTONY. How intend you- practis'd? + CAESAR. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent + By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother + Made wars upon me, and their contestation + Was theme for you; you were the word of war. + ANTONY. You do mistake your business; my brother never + Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it, + And have my learning from some true reports + That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather + Discredit my authority with yours, + And make the wars alike against my stomach, + Having alike your cause? Of this my letters + Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, + As matter whole you have not to make it with, + It must not be with this. + CAESAR. You praise yourself + By laying defects of judgment to me; but + You patch'd up your excuses. + ANTONY. Not so, not so; + I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, + Very necessity of this thought, that I, + Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, + Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars + Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, + I would you had her spirit in such another! + The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle + You may pace easy, but not such a wife. + ENOBARBUS. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to + wars with the women! + ANTONY. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar, + Made out of her impatience- which not wanted + Shrewdness of policy too- I grieving grant + Did you too much disquiet. For that you must + But say I could not help it. + CAESAR. I wrote to you + When rioting in Alexandria; you + Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts + Did gibe my missive out of audience. + ANTONY. Sir, + He fell upon me ere admitted. Then + Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want + Of what I was i' th' morning; but next day + I told him of myself, which was as much + As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow + Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, + Out of our question wipe him. + CAESAR. You have broken + The article of your oath, which you shall never + Have tongue to charge me with. + LEPIDUS. Soft, Caesar! + ANTONY. No; + Lepidus, let him speak. + The honour is sacred which he talks on now, + Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar: + The article of my oath- + CAESAR. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them, + The which you both denied. + ANTONY. Neglected, rather; + And then when poisoned hours had bound me up + From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, + I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honesty + Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power + Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, + To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; + For which myself, the ignorant motive, do + So far ask pardon as befits mine honour + To stoop in such a case. + LEPIDUS. 'Tis noble spoken. + MAECENAS. If it might please you to enforce no further + The griefs between ye- to forget them quite + Were to remember that the present need + Speaks to atone you. + LEPIDUS. Worthily spoken, Maecenas. + ENOBARBUS. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, + you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again. + You shall have time to wrangle in when you have nothing else to + do. + ANTONY. Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more. + ENOBARBUS. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. + ANTONY. You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. + ENOBARBUS. Go to, then- your considerate stone! + CAESAR. I do not much dislike the matter, but + The manner of his speech; for't cannot be + We shall remain in friendship, our conditions + So diff'ring in their acts. Yet if I knew + What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge + O' th' world, I would pursue it. + AGRIPPA. Give me leave, Caesar. + CAESAR. Speak, Agrippa. + AGRIPPA. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, + Admir'd Octavia. Great Mark Antony + Is now a widower. + CAESAR. Say not so, Agrippa. + If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof + Were well deserv'd of rashness. + ANTONY. I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear + Agrippa further speak. + AGRIPPA. To hold you in perpetual amity, + To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts + With an unslipping knot, take Antony + Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims + No worse a husband than the best of men; + Whose virtue and whose general graces speak + That which none else can utter. By this marriage + All little jealousies, which now seem great, + And all great fears, which now import their dangers, + Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales, + Where now half tales be truths. Her love to both + Would each to other, and all loves to both, + Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke; + For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, + By duty ruminated. + ANTONY. Will Caesar speak? + CAESAR. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd + With what is spoke already. + ANTONY. What power is in Agrippa, + If I would say 'Agrippa, be it so,' + To make this good? + CAESAR. The power of Caesar, and + His power unto Octavia. + ANTONY. May I never + To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, + Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand. + Further this act of grace; and from this hour + The heart of brothers govern in our loves + And sway our great designs! + CAESAR. There 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! + ANTONY. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey; + For he hath laid strange courtesies and great + Of late upon me. I must thank him only, + Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; + At heel of that, defy him. + LEPIDUS. Time calls upon's. + Of us must Pompey presently be sought, + Or else he seeks out us. + ANTONY. Where lies he? + CAESAR. About the Mount Misenum. + ANTONY. What is his strength by land? + CAESAR. Great and increasing; but by sea + He is an absolute master. + ANTONY. So is the fame. + Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it. + Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we + The business we have talk'd of. + CAESAR. With most gladness; + And do invite you to my sister's view, + Whither straight I'll lead you. + ANTONY. Let us, Lepidus, + Not lack your company. + LEPIDUS. Noble Antony, + Not sickness should detain me. [Flourish] + Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS + MAECENAS. Welcome from Egypt, sir. + ENOBARBUS. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable + friend, Agrippa! + AGRIPPA. Good Enobarbus! + MAECENAS. We have cause to be glad that matters are so well + digested. You stay'd well by't in Egypt. + ENOBARBUS. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance and made + the night light with drinking. + MAECENAS. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but + twelve persons there. Is this true? + ENOBARBUS. This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more + monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. + MAECENAS. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. + ENOBARBUS. When she first met Mark Antony she purs'd up his heart, + upon the river of Cydnus. + AGRIPPA. There she appear'd indeed! Or my reporter devis'd well for + her. + 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'erpicturing that Venus where we see + The fancy out-work 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! + ENOBARBUS. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, + So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes, + And made their bends adornings. At the helm + A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle + Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands + That yarely frame the office. From the barge + A strange invisible perfume hits the sense + Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast + Her people out upon her; and Antony, + Enthron'd i' th' market-place, did sit alone, + Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy, + Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, + And made a gap in nature. + AGRIPPA. Rare Egyptian! + ENOBARBUS. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, + Invited her to supper. She replied + It should be better he became her guest; + Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony, + Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak, + Being 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 ploughed her, and she cropp'd. + 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, pow'r breathe forth. + MAECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly. + ENOBARBUS. Never! He will not. + Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale + Her infinite variety. Other women cloy + The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry + Where most she satisfies; for vilest things + Become themselves in her, that the holy priests + Bless her when she is riggish. + MAECENAS. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle + The heart of Antony, Octavia is + A blessed lottery to him. + AGRIPPA. Let us go. + Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest + Whilst you abide here. + ENOBARBUS. Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Rome. CAESAR'S house + +Enter ANTONY, CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them + + ANTONY. The world and my great office will sometimes + Divide me from your bosom. + OCTAVIA. All which time + Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers + To them for you. + ANTONY. Good night, sir. My Octavia, + Read not my blemishes in the world's report. + I have not kept my square; but that to come + Shall all be done by th' rule. Good night, dear lady. + OCTAVIA. Good night, sir. + CAESAR. Good night. Exeunt CAESAR and OCTAVIA + + Enter SOOTHSAYER + + ANTONY. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt? + SOOTHSAYER. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither! + ANTONY. If you can- your reason. + SOOTHSAYER. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue; but + yet hie you to Egypt again. + ANTONY. Say to me, + Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine? + SOOTHSAYER. Caesar's. + Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side. + Thy daemon, that 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'erpow'r'd. Therefore + Make space enough between you. + ANTONY. Speak this no more. + SOOTHSAYER. To none but thee; no more but when to thee. + If thou dost play with him at any game, + Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck + He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens + When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit + Is all afraid to govern thee near him; + But, he away, 'tis noble. + ANTONY. Get thee gone. + Say to Ventidius I would speak with him. + Exit SOOTHSAYER + He shall to Parthia.- Be it art or hap, + He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him; + And in our sports my better cunning faints + Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds; + His cocks do win the battle still of mine, + When it is all to 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' th' East my pleasure lies. + + Enter VENTIDIUS + + O, come, Ventidius, + You must to Parthia. Your commission's ready; + Follow me and receive't. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rome. A street + +Enter LEPIDUS, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA + + LEPIDUS. Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten + Your generals after. + AGRIPPA. Sir, Mark Antony + Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. + LEPIDUS. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, + Which will become you both, farewell. + MAECENAS. We shall, + As I conceive the journey, be at th' Mount + Before you, Lepidus. + LEPIDUS. Your way is shorter; + My purposes do draw me much about. + You'll win two days upon me. + BOTH. Sir, good success! + LEPIDUS. Farewell. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace + +Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS + + CLEOPATRA. Give me some music- music, moody food + Of us that trade in love. + ALL. The music, ho! + + Enter MARDIAN the eunuch + + CLEOPATRA. Let it alone! Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian. + CHARMIAN. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian. + CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch 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 th' 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! Y'are 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 laughed 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. Antony's dead! If thou say so, villain, + Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free, + If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here + My bluest veins to kiss- a hand that kings + Have 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- why 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. Th'art an honest man. + MESSENGER. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. + CLEOPATRA. Make thee a fortune from me. + MESSENGER. But yet, madam- + CLEOPATRA. I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay + The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'! + 'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth + Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, + Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, + The good and bad together. He's friends with Caesar; + In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free. + MESSENGER. Free, madam! No; I made no such report. + He's bound unto Octavia. + CLEOPATRA. For what good turn? + MESSENGER. For the best turn i' th' bed. + CLEOPATRA. I am pale, Charmian. + MESSENGER. Madam, he's married to Octavia. + CLEOPATRA. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! + [Strikes him down] + MESSENGER. Good madam, patience. + CLEOPATRA. What say you? Hence, [Strikes him] + 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 ling'ring pickle. + MESSENGER. Gracious madam, + I that do bring the news made not the match. + CLEOPATRA. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, + And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst + Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage; + And I will boot thee with what gift beside + Thy modesty can beg. + MESSENGER. He's married, madam. + CLEOPATRA. Rogue, thou hast liv'd 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 afear'd to come. + CLEOPATRA. I will not hurt him. + These hands do lack nobility, that they strike + A meaner than myself; since I myself + Have given myself the cause. + + Enter the MESSENGER again + + 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 submerg'd and made + A cistern for scal'd 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 th'art 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 disprais'd Caesar. + CHARMIAN. Many times, madam. + CLEOPATRA. I am paid for't now. Lead me from hence, + I faint. O Iras, Charmian! 'Tis no matter. + Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him + Report the feature of Octavia, her years, + Her inclination; let him not leave out + The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly. + Exit ALEXAS + Let him for ever go- let him not, Charmian- + Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, + The other way's a Mars. [To MARDIAN] + Bid you Alexas + Bring me word how tall she is.- Pity me, Charmian, + But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +Near Misenum + +Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one door, with drum and trumpet; +at another, CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, ENOBARBUS, MAECENAS, AGRIPPA, +with soldiers marching + + POMPEY. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; + And we shall talk before we fight. + CAESAR. Most meet + That first we come to words; and therefore have we + Our written purposes before us sent; + Which if thou hast considered, let us know + If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword + And carry back to Sicily much tall youth + That else must perish here. + POMPEY. To you all three, + The senators alone of this great world, + Chief factors for the gods: I do not know + Wherefore my father should revengers want, + Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar, + Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, + There saw you labouring for him. What was't + That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? and what + Made the all-honour'd honest Roman, Brutus, + With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, + To drench the Capitol, but that they would + Have one man but a man? And that is it + Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden + The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant + To scourge th' ingratitude that despiteful Rome + Cast on my noble father. + CAESAR. Take your time. + ANTONY. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails; + We'll speak with thee at sea; at land thou know'st + How much we do o'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 pleas'd to tell us- + For this is from the present- how you take + The offers we have sent you. + CAESAR. There's the point. + ANTONY. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh + What it is worth embrac'd. + 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. + ALL. That's our offer. + POMPEY. Know, then, + I came before you here a man prepar'd + To take this offer; but Mark Antony + Put me to some impatience. Though I lose + The praise of it by telling, you must know, + When Caesar and your brother were at blows, + Your mother came to Sicily and did find + Her welcome friendly. + ANTONY. I have heard it, Pompey, + And am well studied for a liberal thanks + Which I do owe you. + POMPEY. Let me have your hand. + I did not think, sir, to have met you here. + ANTONY. The beds i' th' East are soft; and thanks to you, + That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; + For I have gained by't. + CAESAR. Since I saw you last + There is a change upon you. + POMPEY. Well, I know not + What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face; + But in my bosom shall she never come + To make my heart her vassal. + LEPIDUS. Well met here. + POMPEY. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed. + I crave our composition may be written, + And seal'd between us. + CAESAR. That's the next to do. + POMPEY. We'll feast each other ere we part, and let's + Draw lots who shall begin. + ANTONY. That will I, Pompey. + POMPEY. No, Antony, take the lot; + But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery + Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar + Grew fat with feasting there. + ANTONY. You have heard much. + POMPEY. I have fair meanings, sir. + ANTONY. And fair words to them. + POMPEY. Then so much have I heard; + And I have heard Apollodorus carried- + ENOBARBUS. No more of that! He did so. + POMPEY. What, I pray you? + ENOBARBUS. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. + POMPEY. I know thee now. How far'st thou, soldier? + ENOBARBUS. Well; + And well am like to do, for I perceive + Four feasts are toward. + POMPEY. Let me shake thy hand. + I never hated thee; I have seen thee fight, + When I have envied thy behaviour. + ENOBARBUS. Sir, + I never lov'd you much; but I ha' prais'd ye + When you have well deserv'd 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? + ALL. Show's the way, sir. + POMPEY. Come. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS + MENAS. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this + treaty.- You and I have known, sir. + ENOBARBUS. At sea, I think. + MENAS. We have, sir. + ENOBARBUS. You have done well by water. + MENAS. And you by land. + ENOBARBUS. I Will praise any man that will praise me; though it + cannot be denied what I have done by land. + MENAS. Nor what I have done by water. + ENOBARBUS. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you + have been a great thief by sea. + MENAS. And you by land. + ENOBARBUS. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, + Menas; if our eyes had authority, here they might take two + thieves kissing. + MENAS. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are. + ENOBARBUS. But there is never a fair woman has a true face. + MENAS. No slander: they steal hearts. + ENOBARBUS. We came hither to fight with you. + MENAS. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking. + Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune. + ENOBARBUS. If he do, sure he cannot weep't back again. + MENAS. Y'have said, sir. We look'd not for Mark Antony here. Pray + you, is he married to Cleopatra? + ENOBARBUS. Caesar' sister is call'd Octavia. + MENAS. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. + ENOBARBUS. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. + MENAS. Pray ye, sir? + ENOBARBUS. 'Tis true. + MENAS. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. + ENOBARBUS. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not + prophesy so. + MENAS. I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage + than the love of the parties. + ENOBARBUS. I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems + to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of + their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. + MENAS. Who would not have his wife so? + ENOBARBUS. Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He + will to his Egyptian dish again; then shall the sighs of Octavia + blow the fire up in Caesar, and, as I said before, that which is + the strength of their amity shall prove the immediate author of + their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he + married but his occasion here. + MENAS. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a + health for you. + ENOBARBUS. I shall take it, sir. We have us'd our throats in Egypt. + MENAS. Come, let's away. Exeunt + +ACT_2|SC_7 + 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' th' world will blow them + down. + SECOND SERVANT. Lepidus is high-colour'd. + FIRST SERVANT. They have made him drink alms-drink. + SECOND SERVANT. As they pinch one another by the disposition, he + cries out 'No more!'; reconciles them to his entreaty and himself + to th' drink. + FIRST SERVANT. But it raises the greater war between him and his + discretion. + SECOND SERVANT. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's + fellowship. I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service + as a partizan I could not heave. + FIRST SERVANT. To be call'd into a huge sphere, and not to be seen + to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully + disaster the cheeks. + + A sennet sounded. Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, + POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS, ENOBARBUS, MENAS, + with other CAPTAINS + + ANTONY. [To CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' th' + Nile + By certain scales i' th' pyramid; they know + By th' height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth + Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells + The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seedsman + Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, + And shortly comes to harvest. + LEPIDUS. Y'have strange serpents there. + ANTONY. Ay, Lepidus. + LEPIDUS. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the + operation of your sun; so is your crocodile. + ANTONY. They are so. + POMPEY. Sit- and some wine! A health to Lepidus! + LEPIDUS. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out. + ENOBARBUS. Not till you have slept. I fear me you'll be in till + then. + LEPIDUS. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' pyramises are + very goodly things. Without contradiction I have heard that. + MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Pompey, a word. + POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Say in mine ear; what is't? + MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, + Captain, + And hear me speak a word. + POMPEY. [ Whispers in's ear ] Forbear me till anon- + This wine for Lepidus! + LEPIDUS. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? + ANTONY. It is shap'd, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it + hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and moves with it own + organs. It lives by that which nourisheth it, and the elements + once out of it, it transmigrates. + LEPIDUS. What colour is it of? + ANTONY. Of it own colour too. + LEPIDUS. 'Tis a strange serpent. + ANTONY. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. + CAESAR. Will this description satisfy him? + ANTONY. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very + epicure. + POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that! + Away! + Do as I bid you.- Where's this cup I 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 th'art mad. [Rises and walks + aside] The matter? + MENAS. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. + POMPEY. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What's else to say?- + Be jolly, lords. + ANTONY. These quicksands, Lepidus, + Keep off them, for you sink. + MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? + POMPEY. What 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 you think me poor, I am the man + Will give thee all the world. + POMPEY. Hast thou drunk well? + MENAS. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. + Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove; + Whate'er the ocean pales or sky inclips + Is thine, if thou wilt 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 villainy: + In thee't had been good service. Thou must know + 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour: + Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue + Hath so betray'd thine act. Being done unknown, + I should have found it afterwards well done, + But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. + MENAS. [Aside] For this, + I'll never follow thy 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! + ANTONY. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. + ENOBARBUS. Here's to thee, Menas! + MENAS. Enobarbus, welcome! + POMPEY. Fill till the cup be hid. + ENOBARBUS. There's a strong fellow, Menas. + [Pointing to the servant who carries off LEPIDUS] + MENAS. Why? + ENOBARBUS. 'A bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? + MENAS. The third part, then, is drunk. Would it were all, + That it might go on wheels! + ENOBARBUS. Drink thou; increase the reels. + MENAS. Come. + POMPEY. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. + ANTONY. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho! + Here's to Caesar! + CAESAR. I could well forbear't. + It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain + And it grows fouler. + ANTONY. Be a child o' th' time. + CAESAR. Possess it, I'll make answer. + But I had rather fast from all four days + Than drink so much in one. + ENOBARBUS. [To ANTONY] Ha, my brave emperor! + Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals + And celebrate our drink? + POMPEY. Let's ha't, good soldier. + ANTONY. Come, let's all take hands, + Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense + In soft and delicate Lethe. + ENOBARBUS. All take hands. + Make battery to our ears with the loud music, + The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing; + The holding every man shall bear as loud + As his strong sides can volley. + [Music plays. ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand] + + THE SONG + Come, thou monarch of the vine, + Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! + In thy 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! + + 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. + ANTONY. And shall, sir. Give's your hand. + POMPEY. O Antony, + You have my father's house- but what? We are friends. + Come, down into the boat. + ENOBARBUS. Take heed you fall not. + Exeunt all but 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] + ENOBARBUS. Hoo! says 'a. There's my cap. + MENAS. Hoo! Noble Captain, come. Exeunt +ACT_3|SC_1 + 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 + Pleas'd 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 achiev'd by th' minute, lost his favour. + Who does i' th' wars more than his captain can + Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition, + The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss + Than gain which darkens him. + I could do more to do Antonius good, + But 'twould offend him; and in his offence + Should my performance perish. + SILIUS. Thou hast, Ventidius, that + Without the which a soldier and his sword + Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony? + VENTIDIUS. I'll humbly signify what in his name, + That magical word of war, we have effected; + How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, + The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia + We have jaded out o' th' field. + SILIUS. Where is he now? + VENTIDIUS. He purposeth to Athens; whither, with what haste + The weight we must convey with's will permit, + We shall appear before him.- On, there; pass along. + Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_2 + SCENE II. Rome. CAESAR'S house + + Enter AGRIPPA at one door, ENOBARBUS at another + + AGRIPPA. What, are the brothers parted? + 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. + ENOBARBUS. A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar! + AGRIPPA. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! + ENOBARBUS. Caesar? Why he's the Jupiter of men. + AGRIPPA. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. + ENOBARBUS. Spake you of Caesar? How! the nonpareil! + AGRIPPA. O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird! + ENOBARBUS. Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar'- go no further. + AGRIPPA. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. + ENOBARBUS. But he loves Caesar best. Yet he loves Antony. + Hoo! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot + Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number- hoo!- + His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, + Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. + AGRIPPA. Both he loves. + ENOBARBUS. They are his shards, and he their beetle. [Trumpets + within] So- + This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. + AGRIPPA. Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell. + + Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA + + ANTONY. No further, sir. + CAESAR. You take from me a great part of myself; + Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife + As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest 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 lov'd without this mean, if on both parts + This be not cherish'd. + ANTONY. Make me not offended + In your distrust. + CAESAR. I have said. + ANTONY. You shall not find, + Though you be therein curious, the least cause + For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you, + And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! + We will here part. + CAESAR. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. + The elements be kind to thee and make + Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well. + OCTAVIA. My noble brother! + ANTONY. The April's in her eyes. It is love's spring, + And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful. + OCTAVIA. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and- + CAESAR. What, Octavia? + OCTAVIA. I'll tell you in your ear. + ANTONY. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can + Her heart inform her tongue- the swan's down feather, + That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, + And neither way inclines. + ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? + AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in's face. + ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a + horse; + So is he, being a man. + AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, + When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, + He cried almost to roaring; and he wept + When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. + ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled + with a rheum; + What willingly he did confound he wail'd, + Believe't- till I weep too. + CAESAR. No, sweet Octavia, + You shall hear from me still; the time shall not + Out-go my thinking on you. + ANTONY. Come, sir, come; + I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love. + Look, here I have you; thus I let you go, + And give you to the gods. + CAESAR. Adieu; be happy! + LEPIDUS. Let all the number of the stars give light + To thy fair way! + CAESAR. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses OCTAVIA] + ANTONY. Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_3 + 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 pleas'd. + 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-tongu'd or low? + MESSENGER. Madam, I heard her speak: she is low-voic'd. + 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 prepar'd. Exeunt 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 + +ACT_3|SC_4 + SCENE IV. + Athens. ANTONY'S house + + Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA + + ANTONY. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that- + That were excusable, that and thousands more + Of semblable import- but he hath wag'd + New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it + To public ear; + Spoke scandy of me; when perforce he could not + But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly + He vented them, most narrow measure lent me; + When the best hint was given him, he not took't, + Or did it from his teeth. + OCTAVIA. O my good lord, + Believe not all; or if you must believe, + Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, + If this division chance, ne'er stood between, + Praying for both parts. + The good gods will mock me presently + When I shall pray 'O, bless my lord and husband!' + Undo that prayer by crying out as loud + 'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother, + Prays, and destroys the prayer; no mid-way + 'Twixt these extremes at all. + ANTONY. Gentle Octavia, + Let your best love draw to that point which seeks + Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, + I lose myself; better I were not yours + Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, + Yourself shall go between's. The meantime, lady, + I'll raise the preparation of a war + Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste; + So your desires are yours. + OCTAVIA. Thanks to my lord. + The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak, + Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be + As if the world should cleave, and that slain men + Should solder up the rift. + ANTONY. When it appears to you where this begins, + Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults + Can never be so equal that your love + Can equally move with them. Provide your going; + Choose your own company, and command what cost + Your heart has mind to. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_5 + SCENE V. + Athens. ANTONY'S house + + Enter ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting + + ENOBARBUS. How now, friend Eros! + EROS. There's strange news come, sir. + ENOBARBUS. What, man? + EROS. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. + ENOBARBUS. This is old. What is the success? + EROS. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey, + presently denied him rivality, would not let him partake in the + glory of the action; and not resting here, accuses him of letters + he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him. + So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine. + ENOBARBUS. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps- no more; + And throw between them all the food thou hast, + They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony? + EROS. He's walking in the garden- thus, and spurns + The rush that lies before him; cries 'Fool Lepidus!' + And threats the throat of that his officer + That murd'red Pompey. + 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. + ENOBARBUS. 'Twill be naught; + But let it be. Bring me to Antony. + EROS. Come, sir. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_6 + SCENE VI. + Rome. CAESAR'S house + + Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS + + CAESAR. Contemning Rome, he has done all this and more + In Alexandria. Here's the manner of't: + I' th' market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, + Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold + Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet sat + Caesarion, whom they call my father's son, + And all the unlawful issue that their lust + Since then hath made between them. Unto her + He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her + Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, + Absolute queen. + MAECENAS. This in the public eye? + CAESAR. I' th' common 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 th' habiliments of the goddess Isis + That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, + As 'tis reported, so. + MAECENAS. Let Rome be thus + Inform'd. + AGRIPPA. Who, queasy with his insolence + Already, will their good thoughts call from him. + CAESAR. The people knows it, and have now receiv'd + His accusations. + AGRIPPA. Who does he accuse? + CAESAR. Caesar; and that, having in Sicily + Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him + His part o' th' isle. Then does he say he lent me + Some shipping, unrestor'd. Lastly, he frets + That Lepidus of the triumvirate + Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain + All his revenue. + AGRIPPA. Sir, this should be answer'd. + CAESAR. 'Tis done already, and messenger gone. + I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel, + That he his high authority abus'd, + 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, + Demand the like. + MAECENAS. He'll never yield to that. + CAESAR. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. + + Enter OCTAVIA, with her train + + OCTAVIA. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear Caesar! + CAESAR. That ever I should call thee cast-away! + OCTAVIA. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. + 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 th' way + Should have borne men, and expectation fainted, + Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust + Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, + Rais'd 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 unlov'd. 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 it + On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, + Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted + My grieved ear withal; whereon I begg'd + His pardon for return. + CAESAR. Which soon he granted, + Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. + OCTAVIA. Do not say so, my lord. + CAESAR. I have eyes upon him, + And his affairs come to me on the wind. + Where is he now? + OCTAVIA. My lord, in Athens. + CAESAR. No, my most wronged sister: Cleopatra + Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire + Up to a whore, who now are levying + The kings o' th' earth for war. He hath assembled + Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus + Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king + Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; + King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont; + Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king + Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas, + The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with + More larger list of sceptres. + OCTAVIA. Ay me most wretched, + That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, + That does afflict each other! + CAESAR. Welcome hither. + Your letters did withhold our breaking forth, + Till we perceiv'd 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 determin'd things to destiny + Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome; + Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd + Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods, + To do you justice, make their ministers + Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort, + And ever welcome to us. + AGRIPPA. Welcome, lady. + MAECENAS. Welcome, dear madam. + Each heart in Rome does love and pity you; + Only th' adulterous Antony, most large + In his abominations, turns you off, + And gives his potent regiment to a trull + That noises it against us. + OCTAVIA. Is it so, sir? + CAESAR. Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you + Be ever known to patience. My dear'st sister! Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_7 + SCENE VII. + ANTONY'S camp near Actium + + Enter CLEOPATRA and ENOBARBUS + + CLEOPATRA. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. + ENOBARBUS. But why, why, + CLEOPATRA. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, + And say'st it is not fit. + ENOBARBUS. Well, is it, is it? + CLEOPATRA. Is't not denounc'd against us? Why should not we + Be there in person? + 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? + ENOBARBUS. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony; + Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's time, + What should not then be spar'd. He is already + Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome + That Photinus an eunuch and your maids + Manage this war. + CLEOPATRA. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot + That speak against us! A charge we bear i' th' war, + And, as the president of my kingdom, will + Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; + I will not stay behind. + + Enter ANTONY and CANIDIUS + + ENOBARBUS. Nay, I have done. + Here comes the Emperor. + ANTONY. Is it not strange, Canidius, + That from Tarentum and Brundusium + He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, + And take in Toryne?- You have heard on't, sweet? + CLEOPATRA. Celerity is never more admir'd + Than by the negligent. + ANTONY. A good rebuke, + Which might have well becom'd the best of men + To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we + Will fight with him by sea. + CLEOPATRA. By sea! What else? + CANIDIUS. Why will my lord do so? + ANTONY. For that he dares us to't. + ENOBARBUS. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. + CANIDIUS. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, + Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers, + Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; + And so should you. + ENOBARBUS. Your ships are not well mann'd; + Your mariners are muleteers, 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 prepar'd for land. + ANTONY. By sea, by sea. + ENOBARBUS. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away + The absolute soldiership you have by land; + Distract your army, which doth most consist + Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted + Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo + The way which promises assurance; and + Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard + From firm security. + ANTONY. I'll fight at sea. + CLEOPATRA. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. + ANTONY. Our overplus of shipping will we burn, + And, with the rest full-mann'd, from th' head of Actium + Beat th' approaching Caesar. But if we fail, + We then can do't at land. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + Thy business? + MESSENGER. The news is true, my lord: he is descried; + Caesar has taken Toryne. + ANTONY. Can he be there in person? 'Tis impossible- + Strange that his power should be. Canidius, + Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, + And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our ship. + Away, my Thetis! + + Enter a SOLDIER + + How now, worthy soldier? + SOLDIER. O noble Emperor, do not fight by sea; + Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt + This sword and these my wounds? Let th' Egyptians + And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we + Have us'd to conquer standing on the earth + And fighting foot to foot. + ANTONY. Well, well- away. + Exeunt ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, and ENOBARBUS + SOLDIER. By Hercules, I think I am i' th' right. + CANIDIUS. Soldier, thou art; but his whole action grows + Not in the power on't. So our leader's led, + And we are women's men. + SOLDIER. You keep by land + The legions and the horse whole, do you not? + CANIDIUS. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, + Publicola, and Caelius are for sea; + But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's + Carries beyond belief. + SOLDIER. While he was yet in Rome, + His power went out in such distractions as + Beguil'd 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 + +ACT_3|SC_8 + SCENE VIII. + A plain near Actium + + Enter CAESAR, with his army, marching + + CAESAR. Taurus! + TAURUS. My lord? + CAESAR. Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle + Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed + The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies + Upon this jump. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_9 + SCENE IX. + Another part of the plain + + Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS + + ANTONY. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' th' hill, + In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place + We may the number of the ships behold, + And so proceed accordingly. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_10 + SCENE X. + Another part of the plain + + CANIDIUS marcheth with his land army one way + over the stage, and TAURUS, the Lieutenant of + CAESAR, the other way. After their going in is heard + the noise of a sea-fight + + Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS + + ENOBARBUS. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer. + Th' Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, + With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder. + To see't mine eyes are blasted. + + Enter SCARUS + + SCARUS. Gods and goddesses, + All the whole synod of them! + ENOBARBUS. What's thy passion? + SCARUS. The greater cantle of the world is lost + With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away + Kingdoms and provinces. + 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' th' midst o' th' 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. + 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. + ENOBARBUS. Alack, alack! + + Enter CANIDIUS + + CANIDIUS. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, + And sinks most lamentably. Had our general + Been what he knew himself, it had gone well. + O, he has given example for our flight + Most grossly by his own! + ENOBARBUS. Ay, are you thereabouts? + Why then, good night indeed. + CANIDIUS. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. + SCARUS. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend + What further comes. + CANIDIUS. To Caesar will I render + My legions and my horse; six kings already + Show me the way of yielding. + ENOBARBUS. I'll yet follow + The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason + Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt + +ACT_3|SC_11 + SCENE XI. + Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace + + Enter ANTONY With attendants + + ANTONY. Hark! the land bids me tread no more upon't; + It is asham'd to bear me. Friends, come hither. + I am so lated in the world that I + Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship + Laden with gold; take that; divide it. Fly, + And make your peace with Caesar. + ALL. Fly? Not we! + ANTONY. I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards + To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone; + I have myself resolv'd 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 straight way. + 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! + ANTONY. No, no, no, no, no. + EROS. See you here, sir? + ANTONY. O, fie, fie, fie! + CHARMIAN. Madam! + IRAS. Madam, O good Empress! + EROS. Sir, sir! + ANTONY. Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept + His sword e'en like a dancer, while I struck + The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I + That the mad Brutus ended; he alone + Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had + In the brave squares of war. Yet now- no matter. + CLEOPATRA. Ah, stand by! + EROS. The Queen, my lord, the Queen! + IRAS. Go to him, madam, speak to him. + He is unqualitied with very shame. + CLEOPATRA. Well then, sustain me. O! + EROS. Most noble sir, arise; the Queen approaches. + Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her but + Your comfort makes the rescue. + ANTONY. I have offended reputation- + A most unnoble swerving. + EROS. Sir, the Queen. + ANTONY. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See + How I convey my shame out of thine eyes + By looking back what I have left behind + 'Stroy'd in dishonour. + CLEOPATRA. O my lord, my lord, + Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought + You would have followed. + ANTONY. Egypt, thou knew'st too well + My heart was to thy rudder tied by th' strings, + And thou shouldst tow me after. O'er my spirit + Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that + Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods + Command me. + CLEOPATRA. O, my pardon! + ANTONY. Now I must + To the young man send humble treaties, dodge + And palter in the shifts of lowness, who + With half the bulk o' th' world play'd as I pleas'd, + Making and marring fortunes. You did know + How much you were my conqueror, and that + My sword, made weak by my affection, would + Obey it on all cause. + CLEOPATRA. Pardon, pardon! + ANTONY. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates + All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss; + Even this repays me. + We sent our schoolmaster; is 'a 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 + +ACT_3|SC_12 + SCENE XII. + CAESAR'S camp in Egypt + + Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others + + 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 of his wing, + Which had superfluous kings for messengers + Not many moons gone by. + + Enter EUPHRONIUS, Ambassador from ANTONY + + 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. + 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. + 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! + CAESAR. Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS + [To THYREUS] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time. Dispatch; + From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise, + And in our name, what she requires; add more, + From thine invention, offers. Women are not + In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure + The ne'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, Thyreus; + Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we + Will answer as a law. + THYREUS. Caesar, I go. + 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 + +ACT_3|SC_13 + SCENE XIII. + Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace + + Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS + + CLEOPATRA. What shall we do, Enobarbus? + ENOBARBUS. Think, and die. + CLEOPATRA. Is Antony or we in fault for this? + ENOBARBUS. Antony only, that would make his will + Lord of his reason. What though you fled + From that great face of war, whose several ranges + Frighted each other? Why should he follow? + The itch of his affection should not then + Have nick'd his captainship, at such a point, + When half to half the world oppos'd, he being + The mered question. 'Twas a shame no less + Than was his loss, to course your flying flags + And leave his navy gazing. + CLEOPATRA. Prithee, peace. + + Enter EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador; with ANTONY + + ANTONY. Is that his answer? + EUPHRONIUS. Ay, my lord. + ANTONY. The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she + Will yield us up. + EUPHRONIUS. He says so. + ANTONY. Let her know't. + To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, + And he will fill thy wishes to the brim + With principalities. + CLEOPATRA. That head, my lord? + ANTONY. To him again. Tell him he wears the rose + Of youth upon him; from which the world should note + Something particular. His coin, ships, legions, + May be a coward's whose ministers would prevail + Under the service of a child as soon + As i' th' command of Caesar. I dare him therefore + To lay his gay comparisons apart, + And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, + Ourselves alone. I'll write it. Follow me. + Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS + EUPHRONIUS. [Aside] Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will + Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to th' show + Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are + A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward + Do draw the inward quality after them, + To suffer all alike. That he should dream, + Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will + Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdu'd + His judgment too. + + Enter a SERVANT + + SERVANT. A messenger from Caesar. + CLEOPATRA. What, no more ceremony? See, my women! + Against the blown rose may they stop their nose + That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit SERVANT + ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square. + The loyalty well held to fools does make + Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure + To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord + Does conquer him that did his master conquer, + And earns a place i' th' 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. + 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 deserv'd. + CLEOPATRA. He is a god, and knows + What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, + But conquer'd merely. + ENOBARBUS. [Aside] To be sure of that, + I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky + That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for + Thy dearest quit thee. Exit + THYREUS. Shall I say to Caesar + What you require of him? For he partly begs + To be desir'd to give. It much would please him + That of his fortunes you should make a staff + To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits + To hear from me you had left Antony, + And put yourself under his shroud, + The universal landlord. + CLEOPATRA. What's your name? + THYREUS. My name is Thyreus. + CLEOPATRA. Most kind messenger, + Say to great Caesar this: in deputation + I kiss his conquring 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 mus'd of taking kingdoms in, + Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, + As it rain'd kisses. + + Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS + + 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. + ENOBARBUS. [Aside] You will be whipt. + ANTONY. Approach there.- Ah, you kite!- Now, gods and devils! + Authority melts from me. Of late, when I cried 'Ho!' + Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth + And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am + Antony yet. + + Enter servants + + Take hence this Jack and whip him. + ENOBARBUS. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp + Than with an old one dying. + ANTONY. Moon and stars! + Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries + That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them + So saucy with the hand of she here- what's her name + Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, + Till like a boy you see him cringe his face, + And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. + THYMUS. Mark Antony- + ANTONY. Tug him away. Being whipt, + Bring him again: the Jack of Caesar's shall + Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt servants 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 abus'd + By one that looks on feeders? + CLEOPATRA. Good my lord- + ANTONY. You have been a boggler ever. + But when we in our viciousness grow hard- + O misery on't!- the wise gods 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? + 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, + Unregist'red in vulgar fame, you have + Luxuriously pick'd out; for I am sure, + Though you can guess what temperance should be, + You know not what it is. + CLEOPATRA. Wherefore is this? + ANTONY. To let a fellow that will take rewards, + And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with + My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal + And plighter of high hearts! O that I were + Upon the hill of Basan to outroar + The horned herd! For I have savage cause, + And to proclaim it civilly were like + A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank + For being yare about him. + + Re-enter a SERVANT with THYREUS + + Is he whipt? + SERVANT. Soundly, my lord. + ANTONY. Cried he? and begg'd 'a pardon? + SERVANT. He did ask favour. + ANTONY. If that thy father live, let him repent + Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry + To follow Caesar in his triumph, since + Thou hast been whipt for following him. Henceforth + The white hand of a lady fever thee! + Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Caesar; + Tell him thy entertainment; look thou say + He makes me angry with him; for he seems + Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, + Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry; + And at this time most easy 'tis to do't, + When my good stars, that were my former guides, + Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires + Into th' abysm of hell. If he mislike + My speech and what is done, tell him he has + Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom + He may at pleasure whip or hang or torture, + As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou. + Hence with thy stripes, be gone. Exit THYREUS + CLEOPATRA. Have you done yet? + ANTONY. Alack, our terrene moon + Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone + The fall of Antony. + CLEOPATRA. I must stay his time. + ANTONY. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes + With one that ties his points? + CLEOPATRA. Not know me yet? + ANTONY. Cold-hearted toward me? + CLEOPATRA. Ah, dear, if I be so, + From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, + And poison it in the source, and the first stone + Drop in my neck; as it determines, so + Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite! + Till by degrees the memory of my womb, + Together with my brave Egyptians all, + By the discandying of this pelleted storm, + Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile + Have buried them for prey. + ANTONY. I am satisfied. + Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where + I will oppose his fate. Our force by land + Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy to + Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like. + Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? + If from the field I shall return once more + To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood. + I and my sword will earn our chronicle. + There's hope in't yet. + CLEOPATRA. That's my brave lord! + ANTONY. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, + And fight maliciously. For when mine hours + Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives + Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth, + And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, + Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me + All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more; + Let's mock the midnight bell. + CLEOPATRA. It is my birthday. + I had thought t'have held it poor; but since my lord + Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. + ANTONY. We will yet do well. + CLEOPATRA. Call all his noble captains to my lord. + ANTONY. Do so, we'll speak to them; and 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 ENOBARBUS + ENOBARBUS. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious + Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood + The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still + A diminution in our captain's brain + Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, + It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek + Some way to leave him. Exit + +ACT_4|SC_1 + ACT IV. SCENE I. + CAESAR'S camp before Alexandria + + Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS, with his army; + CAESAR reading a letter + + CAESAR. He calls me boy, and chides as he had power + To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger + He hath whipt with rods; dares me to personal combat, + Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know + I have many other ways to die, meantime + Laugh at his challenge. + MAECENAS. Caesar must think + When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted + Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now + Make boot of his distraction. Never anger + Made good guard for itself. + CAESAR. Let our best heads + Know that to-morrow the last of many battles + We mean to fight. Within our files there are + Of those that serv'd 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 + +ACT_4|SC_2 + SCENE II. + Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace + + Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, + ALEXAS, with others + + ANTONY. He will not fight with me, Domitius? + ENOBARBUS. No. + ANTONY. Why should he not? + ENOBARBUS. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, + He is twenty men to one. + ANTONY. 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? + ENOBARBUS. I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' + 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 has been rightly honest. So hast thou; + Thou, and thou, and thou. You have serv'd me well, + And kings have been your fellows. + CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What means this? + ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which + sorrow shoots + Out of the mind. + ANTONY. And thou art honest too. + I wish I could be made so many men, + And all of you clapp'd up together in + An Antony, that I might do you service + So good as you have done. + SERVANT. The gods forbid! + 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 ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? + ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. + 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! + ENOBARBUS. What mean you, sir, + To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; + And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd. For shame! + Transform us not to women. + ANTONY. Ho, ho, ho! + Now the witch take me if I meant it thus! + Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends, + You take me in too dolorous a sense; + For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you + To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts, + I hope well of 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 + +ACT_4|SC_3 + SCENE III. + Alexandria. Before CLEOPATRA's palace + + Enter a company of soldiers + + 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. + [They meet other soldiers] + SECOND SOLDIER. Soldiers, have careful watch. + FIRST SOLDIER. And you. Good night, good night. + [The two companies separate and place themselves + in every corner of the stage] + SECOND 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 is under the stage] + SECOND SOLDIER. Peace, what noise? + THIRD SOLDIER. List, list! + SECOND SOLDIER. Hark! + THIRD SOLDIER. Music i' th' air. + FOURTH SOLDIER. Under the earth. + THIRD SOLDIER. It signs well, does it not? + FOURTH SOLDIER. No. + THIRD SOLDIER. Peace, I say! + What should this mean? + SECOND SOLDIER. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, + Now leaves him. + THIRD SOLDIER. Walk; let's see if other watchmen + Do hear what we do. + SECOND SOLDIER. How now, masters! + SOLDIERS. [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. + SOLDIERS. Content. 'Tis strange. Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_4 + SCENE IV. + Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace + + Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, + with others + + ANTONY. Eros! mine armour, Eros! + CLEOPATRA. Sleep a little. + ANTONY. No, my chuck. Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros! + + Enter EROS with armour + + Come, good fellow, put 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? + ANTONY. Ah, let be, let be! Thou art + The armourer of my heart. False, false; this, this. + CLEOPATRA. Sooth, la, I'll help. Thus it must be. + ANTONY. Well, well; + We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow? + Go put on thy defences. + EROS. Briefly, sir. + CLEOPATRA. Is not this buckled well? + ANTONY. Rarely, rarely! + He that unbuckles this, till we do please + To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm. + Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen's a squire + More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love, + That thou couldst see my wars 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. Flourish of trumpets within] + + Enter CAPTAINS and soldiers + + CAPTAIN. The morn is fair. Good morrow, General. + ALL. Good morrow, General. + ANTONY. 'Tis well blown, lads. + This morning, like the spirit of a youth + That means to be of note, begins betimes. + So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said. + Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me. + This is a soldier's kiss. Rebukeable, + And worthy shameful check it were, to stand + On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee + Now like a man of steel. You that will fight, + Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu. + Exeunt ANTONY, EROS, CAPTAINS and soldiers + CHARMIAN. Please you retire to your chamber? + CLEOPATRA. Lead me. + He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might + Determine this great war in single fight! + Then, Antony- but now. Well, on. Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_5 + SCENE V. + Alexandria. ANTONY'S camp + + Trumpets sound. Enter ANTONY and EROS, a SOLDIER + meeting them + + SOLDIER. The gods make this a happy day to Antony! + ANTONY. Would thou and those thy scars had once 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 + Followed thy heels. + ANTONY. Who's gone this morning? + SOLDIER. Who? + One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus, + He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp + Say 'I am none of thine.' + ANTONY. What say'st thou? + SOLDIER. Sir, + He is with Caesar. + EROS. Sir, his chests and treasure + He has not with him. + ANTONY. Is he gone? + SOLDIER. Most certain. + ANTONY. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it; + Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him- + I will subscribe- gentle adieus and greetings; + Say that I wish he never find more cause + To change a master. O, my fortunes have + Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. Enobarbus! Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_6 + SCENE VI. + Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp + + Flourish. Enter AGRIPPA, CAESAR, With DOLABELLA + and ENOBARBUS + + CAESAR. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight. + Our will is Antony be took alive; + Make it so known. + AGRIPPA. Caesar, I shall. Exit + CAESAR. The time of universal peace is near. + Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nook'd world + Shall bear the olive freely. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Antony + Is come into the field. + CAESAR. Go charge Agrippa + Plant those that have revolted in the vant, + That Antony may seem to spend his fury + Upon himself. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS + ENOBARBUS. Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry on + Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade + Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar + And leave his master Antony. For this pains + Casaer hath 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. + ENOBARBUS. I give it you. + SOLDIER. Mock not, Enobarbus. + I tell you true. Best you saf'd the bringer + Out of the host. I must attend mine office, + Or would have done't myself. Your emperor + Continues still a Jove. Exit + ENOBARBUS. I am alone the villain of the earth, + And feel I am so most. O Antony, + Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid + My better service, when my turpitude + Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart. + If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean + Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do't, I feel. + I fight against thee? No! I will go seek + Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits + My latter part of life. Exit + +ACT_4|SC_7 + SCENE VII. + Field of battle between the camps + + Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter AGRIPPA + and others + + AGRIPPA. Retire. We have engag'd ourselves too far. + Caesar himself has work, and our oppression + Exceeds what we expected. Exeunt + + Alarums. Enter ANTONY, and SCARUS wounded + + SCARUS. O my brave Emperor, this is fought indeed! + Had we done so at first, we had droven them home + With clouts about their heads. + ANTONY. Thou bleed'st apace. + SCARUS. I had a wound here that was like a T, + But now 'tis made an H. + ANTONY. They do retire. + SCARUS. We'll beat'em into bench-holes. I have yet + Room for six scotches more. + + Enter EROS + + EROS. They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves + For a fair victory. + SCARUS. Let us score their backs + And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind. + 'Tis sport to maul a runner. + ANTONY. I will reward thee + Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold + For thy good valour. Come thee on. + SCARUS. I'll halt after. Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_8 + SCENE VIII. + Under the walls of Alexandria + + Alarum. Enter ANTONY, again in a march; SCARUS + with others + + ANTONY. We have beat him to his camp. Run one before + And let the Queen know of our gests. To-morrow, + Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood + That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all; + For doughty-handed are you, and have fought + Not as you serv'd 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. + + Enter CLEOPATRA, attended + + [To SCARUS] Give me thy hand- + To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, + Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' th' world, + Chain mine 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, com'st thou smiling from + The world's great snare uncaught? + ANTONY. Mine nightingale, + We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey + Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we + A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can + Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; + Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand- + Kiss it, my warrior- he hath fought to-day + As if a god in hate of mankind had + Destroyed in such a shape. + CLEOPATRA. I'll give thee, friend, + An armour all of gold; it was a king's. + ANTONY. He has deserv'd 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 our rattling tabourines, + That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together + Applauding our approach. Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_9 + SCENE IX. + CAESAR'S camp + + Enter a CENTURION and his company; ENOBARBUS follows + + CENTURION. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, + We must return to th' court of guard. The night + Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle + By th' second hour i' th' morn. + FIRST WATCH. This last day was + A shrewd one to's. + ENOBARBUS. O, bear me witness, night- + SECOND WATCH. What man is this? + FIRST WATCH. Stand close and list him. + ENOBARBUS. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, + When men revolted shall upon record + Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did + Before thy face repent! + CENTURION. Enobarbus? + SECOND WATCH. Peace! + Hark further. + ENOBARBUS. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, + The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, + That life, a very rebel to my will, + May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart + Against the flint and hardness of my fault, + Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, + And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, + Nobler than my revolt is infamous, + Forgive me in thine own particular, + But let the world rank me in register + A master-leaver and a fugitive! + O Antony! O Antony! [Dies] + FIRST WATCH. Let's speak to him. + CENTURION. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks + May concern Caesar. + SECOND WATCH. Let's do so. But he sleeps. + CENTURION. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his + Was never yet for sleep. + FIRST WATCH. Go we to him. + SECOND WATCH. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. + FIRST WATCH. Hear you, sir? + CENTURION. The hand of death hath raught him. + [Drums afar off ] Hark! the drums + Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him + To th' court of guard; he is of note. Our hour + Is fully out. + SECOND WATCH. Come on, then; + He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body + +ACT_4|SC_10 + SCENE X. + Between the two camps + + Enter ANTONY and SCARUS, with their army + + ANTONY. Their preparation is to-day by sea; + We please them not by land. + SCARUS. For both, my lord. + ANTONY. I would they'd fight i' th' fire or i' th' air; + We'd fight there too. But this it is, our foot + Upon the hills adjoining to the city + Shall stay with us- Order for sea is given; + They have put forth the haven- + Where their appointment we may best discover + And look on their endeavour. Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_11 + SCENE XI. + Between the camps + + Enter CAESAR and his army + + CAESAR. But being charg'd, 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 + +ACT_4|SC_12 + SCENE XII. + A hill near Alexandria + + Enter ANTONY and SCARUS + + 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 ANTONY + + ANTONY. All is lost! + This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me. + My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder + They cast their caps up and carouse together + Like friends long lost. Triple-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 reveng'd 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 gypsy hath at fast and loose + Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. + What, Eros, Eros! + + Enter CLEOPATRA + + Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! + CLEOPATRA. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love? + ANTONY. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving + And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee + And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians; + Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot + Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown + For poor'st diminutives, for doits, and let + Patient Octavia plough thy visage up + With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA + 'Tis well th'art gone, + If it be well to live; but better 'twere + Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death + Might have prevented many. Eros, ho! + The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me, + Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage; + Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' th' moon, + And with those hands that 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 + +ACT_4|SC_13 + 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 th'monument! + There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. + The soul and body rive not more in parting + Than greatness going off. + CLEOPATRA. To th' monument! + Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; + Say that the last I spoke was 'Antony' + And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian, + And bring me how he takes my death. To th' monument! + Exeunt + +ACT_4|SC_14 + SCENE XIV. + CLEOPATRA'S palace + + Enter ANTONY and EROS + + ANTONY. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? + EROS. Ay, noble lord. + ANTONY. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish; + A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, + A 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. + ANTONY. That which is now a horse, even with a thought + The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, + As water is in water. + EROS. It does, my lord. + ANTONY. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is + Even such a body. Here I am Antony; + Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. + I made these wars for Egypt; and the Queen- + Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine, + Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't + A million moe, 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 lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled + With thine entirely. + 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 discharg'd. 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 rend'red life, + Thy name so buried in her. + ANTONY. Dead then? + MARDIAN. Dead. + ANTONY. Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, + And we must sleep. That thou depart'st hence safe + Does pay thy labour richly. Go. Exit MARDIAN + Off, pluck off! + The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep + The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides! + Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, + Crack thy frail case. Apace, Eros, apace.- + No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go; + You have been nobly borne.- From me awhile. Exit EROS + I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and + Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now + All length is torture. Since the torch is out, + Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour + Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles + Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done. + Eros!- I come, my queen.- Eros!- Stay for me; + Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand, + And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze. + Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops, + And all the haunt be ours.- Come, Eros, Eros! + + Re-enter EROS + + EROS. What would my lord? + ANTONY. Since Cleopatra died, + I have liv'd 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 + Th' inevitable prosecution of + Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, + Thou then wouldst kill me. Do't; the time is come. + Thou strik'st not me; 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st. + Put colour in thy cheek. + EROS. The gods withhold me! + Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, + Though enemy, lost aim and could not? + ANTONY. Eros, + Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see + Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down + His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd + 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. + ANTONY. Come, then; for with a wound I must be cur'd. + Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn + Most useful for thy country. + EROS. O, sir, pardon me! + ANTONY. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then + To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once, + Or thy precedent services are all + But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. + EROS. Turn from me then that noble countenance, + Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. + ANTONY. Lo thee! [Turning from him] + EROS. My sword is drawn. + ANTONY. Then let it do at once + The thing why thou hast drawn it. + EROS. My dear master, + My captain and my emperor, let me say, + Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. + ANTONY. 'Tis said, man; and farewell. + EROS. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? + ANTONY. Now, Eros. + EROS. Why, there then! Thus do I escape the sorrow + Of Antony's death. [Kills himself + 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 a guard + + FIRST GUARD. What's the noise? + ANTONY. I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end + Of what I have begun. + SECOND GUARD. The star is fall'n. + FIRST GUARD. And time is at his period. + ALL. Alas, and woe! + ANTONY. Let him that loves me, strike me dead. + FIRST GUARD. Not I. + SECOND GUARD. Nor I. + THIRD GUARD. Nor 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 + ANTONY. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me + Sufficing strokes for death. + DIOMEDES. Most absolute lord, + My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. + ANTONY. When did she send thee? + DIOMEDES. Now, my lord. + ANTONY. Where is she? + DIOMEDES. 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 dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage + Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead; + But fearing since how it might work, hath sent + Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come, + I dread, too late. + ANTONY. Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee. + DIOMEDES. What, ho! the Emperor's guard! The guard, what ho! + Come, your lord calls! + + Enter four or five of the guard of ANTONY + + ANTONY. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides; + 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. + FIRST GUARD. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear + All your true followers out. + ALL. Most heavy day! + ANTONY. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate + To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome + Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, + Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up. + I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, + And have my thanks for all. Exeunt, hearing ANTONY +ACT_4|SC_15 + SCENE XV. + Alexandria. A monument + + Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with CHARMIAN + and IRAS + + CLEOPATRA. O Charmian, I will never go from hence! + CHARMIAN. Be comforted, dear madam. + CLEOPATRA. No, I will not. + All strange and terrible events are welcome, + But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, + Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great + As that which makes it. + + Enter DIOMEDES, below + + How now! Is he dead? + DIOMEDES. His death's upon him, but not dead. + Look out o' th' other side your monument; + His guard have brought him thither. + + Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the guard + + CLEOPATRA. O sun, + Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! Darkling stand + The varying shore o' th' world. O Antony, + Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help; + Help, friends below! Let's draw him hither. + ANTONY. Peace! + Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, + But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. + CLEOPATRA. So it should be, that none but Antony + Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! + ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only + I here importune death awhile, until + Of many thousand kisses the poor last + I lay upon thy lips. + CLEOPATRA. I dare not, dear. + Dear my lord, pardon! I dare not, + Lest I be taken. Not th' imperious show + Of the full-fortun'd 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. + 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. + Wishers were ever fools. O come, come, + [They heave ANTONY aloft to CLEOPATRA] + And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast liv'd. + Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power, + Thus would I wear them out. + ALL. A heavy sight! + ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying. + Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. + CLEOPATRA. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high + That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel, + Provok'd by my offence. + ANTONY. One word, sweet queen: + Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! + CLEOPATRA. They do not go together. + ANTONY. Gentle, hear me: + None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. + CLEOPATRA. My resolution and my hands I'll trust; + None about Caesar + ANTONY. The miserable change now at my end + Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts + In feeding them with those my former fortunes + Wherein I liv'd the greatest prince o' th' world, + The noblest; and do now not basely die, + Not cowardly put off my helmet to + My countryman- a Roman by a Roman + Valiantly 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, [Antony dies] + The crown o' th' 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. [Swoons] + CHARMIAN. O, quietness, lady! + IRAS. She's 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 nought; + Patience is sottish, and impatience does + Become a dog that's mad. Then is it sin + To rush into the secret house of death + Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women? + What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian! + My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look, + Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take heart. + We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble, + Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, + And make death proud to take us. Come, away; + This case of that huge spirit now is cold. + Ah, women, women! Come; we have no friend + But resolution and the briefest end. + Exeunt; those above hearing off ANTONY'S body + +ACT_5|SC_1 + ACT V. SCENE I. + Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp + + Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS, + PROCULEIUS, and others, his Council of War + + CAESAR. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; + Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks + The pauses that he makes. + DOLABELLA. Caesar, I shall. Exit + + Enter DERCETAS With the sword of ANTONY + + CAESAR. Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st + Appear thus to us? + DERCETAS. I am call'd Dercetas; + Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy + Best to be serv'd. Whilst he stood up and spoke, + He was my master, and I wore my life + To spend upon his haters. If thou please + To take me to thee, as I was to him + I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, + I yield thee up my life. + CAESAR. What is't thou say'st? + DERCETAS. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. + CAESAR. The breaking of so great a thing should make + A greater crack. The round world + Should have shook lions into civil streets, + And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony + Is not a single doom; in the name lay + A moiety of the world. + 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. + CAESAR. Look you sad, friends? + The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings + To wash the eyes of kings. + AGRIPPA. And strange it is + That nature must compel us to lament + Our most persisted deeds. + MAECENAS. His taints and honours + Wag'd 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. + MAECENAS. When such a spacious mirror's set before him, + He needs must see himself. + 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- + + Enter an EGYPTIAN + + But I will tell you at some meeter season. + The business of this man looks out of him; + We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you? + EGYPTIAN. A poor Egyptian, yet the Queen, my mistress, + Confin'd in all she has, her monument, + Of thy intents desires instruction, + That she preparedly may frame herself + To th' way she's forc'd to. + CAESAR. Bid her have good heart. + She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, + How honourable and how kindly we + Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn + To be ungentle. + EGYPTIAN. So the gods preserve thee! Exit + CAESAR. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say + We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts + The quality of her passion shall require, + Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke + She do defeat us; for her life in Rome + Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, + And with your speediest bring us what she says, + And how you find her. + PROCULEIUS. Caesar, I shall. Exit + CAESAR. Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS + Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius? + ALL. Dolabella! + CAESAR. Let him alone, for I remember now + How he's 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 + +ACT_5|SC_2 + SCENE II. + Alexandria. The monument + + Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN + + 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 greetings to the Queen of Egypt, + And bids thee study on what fair demands + Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. + CLEOPATRA. What's thy name? + PROCULEIUS. My name is Proculeius. + CLEOPATRA. Antony + Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but + I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, + 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; + Y'are 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' th' face. + PROCULEIUS. This I'll report, dear lady. + Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied + Of him that caus'd it. + GALLUS. You see how easily she may be surpris'd. + + Here PROCULEIUS and two of the guard ascend the + monument by a ladder placed against a window, + and come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the guard + unbar and open the gates + + 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, [Disarms her] + Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this + Reliev'd, 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 + Th' undoing of yourself. Let the world see + His nobleness well acted, which your death + Will never let come forth. + CLEOPATRA. Where art thou, death? + Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen + Worth many babes and beggars! + PROCULEIUS. O, temperance, lady! + CLEOPATRA. Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir; + If idle talk will once be necessary, + I'll not sleep neither. This mortal house I'll ruin, + Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I + Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court, + Nor once be chastis'd 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-nak'd, and let the water-flies + Blow me into abhorring! Rather make + My country's high pyramides my gibbet, + And hang me up in chains! + PROCULEIUS. You do extend + These thoughts of horror further than you shall + Find cause in Caesar. + + Enter DOLABELLA + + DOLABELLA. Proculeius, + What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, + And he hath sent for thee. For the Queen, + I'll take her to my guard. + PROCULEIUS. So, Dolabella, + It shall content me best. Be gentle to her. + [To CLEOPATRA] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, + If you'll employ me to him. + CLEOPATRA. Say I would die. + Exeunt PROCULEIUS and soldiers + DOLABELLA. Most noble Empress, you have heard of me? + CLEOPATRA. I cannot tell. + DOLABELLA. Assuredly you know me. + CLEOPATRA. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. + You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams; + Is't not your trick? + DOLABELLA. I understand not, madam. + CLEOPATRA. I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony- + O, such another sleep, that I might see + But such another man! + DOLABELLA. If it might please ye- + CLEOPATRA. His face was as the heav'ns, 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 liv'd 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 dreamt of? + DOLABELLA. Gentle madam, no. + CLEOPATRA. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. + But if there be nor ever were one such, + It's past the size of drearning. Nature wants stuff + To vie strange forms with fancy; yet t' imagine + An Antony were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, + Condemning shadows quite. + DOLABELLA. Hear me, good madam. + Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it + As answering to the weight. Would I might never + O'ertake pursu'd 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] + [Within: 'Make way there-Caesar!'] + + Enter CAESAR; GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MAECENAS, SELEUCUS, + and others of his train + + CAESAR. Which is the Queen of Egypt? + DOLABELLA. It is the Emperor, madam. [CLEOPATPA kneels] + CAESAR. Arise, you shall not kneel. + I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. + CLEOPATRA. Sir, the gods + Will have it thus; my master and my lord + I must obey. + CAESAR. Take to you no hard thoughts. + The record of what injuries you did us, + Though written in our flesh, we shall remember + As things but done by chance. + CLEOPATRA. Sole sir o' th' world, + I cannot project mine own cause so well + To make it clear, but do confess I have + Been laden with like frailties which before + Have often sham'd our sex. + CAESAR. Cleopatra, know + We will extenuate rather than enforce. + If you apply yourself to our intents- + Which towards you are most gentle- you shall find + A benefit in this change; but if you seek + To lay on me a cruelty by taking + Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself + Of my good purposes, and put your children + To that destruction which I'll guard them from, + If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. + CLEOPATRA. And may, through all the world. 'Tis yours, and we, + Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall + Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. + CAESAR. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. + CLEOPATRA. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, + I am 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 reserv'd + To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. + SELEUCUS. Madam, + I had rather seal my lips than to my peril + Speak that which is not. + CLEOPATRA. What have I kept back? + SELEUCUS. Enough to purchase what you have made known. + CAESAR. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve + Your wisdom in the deed. + CLEOPATRA. See, Caesar! O, behold, + How pomp is followed! Mine will now be yours; + And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine. + The ingratitude of this Seleucus does + Even make me wild. O slave, of no more trust + Than love that's hir'd! What, goest thou back? Thou shalt + Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes + Though they had wings. Slave, soulless villain, dog! + O rarely base! + CAESAR. Good Queen, let us entreat you. + CLEOPATRA. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this, + That thou vouchsafing here to visit me, + Doing the honour of thy lordliness + To one so meek, that mine own servant should + Parcel the sum of my disgraces by + Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar, + That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, + Immoment toys, things of such dignity + As we greet modern friends withal; and say + Some nobler token I have kept apart + For Livia and Octavia, to induce + Their mediation- must I be unfolded + With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites me + Beneath the fall I have. [To SELEUCUS] Prithee go hence; + Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits + Through th' ashes of my chance. Wert thou a man, + Thou wouldst have mercy on me. + CAESAR. Forbear, Seleucus. Exit SELEUCUS + CLEOPATRA. Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought + For things that others do; and when we fall + We answer others' merits in our name, + Are therefore to be pitied. + CAESAR. Cleopatra, + Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd, + Put we i' th' roll of conquest. Still be't yours, + Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe + Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you + Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be 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! + CAESAR. Not so. Adieu. + Flourish. Exeunt CAESAR and his train + CLEOPATRA. He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not + Be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian! + [Whispers 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's the Queen? + CHARMIAN. Behold, sir. Exit + CLEOPATRA. Dolabella! + DOLABELLA. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, + Which my love makes religion to obey, + I tell you this: Caesar through Syria + Intends his journey, and within three days + You with your children will he send before. + Make your best use of this; I have 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 shall be shown + In Rome as well as I. Mechanic slaves, + With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall + Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, + Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, + And forc'd to drink their vapour. + IRAS. The gods forbid! + CLEOPATRA. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors + Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers + Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians + Extemporally will stage us, and present + Our Alexandrian revels; Antony + Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see + Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness + I' th' posture of a whore. + IRAS. O the good gods! + CLEOPATRA. Nay, that's certain. + IRAS. I'll never see't, for I am sure mine nails + Are stronger than mine eyes. + CLEOPATRA. Why, that's the way + To fool their preparation and to conquer + Their most absurd intents. + + Enter CHARMIAN + + Now, Charmian! + Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch + My best attires. I am again for Cydnus, + To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah, Iras, go. + Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed; + And when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave + To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all. + Exit IRAS. A noise within + Wherefore's this noise? + + Enter a GUARDSMAN + + GUARDSMAN. Here is a rural fellow + That will not be denied your Highness' presence. + He brings you figs. + CLEOPATRA. Let him come in. Exit GUARDSMAN + What poor an instrument + May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty. + My resolution's plac'd, 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 and CLOWN, with a basket + + GUARDSMAN. This is the man. + CLEOPATRA. Avoid, and leave him. Exit GUARDSMAN + Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there + That kills and pains not? + CLOWN. Truly, I have him. But I would not be the party that should + desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those that + do die of it do seldom or never recover. + CLEOPATRA. Remember'st thou any that have died on't? + CLOWN. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no + longer than yesterday: a very honest woman, but something given + to lie, as a woman should not do but in the way of honesty; how + she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt- truly she makes + a very good report o' th' worm. But he that will believe all that + they say shall never be saved by half that they do. But this is + most falliable, the worm's an odd worm. + CLEOPATRA. Get thee hence; farewell. + CLOWN. I wish you all joy of the worm. + [Sets down the basket] + CLEOPATRA. Farewell. + CLOWN. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his + kind. + CLEOPATRA. Ay, ay; farewell. + CLOWN. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping + of wise people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm. + CLEOPATRA. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. + CLOWN. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth + the feeding. + CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me? + CLOWN. You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil + himself will not eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for + the gods, if the devil dress her not. But truly, these same + whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for in + every ten that they make the devils mar five. + CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone; farewell. + CLOWN. Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o' th' worm. Exit + + 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 thus thou and nature can so gently part, + The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, + Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still? + If 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's the Queen? + CHARMIAN. Speak softly, wake her not. + FIRST GUARD. Caesar hath sent- + CHARMIAN. Too slow a messenger. [Applies an asp] + O, come apace, dispatch. I partly feel thee. + FIRST GUARD. Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguil'd. + 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 princes + Descended of so many royal kings. + Ah, soldier! [CHARMIAN 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 CAESAR and all his train + + DOLABELLA. O sir, you are too sure an augurer: + That you did fear is done. + 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. + CAESAR. Poison'd then. + FIRST GUARD. O Caesar, + This Charmian liv'd 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. + 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 th' aspic leaves + Upon the caves of Nile. + CAESAR. Most probable + That so she died; for her physician tells me + She hath pursu'd 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 + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1601 + +AS YOU LIKE IT + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + DUKE, living in exile + FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions + AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke + JAQUES, " " " " " " + LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick + CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick + OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys + JAQUES, " " " " " " + ORLANDO, " " " " " " + ADAM, servant to Oliver + DENNIS, " " " + TOUCHSTONE, the court jester + SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar + CORIN, shepherd + SILVIUS, " + WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey + A person representing HYMEN + + ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke + CELIA, daughter to Frederick + PHEBE, a shepherdes + AUDREY, a country wench + + Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Orchard of OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed + me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, + charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there + begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and + report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me + rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at + home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my + birth that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are + bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, + they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly + hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for + the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him + as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the + something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from + me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a + brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my + education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of + my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against + this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no + wise remedy how to avoid it. + + Enter OLIVER + + ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother. + ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me + up. [ADAM retires] + OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here? + ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing. + OLIVER. What mar you then, sir? + ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a + poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. + OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile. + ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What + prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury? + OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir? + ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. + OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir? + ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are + my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you + should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better + in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not + away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as + much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming + before me is nearer to his reverence. + OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him] + ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. + OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? + ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de + Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such + a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not + take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull'd out thy + tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself. + ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's + remembrance, be at accord. + OLIVER. Let me go, I say. + ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father + charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have + train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all + gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in + me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such + exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor + allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy + my fortunes. + OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, + get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have + some part of your will. I pray you leave me. + ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good. + OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog. + ADAM. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in + your service. God be with my old master! He would not have spoke + such a word. + Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM + OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic + your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, + Dennis! + + Enter DENNIS + + DENNIS. Calls your worship? + OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? + DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access + to you. + OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and + to-morrow the wrestling is. + + Enter CHARLES + + CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship. + OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new + court? + CHARLES. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that + is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke; + and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary + exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; + therefore he gives them good leave to wander. + OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished + with her father? + CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, + being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have + followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at + the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own + daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. + OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live? + CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many + merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood + of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, + and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. + OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke? + CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a + matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger + brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against + me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he + that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. + Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would + be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come + in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint + you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment, + or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is + thing of his own search and altogether against my will. + OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt + find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my + brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to + dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, + Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of + ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret + and villainous contriver against me his natural brother. + Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his + neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou + dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace + himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap + thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he + hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I + assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one + so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly + of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush + and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. + CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come + to-morrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again, + I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship! + Exit + OLIVER. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I + hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, + hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd and + yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly + beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and + especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am + altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler + shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy + thither, which now I'll go about. Exit + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +SCENE II. +A lawn before the DUKE'S palace + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. + ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and + would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget + a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any + extraordinary pleasure. + CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I + love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy + uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I + could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst + thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd + as mine is to thee. + ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to + rejoice in yours. + CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to + have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what + he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee + again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that + oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear + Rose, be merry. + ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. + Let me see; what think you of falling in love? + CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man + in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety + of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. + ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then? + CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her + wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. + ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily + misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her + gifts to women. + CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes + honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very + ill-favouredly. + ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: + Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of + Nature. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE + + CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by + Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to + flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off + the argument? + ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when + Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. + CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but + Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of + such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for + always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How + now, wit! Whither wander you? + TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father. + CELIA. Were you made the messenger? + TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. + ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool? + TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were + good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. + Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard + was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. + CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? + ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. + TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear + by your beards that I am a knave. + CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. + TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you + swear by that that not, you are not forsworn; no more was this + knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he + had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or + that mustard. + CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st? + TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. + CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no + more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days. + TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise + men do foolishly. + CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that + fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have + makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. + + Enter LE BEAU + + ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news. + CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. + ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. + CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, + Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news? + LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport. + CELIA. Sport! of what colour? + LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? + ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will. + TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees. + CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. + TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank- + ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell. + LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good + wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. + ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. + LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your + ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and + here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. + CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. + LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons- + CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale. + LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. + ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known unto all men by + these presents'- + LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke's + wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of + his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he serv'd + the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, + their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the + beholders take his part with weeping. + ROSALIND. Alas! + TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have + lost? + LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of. + TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time + that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. + CELIA. Or I, I promise thee. + ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in + his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we + see this wrestling, cousin? + LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place + appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. + CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it. + + Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO, + CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS + + FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own + peril on his forwardness. + ROSALIND. Is yonder the man? + LE BEAU. Even he, madam. + CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully. + FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to + see the wrestling? + ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave. + FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, + there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth + I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to + him, ladies; see if you can move him. + CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. + FREDERICK. Do so; I'll not be by. + [DUKE FREDERICK goes apart] + LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you. + ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty. + ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler? + ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I come + but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. + CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. + You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw + yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the + fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal + enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own + safety and give over this attempt. + ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be + misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the + wrestling might not go forward. + ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, + wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent + ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go + with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd there is but one + sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is + willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none + to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only + in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when + I have made it empty. + ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with + you. + CELIA. And mine to eke out hers. + ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you! + CELIA. Your heart's desires be with you! + CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to + lie with his mother earth? + ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. + FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall. + CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a + second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. + ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd me + before; but come your ways. + ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! + CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the + leg. [They wrestle] + ROSALIND. O excellent young man! + CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should + down. + [CHARLES is thrown. Shout] + FREDERICK. No more, no more. + ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath'd. + FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles? + LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord. + FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? + ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de + Boys. + FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. + The world esteem'd thy father honourable, + But I did find him still mine enemy. + Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, + Hadst thou descended from another house. + But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; + I would thou hadst told me of another father. + Exeunt DUKE, train, and LE BEAU + CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? + ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, + His youngest son- and would not change that calling + To be adopted heir to Frederick. + ROSALIND. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul, + And all the world was of my father's mind; + Had I before known this young man his son, + I should have given him tears unto entreaties + Ere he should thus have ventur'd. + CELIA. Gentle cousin, + Let us go thank him, and encourage him; + My father's rough and envious disposition + Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd; + If you do keep your promises in love + But justly as you have exceeded all promise, + Your mistress shall be happy. + ROSALIND. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck] + Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune, + That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. + Shall we go, coz? + CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. + ORLANDO. Can I not say 'I thank you'? My better parts + Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up + Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. + ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes; + I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? + Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown + More than your enemies. + CELIA. Will you go, coz? + ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? + I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. + O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! + Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. + + Re-enter LE BEAU + + LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you + To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd + High commendation, true applause, and love, + Yet such is now the Duke's condition + That he misconstrues all that you have done. + The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed, + More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. + ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this: + Which of the two was daughter of the Duke + That here was at the wrestling? + LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; + But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter; + The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, + And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, + To keep his daughter company; whose loves + Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. + But I can tell you that of late this Duke + Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, + Grounded upon no other argument + But that the people praise her for her virtues + And pity her for her good father's sake; + And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady + Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. + Hereafter, in a better world than this, + I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. + ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well. + Exit LE BEAU + Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; + From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. + But heavenly Rosalind! Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +The DUKE's palace + +Enter CELIA and ROSALIND + + CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! + Not a word? + ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog. + CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; + throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. + ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should + be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any. + CELIA. But is all this for your father? + ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of + briers is this working-day world! + CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday + foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats + will catch them. + ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my + heart. + CELIA. Hem them away. + ROSALIND. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. + CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. + ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. + CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of + a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in + good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall + into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? + ROSALIND. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. + CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? + By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his + father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. + ROSALIND. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. + CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? + + Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I + do. Look, here comes the Duke. + CELIA. With his eyes full of anger. + FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, + And get you from our court. + ROSALIND. Me, uncle? + FREDERICK. You, cousin. + Within these ten days if that thou beest found + So near our public court as twenty miles, + Thou diest for it. + ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace, + Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. + If with myself I hold intelligence, + Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; + If that I do not dream, or be not frantic- + As I do trust I am not- then, dear uncle, + Never so much as in a thought unborn + Did I offend your Highness. + FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors; + If their purgation did consist in words, + They are as innocent as grace itself. + Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. + ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. + Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. + FREDERICK. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. + ROSALIND. SO was I when your Highness took his dukedom; + So was I when your Highness banish'd him. + Treason is not inherited, my lord; + Or, if we did derive it from our friends, + What's that to me? My father was no traitor. + Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much + To think my poverty is treacherous. + CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. + FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, + Else had she with her father rang'd along. + CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay; + It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; + I was too young that time to value her, + But now I know her. If she be a traitor, + Why so am I: we still have slept together, + Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; + And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, + Still we went coupled and inseparable. + FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, + Her very silence and her patience, + Speak to the people, and they pity her. + Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name; + And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous + When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. + Firm and irrevocable is my doom + Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. + CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege; + I cannot live out of her company. + FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. + If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, + And in the greatness of my word, you die. + Exeunt DUKE and LORDS + CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go? + Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. + I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am. + ROSALIND. I have more cause. + CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin. + Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke + Hath banish'd me, his daughter? + ROSALIND. That he hath not. + CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love + Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. + Shall we be sund'red? Shall we part, sweet girl? + No; let my father seek another heir. + Therefore devise with me how we may fly, + Whither to go, and what to bear with us; + And do not seek to take your charge upon you, + To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; + For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, + Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. + ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go? + CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. + ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us, + Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! + Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. + CELIA. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, + And with a kind of umber smirch my face; + The like do you; so shall we pass along, + And never stir assailants. + ROSALIND. Were it not better, + Because that I am more than common tall, + That I did suit me all points like a man? + A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, + A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart + Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will- + We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, + As many other mannish cowards have + That do outface it with their semblances. + CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? + ROSALIND. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, + And therefore look you call me Ganymede. + But what will you be call'd? + CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state: + No longer Celia, but Aliena. + ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal + The clownish fool out of your father's court? + Would he not be a comfort to our travel? + CELIA. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; + Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, + And get our jewels and our wealth together; + Devise the fittest time and safest way + To hide us from pursuit that will be made + After my flight. Now go we in content + To liberty, and not to banishment. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +The Forest of Arden + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters + + DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, + Hath not old custom made this life more sweet + Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods + More free from peril than the envious court? + Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, + The seasons' difference; as the icy fang + And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, + Which when it bites and blows upon my body, + Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say + 'This is no flattery; these are counsellors + That feelingly persuade me what I am.' + Sweet are the uses of adversity, + Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, + Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; + And this our life, exempt from public haunt, + Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in everything. + I would not change it. + AMIENS. Happy is your Grace, + That can translate the stubbornness of fortune + Into so quiet and so sweet a style. + DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? + And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, + Being native burghers of this desert city, + Should, in their own confines, with forked heads + Have their round haunches gor'd. + FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord, + The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; + And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp + Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. + To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself + Did steal behind him as he lay along + Under an oak whose antique root peeps out + Upon the brook that brawls along this wood! + To the which place a poor sequest'red stag, + That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, + Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, + The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans + That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat + Almost to bursting; and the big round tears + Cours'd one another down his innocent nose + In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, + Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, + Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook, + Augmenting it with tears. + DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques? + Did he not moralize this spectacle? + FIRST LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes. + First, for his weeping into the needless stream: + 'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou mak'st a testament + As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more + To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone, + Left and abandoned of his velvet friends: + ''Tis right'; quoth he 'thus misery doth part + The flux of company.' Anon, a careless herd, + Full of the pasture, jumps along by him + And never stays to greet him. 'Ay,' quoth Jaques + 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; + 'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look + Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' + Thus most invectively he pierceth through + The body of the country, city, court, + Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we + Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, + To fright the animals, and to kill them up + In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. + DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation? + SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting + Upon the sobbing deer. + DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place; + I love to cope him in these sullen fits, + For then he's full of matter. + FIRST LORD. I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them? + It cannot be; some villains of my court + Are of consent and sufferance in this. + FIRST LORD. I cannot hear of any that did see her. + The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, + Saw her abed, and in the morning early + They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. + SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft + Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. + Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman, + Confesses that she secretly o'erheard + Your daughter and her cousin much commend + The parts and graces of the wrestler + That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; + And she believes, wherever they are gone, + That youth is surely in their company. + FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither. + If he be absent, bring his brother to me; + I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly; + And let not search and inquisition quail + To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Before OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting + + ORLANDO. Who's there? + ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master! + O my sweet master! O you memory + Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here? + Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? + And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? + Why would you be so fond to overcome + The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke? + Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. + Know you not, master, to some kind of men + Their graces serve them but as enemies? + No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master, + Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. + O, what a world is this, when what is comely + Envenoms him that bears it! + ORLANDO. Why, what's the matter? + ADAM. O unhappy youth! + Come not within these doors; within this roof + The enemy of all your graces lives. + Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son- + Yet not the son; I will not call him son + Of him I was about to call his father- + Hath heard your praises; and this night he means + To burn the lodging where you use to lie, + And you within it. If he fail of that, + He will have other means to cut you off; + I overheard him and his practices. + This is no place; this house is but a butchery; + Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. + ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? + ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here. + ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food, + Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforce + A thievish living on the common road? + This I must do, or know not what to do; + Yet this I will not do, do how I can. + I rather will subject me to the malice + Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. + ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, + The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, + Which I did store to be my foster-nurse, + When service should in my old limbs lie lame, + And unregarded age in corners thrown. + Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, + Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, + Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; + All this I give you. Let me be your servant; + Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; + For in my youth I never did apply + Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, + Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo + The means of weakness and debility; + Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, + Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you; + I'll do the service of a younger man + In all your business and necessities. + ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears + The constant service of the antique world, + When service sweat for duty, not for meed! + Thou art not for the fashion of these times, + Where none will sweat but for promotion, + And having that do choke their service up + Even with the having; it is not so with thee. + But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree + That cannot so much as a blossom yield + In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. + But come thy ways, we'll go along together, + And ere we have thy youthful wages spent + We'll light upon some settled low content. + ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow the + To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. + From seventeen years till now almost four-score + Here lived I, but now live here no more. + At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, + But at fourscore it is too late a week; + Yet fortune cannot recompense me better + Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The Forest of Arden + +Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias TOUCHSTONE + + ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! + TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. + ROSALIND. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, + and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as + doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; + therefore, courage, good Aliena. + CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further. + TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; + yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you + have no money in your purse. + ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden. + TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at + home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. + + Enter CORIN and SILVIUS + + ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a + young man and an old in solemn talk. + CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still. + SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! + CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. + SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, + Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover + As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. + But if thy love were ever like to mine, + As sure I think did never man love so, + How many actions most ridiculous + Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? + CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. + SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily! + If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly + That ever love did make thee run into, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, + Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not broke from company + Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, + Thou hast not lov'd. + O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius + ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, + I have by hard adventure found mine own. + TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my + sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to + Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the + cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember + the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, + and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these + for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; + but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal + in folly. + ROSALIND. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of. + TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break + my shins against it. + ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion + Is much upon my fashion. + TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. + CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man + If he for gold will give us any food; + I faint almost to death. + TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown! + ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy Ensman. + CORIN. Who calls? + TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir. + CORIN. Else are they very wretched. + ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. + CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. + ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold + Can in this desert place buy entertainment, + Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. + Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, + And faints for succour. + CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her, + And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, + My fortunes were more able to relieve her; + But I am shepherd to another man, + And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. + My master is of churlish disposition, + And little recks to find the way to heaven + By doing deeds of hospitality. + Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, + Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now, + By reason of his absence, there is nothing + That you will feed on; but what is, come see, + And in my voice most welcome shall you be. + ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? + CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, + That little cares for buying any thing. + ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, + Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, + And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. + CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, + And willingly could waste my time in it. + CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. + Go with me; if you like upon report + The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, + I will your very faithful feeder be, + And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the forest + +Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS + + SONG + AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree + Who loves to lie with me, + And turn his merry note + Unto the sweet bird's throat, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + + JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy + out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you. + JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. + Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos? + AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will + you sing? + AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself. + JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but + that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes; + and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a + penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you + that will not, hold your tongues. + AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke + will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look + you. + JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to + disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but + I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, + come. + + SONG + [All together here] + + Who doth ambition shun, + And loves to live i' th' sun, + Seeking the food he eats, + And pleas'd with what he gets, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + + JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in + despite of my invention. + AMIENS. And I'll sing it. + JAQUES. Thus it goes: + + If it do come to pass + That any man turn ass, + Leaving his wealth and ease + A stubborn will to please, + Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; + Here shall he see + Gross fools as he, + An if he will come to me. + + AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'? + JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll + go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the + first-born of Egypt. + AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd. + Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE VI. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie + I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. + ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a + little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth + forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or + bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy + powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the + arm's end. I will here be with the presently; and if I bring thee + not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou + diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! + thou look'st cheerly; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou + liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; + and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live + anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +The forest + +A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws + + DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast; + For I can nowhere find him like a man. + FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; + Here was he merry, hearing of a song. + DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, + We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. + Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him. + + Enter JAQUES + + FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach. + DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, + That your poor friends must woo your company? + What, you look merrily! + JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest, + A motley fool. A miserable world! + As I do live by food, I met a fool, + Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, + And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, + In good set terms- and yet a motley fool. + 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he, + 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.' + And then he drew a dial from his poke, + And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, + Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock; + Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags; + 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; + And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; + And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, + And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; + And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear + The motley fool thus moral on the time, + My lungs began to crow like chanticleer + That fools should be so deep contemplative; + And I did laugh sans intermission + An hour by his dial. O noble fool! + A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. + DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this? + JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, + And says, if ladies be but young and fair, + They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, + Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit + After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd + With observation, the which he vents + In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! + I am ambitious for a motley coat. + DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one. + JAQUES. It is my only suit, + Provided that you weed your better judgments + Of all opinion that grows rank in them + That I am wise. I must have liberty + Withal, as large a charter as the wind, + To blow on whom I please, for so fools have; + And they that are most galled with my folly, + They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? + The why is plain as way to parish church: + He that a fool doth very wisely hit + Doth very foolishly, although he smart, + Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, + The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd + Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. + Invest me in my motley; give me leave + To speak my mind, and I will through and through + Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, + If they will patiently receive my medicine. + DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. + JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good? + DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin; + For thou thyself hast been a libertine, + As sensual as the brutish sting itself; + And all th' embossed sores and headed evils + That thou with license of free foot hast caught + Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. + JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride + That can therein tax any private party? + Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, + Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? + What woman in the city do I name + When that I say the city-woman bears + The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? + Who can come in and say that I mean her, + When such a one as she such is her neighbour? + Or what is he of basest function + That says his bravery is not on my cost, + Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits + His folly to the mettle of my speech? + There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein + My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, + Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, + Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, + Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? + + Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn + + ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more. + JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet. + ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. + JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of? + DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress? + Or else a rude despiser of good manners, + That in civility thou seem'st so empty? + ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point + Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show + Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred, + And know some nurture. But forbear, I say; + He dies that touches any of this fruit + Till I and my affairs are answered. + JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die. + DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force + More than your force move us to gentleness. + ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it. + DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. + ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you; + I thought that all things had been savage here, + And therefore put I on the countenance + Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are + That in this desert inaccessible, + Under the shade of melancholy boughs, + Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; + If ever you have look'd on better days, + If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, + If ever sat at any good man's feast, + If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, + And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, + Let gentleness my strong enforcement be; + In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. + DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days, + And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church, + And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes + Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red; + And therefore sit you down in gentleness, + And take upon command what help we have + That to your wanting may be minist'red. + ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while, + Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, + And give it food. There is an old poor man + Who after me hath many a weary step + Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, + Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, + I will not touch a bit. + DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out. + And we will nothing waste till you return. + ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! + Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: + This wide and universal theatre + Presents more woeful pageants than the scene + Wherein we play in. + JAQUES. All the world's a stage, + And all the men and women merely players; + They have their exits and their entrances; + And one man in his time plays many parts, + His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, + Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; + Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel + And shining morning face, creeping like snail + Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, + Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad + Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, + Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, + Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, + Seeking the bubble reputation + Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, + In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, + With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, + Full of wise saws and modern instances; + And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts + Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, + With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, + His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide + For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, + Turning again toward childish treble, pipes + And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, + That ends this strange eventful history, + Is second childishness and mere oblivion; + Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. + + Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM + + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden. + And let him feed. + ORLANDO. I thank you most for him. + ADAM. So had you need; + I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you + As yet to question you about your fortunes. + Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. + + SONG + Blow, blow, thou winter wind, + Thou art not so unkind + As man's ingratitude; + Thy tooth is not so keen, + Because thou art not seen, + Although thy breath be rude. + Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly. + Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. + Then, heigh-ho, the holly! + This life is most jolly. + + Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, + That dost not bite so nigh + As benefits forgot; + Though thou the waters warp, + Thy sting is not so sharp + As friend rememb'red not. + Heigh-ho! sing, &c. + + DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, + As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, + And as mine eye doth his effigies witness + Most truly limn'd and living in your face, + Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke + That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune, + Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, + Thou art right welcome as thy master is. + Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, + And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +The palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS + + FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be. + But were I not the better part made mercy, + I should not seek an absent argument + Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: + Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is; + Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living + Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more + To seek a living in our territory. + Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine + Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, + Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth + Of what we think against thee. + OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this! + I never lov'd my brother in my life. + FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; + And let my officers of such a nature + Make an extent upon his house and lands. + Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO, with a paper + + ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; + And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey + With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, + Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. + O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, + And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, + That every eye which in this forest looks + Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. + Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree, + The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit + + Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + + CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good + life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought. + In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in + respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in + respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect + it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, + look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty + in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in + thee, shepherd? + CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at + ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is + without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, + and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a + great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath + learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, + or comes of a very dull kindred. + TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in + court, shepherd? + CORIN. No, truly. + TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd. + CORIN. Nay, I hope. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on + one side. + CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good + manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must + be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art + in a parlous state, shepherd. + CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the + court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the + country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not + at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be + uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. + TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance. + CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you + know, are greasy. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the + grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, + shallow. A better instance, I say; come. + CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard. + TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A + more sounder instance; come. + CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our + sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are + perfum'd with civet. + TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good + piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is + of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend + the instance, shepherd. + CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. + TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God + make incision in thee! thou art raw. + CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I + wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other + men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is + to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. + TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes + and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the + copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray + a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, + out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this, + the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how + thou shouldst scape. + CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. + + Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper + + ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, + No jewel is like Rosalinde. + Her worth, being mounted on the wind, + Through all the world bears Rosalinde. + All the pictures fairest lin'd + Are but black to Rosalinde. + Let no face be kept in mind + But the fair of Rosalinde.' + TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and + suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right + butter-women's rank to market. + ROSALIND. Out, fool! + TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: + If a hart do lack a hind, + Let him seek out Rosalinde. + If the cat will after kind, + So be sure will Rosalinde. + Winter garments must be lin'd, + So must slender Rosalinde. + They that reap must sheaf and bind, + Then to cart with Rosalinde. + Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, + Such a nut is Rosalinde. + He that sweetest rose will find + Must find love's prick and Rosalinde. + This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect + yourself with them? + ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. + ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a + medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for + you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right + virtue of the medlar. + TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest + judge. + + Enter CELIA, with a writing + + ROSALIND. Peace! + Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. + CELIA. 'Why should this a desert be? + For it is unpeopled? No; + Tongues I'll hang on every tree + That shall civil sayings show. + Some, how brief the life of man + Runs his erring pilgrimage, + That the streching of a span + Buckles in his sum of age; + Some, of violated vows + 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; + But upon the fairest boughs, + Or at every sentence end, + Will I Rosalinda write, + Teaching all that read to know + The quintessence of every sprite + Heaven would in little show. + Therefore heaven Nature charg'd + That one body should be fill'd + With all graces wide-enlarg'd. + Nature presently distill'd + Helen's cheek, but not her heart, + Cleopatra's majesty, + Atalanta's better part, + Sad Lucretia's modesty. + Thus Rosalinde of many parts + By heavenly synod was devis'd, + Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, + To have the touches dearest priz'd. + Heaven would that she these gifts should have, + And I to live and die her slave.' + ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have + you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have + patience, good people.' + CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with + him, sirrah. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; + though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. + Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses? + ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them + had in them more feet than the verses would bear. + CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. + ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves + without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. + CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be + hang'd and carved upon these trees? + ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you + came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so + berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I + can hardly remember. + CELIA. Trow you who hath done this? + ROSALIND. Is it a man? + CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. + Change you colour? + ROSALIND. I prithee, who? + CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but + mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter. + ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it? + CELIA. Is it possible? + ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell + me who it is. + CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet + again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping! + ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am + caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my + disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery. + I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would + thou could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd man + out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd bottle- + either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork + out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. + CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly. + ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? + Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard? + CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard. + ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let + me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the + knowledge of his chin. + CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels + and your heart both in an instant. + ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true + maid. + CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. + ROSALIND. Orlando? + CELIA. Orlando. + ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? + What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? + Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where + remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him + again? Answer me in one word. + CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too + great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these + particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. + ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's + apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? + CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the + propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and + relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a + dropp'd acorn. + ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth + such fruit. + CELIA. Give me audience, good madam. + ROSALIND. Proceed. + CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight. + ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes + the ground. + CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets + unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. + ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. + CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out + of tune. + ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. + Sweet, say on. + CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? + + Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES + + ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. + JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as + lief have been myself alone. + ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too + for your society. + JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can. + ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers. + JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in + their barks. + ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them + ill-favouredly. + JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name? + ORLANDO. Yes, just. + JAQUES. I do not like her name. + ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was + christen'd. + JAQUES. What stature is she of? + ORLANDO. Just as high as my heart. + JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been + acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings? + ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence + you have studied your questions. + JAQUES. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's + heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against + our mistress the world, and all our misery. + ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against + whom I know most faults. + JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love. + ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am + weary of you. + JAQUES. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. + ORLANDO. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see + him. + JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure. + ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. + JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love. + ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur + Melancholy. + Exit JAQUES + ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, + and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, + forester? + ORLANDO. Very well; what would you? + ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock? + ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in + the forest. + ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing + every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot + of Time as well as a clock. + ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as + proper? + ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with + divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time + trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still + withal. + ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? + ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the + contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the + interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems + the length of seven year. + ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal? + ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath + not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, + and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one + lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other + knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles + withal. + ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal? + ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly + as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. + ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal? + ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term + and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves. + ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth? + ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of + the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. + ORLANDO. Are you native of this place? + ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. + ORLANDO. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in + so removed a dwelling. + ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious + uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland + man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. + I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I + am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he + hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. + ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid + to the charge of women? + ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one another + as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his + fellow-fault came to match it. + ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them. + ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are + sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young + plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon + hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the + name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give + him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love + upon him. + ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your + remedy. + ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me + how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you + are not prisoner. + ORLANDO. What were his marks? + ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, + which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; + a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, + for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue. + Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your + sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you + demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you + are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself + than seeming the lover of any other. + ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. + ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love + believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess + she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give + the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that + hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired? + ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I + am that he, that unfortunate he. + ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? + ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. + ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as + well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why + they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so + ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing + it by counsel. + ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so? + ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his + love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which + time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, + changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, + shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every + passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and + women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like + him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now + weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his + mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to + forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook + merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take + upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, + that there shall not be one spot of love in 't. + ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth. + ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and + come every day to my cote and woo me. + ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. + ROSALIND. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way, + you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? + ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth. + ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you + go? Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind + + TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, + Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature + content you? + AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features? + TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most + capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. + JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a + thatch'd house! + TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's + good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it + strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. + Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. + AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and + word? Is it a true thing? + TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, + and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may + be said as lovers they do feign. + AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical? + TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest; + now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst + feign. + AUDREY. Would you not have me honest? + TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty + coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. + JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool! + AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me + honest. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were + to put good meat into an unclean dish. + AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. + TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness; + sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will + marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, + the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in + this place of the forest, and to couple us. + JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. + AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy! + TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger + in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no + assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are + odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end + of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end + of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his + own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest + deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore + blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so + is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare + brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no + skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes + Sir Oliver. + + Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT + + Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here + under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? + MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman? + TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man. + MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. + JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. + TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir? + You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am + very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be + cover'd. + JAQUES. Will you be married, motley? + TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and + the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons + bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. + JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married + under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good + priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but + join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will + prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp. + TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be + married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me + well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me + hereafter to leave my wife. + JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey; + We must be married or we must live in bawdry. + Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not- + O sweet Oliver, + O brave Oliver, + Leave me not behind thee. + But- + Wind away, + Begone, I say, + I will not to wedding with thee. + Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY + MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all + shall flout me out of my calling. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep. + CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears + do not become a man. + ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep? + CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. + ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. + CELIA. Something browner than Judas's. + Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. + ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. + CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. + ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of + holy bread. + CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of + winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of + chastity is in them. + ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and + comes not? + CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. + ROSALIND. Do you think so? + CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but + for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered + goblet or a worm-eaten nut. + ROSALIND. Not true in love? + CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. + ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was. + CELIA. 'Was' is not 'is'; besides, the oath of a lover is no + stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer + of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke, + your father. + ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. + He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as + he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when + there is such a man as Orlando? + CELIA. O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave + words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite + traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that + spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble + goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who + comes here? + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired + After the shepherd that complain'd of love, + Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, + Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess + That was his mistress. + CELIA. Well, and what of him? + CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd + Between the pale complexion of true love + And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, + Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, + If you will mark it. + ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove! + The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. + Bring us to this sight, and you shall say + I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the forest + +Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe. + Say that you love me not; but say not so + In bitterness. The common executioner, + Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, + Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck + But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be + Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? + + Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance + + PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner; + I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. + Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye. + 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, + That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, + Who shut their coward gates on atomies, + Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! + Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; + And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. + Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; + Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, + Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. + Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. + Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains + Some scar of it; lean upon a rush, + The cicatrice and capable impressure + Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, + Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; + Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes + That can do hurt. + SILVIUS. O dear Phebe, + If ever- as that ever may be near- + You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, + Then shall you know the wounds invisible + That love's keen arrows make. + PHEBE. But till that time + Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, + Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; + As till that time I shall not pity thee. + ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your + mother, + That you insult, exult, and all at once, + Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty- + As, by my faith, I see no more in you + Than without candle may go dark to bed- + Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? + Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? + I see no more in you than in the ordinary + Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, + I think she means to tangle my eyes too! + No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; + 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, + Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, + That can entame my spirits to your worship. + You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, + Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? + You are a thousand times a properer man + Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you + That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children. + 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; + And out of you she sees herself more proper + Than any of her lineaments can show her. + But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees, + And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love; + For I must tell you friendly in your ear: + Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. + Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; + Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. + So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. + PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; + I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. + ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall + in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee + with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look + you so upon me? + PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you. + ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me, + For I am falser than vows made in wine; + Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, + 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. + Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. + Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, + And be not proud; though all the world could see, + None could be so abus'd in sight as he. + Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN + PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: + 'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe. + PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me. + PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. + SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. + If you do sorrow at my grief in love, + By giving love, your sorrow and my grief + Were both extermin'd. + PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? + SILVIUS. I would have you. + PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness. + Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; + And yet it is not that I bear thee love; + But since that thou canst talk of love so well, + Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, + I will endure; and I'll employ thee too. + But do not look for further recompense + Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. + SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love, + And I in such a poverty of grace, + That I shall think it a most plenteous crop + To glean the broken ears after the man + That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then + A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon. + PHEBE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? + SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft; + And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds + That the old carlot once was master of. + PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; + 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well. + But what care I for words? Yet words do well + When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. + It is a pretty youth- not very pretty; + But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him. + He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him + Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue + Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. + He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall; + His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well. + There was a pretty redness in his lip, + A little riper and more lusty red + Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference + Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. + There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him + In parcels as I did, would have gone near + To fall in love with him; but, for my part, + I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet + I have more cause to hate him than to love him; + For what had he to do to chide at me? + He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black, + And, now I am rememb'red, scorn'd at me. + I marvel why I answer'd not again; + But that's all one: omittance is no quittance. + I'll write to him a very taunting letter, + And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart. + PHEBE. I'll write it straight; + The matter's in my head and in my heart; + I will be bitter with him and passing short. + Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES + + JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with + thee. + ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow. + JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. + ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable + fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than + drunkards. + JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. + ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. + JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is + emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the + courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is + ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, + which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a + melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted + from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my + travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous + sadness. + ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be + sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then + to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and + poor hands. + JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience. + + Enter ORLANDO + + ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a + fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to + travel for it too. + ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! + JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. + ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear + strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be + out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making + you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have + swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where + have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such + another trick, never come in my sight more. + ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. + ROSALIND. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a + minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the + thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said + of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll + warrant him heart-whole. + ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had + as lief be woo'd of a snail. + ORLANDO. Of a snail! + ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries + his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make + a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him. + ORLANDO. What's that? + ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to + your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents + the slander of his wife. + ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. + ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind. + CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a + better leer than you. + ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, + and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I + were your very very Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke. + ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were + gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. + Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for + lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to + kiss. + ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied? + ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new + matter. + ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? + ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I + should think my honesty ranker than my wit. + ORLANDO. What, of my suit? + ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. + Am not I your Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking + of her. + ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. + ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die. + ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six + thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man + died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had + his brains dash'd out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he + could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. + Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had + turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, + good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, + being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish + chroniclers of that age found it was- Hero of Sestos. But these + are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have + eaten them, but not for love. + ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I + protest, her frown might kill me. + ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I + will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me + what you will, I will grant it. + ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all. + ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me? + ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such. + ORLANDO. What sayest thou? + ROSALIND. Are you not good? + ORLANDO. I hope so. + ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, + sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, + Orlando. What do you say, sister? + ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us. + CELIA. I cannot say the words. + ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'- + CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I will. + ROSALIND. Ay, but when? + ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. + ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' + ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. + ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee, + Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest; + and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. + ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. + ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have + possess'd her. + ORLANDO. For ever and a day. + ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are + April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when + they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will + be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, + more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than + an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for + nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you + are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when + thou are inclin'd to sleep. + ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so? + ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do. + ORLANDO. O, but she is wise. + ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser, + the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out + at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop + that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. + ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, + whither wilt?' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your + wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. + ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? + ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never + take her without her answer, unless you take her without her + tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's + occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will + breed it like a fool! + ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. + ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours! + ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be + with thee again. + ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would + prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That + flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast away, and + so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour? + ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind. + ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and + by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot + of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will + think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow + lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may + be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore + beware my censure, and keep your promise. + ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my + Rosalind; so, adieu. + ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such + offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO + CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We must + have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the + world what the bird hath done to her own nest. + ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst + know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; + my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. + CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection + in, it runs out. + ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of + thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind + rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are + out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, + Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a + shadow, and sigh till he come. + CELIA. And I'll sleep. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + + Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters + + JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer? + LORD. Sir, it was I. + JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and + it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a + branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? + LORD. Yes, sir. + JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise + enough. + + SONG. + + What shall he have that kill'd the deer? + His leather skin and horns to wear. + [The rest shall hear this burden:] + Then sing him home. + + Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; + It was a crest ere thou wast born. + Thy father's father wore it; + And thy father bore it. + The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, + Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? + And here much Orlando! + CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath + ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who + comes here. + + Enter SILVIUS + + SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth; + My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this. + I know not the contents; but, as I guess + By the stern brow and waspish action + Which she did use as she was writing of it, + It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, + I am but as a guiltless messenger. + ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter, + And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. + She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; + She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, + Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will! + Her love is not the hare that I do hunt; + Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, + This is a letter of your own device. + SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents; + Phebe did write it. + ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool, + And turn'd into the extremity of love. + I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, + A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think + That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; + She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter. + I say she never did invent this letter: + This is a man's invention, and his hand. + SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers. + ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style; + A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, + Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain + Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, + Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect + Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? + SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet; + Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. + ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. + [Reads] + + 'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, + That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?' + + Can a woman rail thus? + SILVIUS. Call you this railing? + ROSALIND. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart, + Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?' + + Did you ever hear such railing? + + 'Whiles the eye of man did woo me, + That could do no vengeance to me.' + + Meaning me a beast. + + 'If the scorn of your bright eyne + Have power to raise such love in mine, + Alack, in me what strange effect + Would they work in mild aspect! + Whiles you chid me, I did love; + How then might your prayers move! + He that brings this love to the + Little knows this love in me; + And by him seal up thy mind, + Whether that thy youth and kind + Will the faithful offer take + Of me and all that I can make; + Or else by him my love deny, + And then I'll study how to die.' + SILVIUS. Call you this chiding? + CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd! + ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love + such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play false + strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her, + for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to her- + that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, + I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a + true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. + Exit SILVIUS + + Enter OLIVER + + OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, + Where in the purlieus of this forest stands + A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees? + CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. + The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream + Left on your right hand brings you to the place. + But at this hour the house doth keep itself; + There's none within. + OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, + Then should I know you by description- + Such garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair, + Of female favour, and bestows himself + Like a ripe sister; the woman low, + And browner than her brother.' Are not you + The owner of the house I did inquire for? + CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. + OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both; + And to that youth he calls his Rosalind + He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? + ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this? + OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me + What man I am, and how, and why, and where, + This handkercher was stain'd. + CELIA. I pray you, tell it. + OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you, + He left a promise to return again + Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, + Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, + Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside, + And mark what object did present itself. + Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, + And high top bald with dry antiquity, + A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, + Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck + A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, + Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd + The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, + Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, + And with indented glides did slip away + Into a bush; under which bush's shade + A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, + Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, + When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis + The royal disposition of that beast + To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. + This seen, Orlando did approach the man, + And found it was his brother, his elder brother. + CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; + And he did render him the most unnatural + That liv'd amongst men. + OLIVER. And well he might so do, + For well I know he was unnatural. + ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, + Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? + OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; + But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, + And nature, stronger than his just occasion, + Made him give battle to the lioness, + Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling + From miserable slumber I awak'd. + CELIA. Are you his brother? + ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd? + CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? + OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame + To tell you what I was, since my conversion + So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. + ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin? + OLIVER. By and by. + When from the first to last, betwixt us two, + Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, + As how I came into that desert place- + In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, + Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, + Committing me unto my brother's love; + Who led me instantly unto his cave, + There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm + The lioness had torn some flesh away, + Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, + And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. + Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound, + And, after some small space, being strong at heart, + He sent me hither, stranger as I am, + To tell this story, that you might excuse + His broken promise, and to give this napkin, + Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth + That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. + [ROSALIND swoons] + CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! + OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. + CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! + OLIVER. Look, he recovers. + ROSALIND. I would I were at home. + CELIA. We'll lead you thither. + I pray you, will you take him by the arm? + OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! + You lack a man's heart. + ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think + this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how + well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! + OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in + your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. + ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you. + OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. + ROSALIND. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by + right. + CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards. + Good sir, go with us. + OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back + How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my + counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. + AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old + gentleman's saying. + TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. + But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to + you. + AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the + world; here comes the man you mean. + + Enter WILLIAM + + TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, + we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be + flouting; we cannot hold. + WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey. + AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William. + WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy + head; nay, prithee be cover'd. How old are you, friend? + WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William? + WILLIAM. William, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here? + WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God. + TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer. + Art rich? + WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so. + TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and + yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? + WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 'The + fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be + a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a + grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning + thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do + love this maid? + WILLIAM. I do, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? + WILLIAM. No, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a + figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of cup into a + glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your + writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I + am he. + WILLIAM. Which he, sir? + TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you + clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which + in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is + woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or, + clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; + or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into + death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, + or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; + will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and + fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart. + AUDREY. Do, good William. + WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away. + TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER + + ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should + like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? + and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy + her? + OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty + of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden + consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she + loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It + shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue + that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live + and die a shepherd. + ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow. + Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. Go + you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. + + Enter ROSALIND + + ROSALIND. God save you, brother. + OLIVER. And you, fair sister. Exit + ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear + thy heart in a scarf! + ORLANDO. It is my arm. + ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a + lion. + ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. + ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon + when he show'd me your handkercher? + ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that. + ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never + any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's + thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your brother + and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but + they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but + they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but + they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made pair + of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else + be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of + love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. + ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke + to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into + happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I + to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I + shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. + ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for + Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking. + ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know + of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you are + a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should + bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you + are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some + little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and + not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do + strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd + with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. + If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries + it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I + know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not + impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set + her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any + danger. + ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? + ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I + am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your + friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to + Rosalind, if you will. + + Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. + PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness + To show the letter that I writ to you. + ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study + To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. + You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; + Look upon him, love him; he worships you. + PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy, + All made of passion, and all made of wishes; + All adoration, duty, and observance, + All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, + All purity, all trial, all obedience; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman. + PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?' + ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. + ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish + wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can. + [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all + together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman, + and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if + ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To + Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and + you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love + Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I + love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you + commands. + SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live. + PHEBE. Nor I. + ORLANDO. Nor I. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre'y; to-morrow will we + be married. + AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no + dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come + two of the banish'd Duke's pages. + + Enter two PAGES + + FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman. + TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song. + SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i' th' middle. + FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or + spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues + to a bad voice? + SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies + on a horse. + + SONG. + It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-field did pass + In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + Between the acres of the rye, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + These pretty country folks would lie, + In the spring time, &c. + + This carol they began that hour, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + How that a life was but a flower, + In the spring time, &c. + + And therefore take the present time, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + For love is crowned with the prime, + In the spring time, &c. + + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great + matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. + FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv'd, sir; we kept time, we lost not our + time. + TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such + a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come, + Audrey. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The forest + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA + + DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy + Can do all this that he hath promised? + ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not: + As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. + + Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE + + ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd: + You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, + You will bestow her on Orlando here? + DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. + ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her? + ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. + ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing? + PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after. + ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me, + You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? + PHEBE. So is the bargain. + ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will? + SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing. + ROSALIND. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. + Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter; + You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter; + Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, + Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd; + Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her + If she refuse me; and from hence I go, + To make these doubts all even. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy + Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. + ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him + Methought he was a brother to your daughter. + But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, + And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments + Of many desperate studies by his uncle, + Whom he reports to be a great magician, + Obscured in the circle of this forest. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are + coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which + in all tongues are call'd fools. + TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all! + JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded + gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a + courtier, he swears. + TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. + I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red a lady; I have been + politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone + three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought + one. + JAQUES. And how was that ta'en up? + TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the + seventh cause. + JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. + DUKE SENIOR. I like him very well. + TOUCHSTONE. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in + here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear + and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A + poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a + poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich + honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl + in your foul oyster. + DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. + TOUCHSTONE. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet + diseases. + JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on + the seventh cause? + TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more + seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain + courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not + cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd the Retort + Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would + send me word he cut it to please himself. This is call'd the Quip + Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment. + This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut, + he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof + Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This + is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie + Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. + JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? + TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor + he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur'd swords + and parted. + JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? + TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have + books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, + the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the + Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the + Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; + the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie + Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven + justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were + met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: 'If you + said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, and swore + brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. + JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? + He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool. + DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the + presentation of that he shoots his wit: + + Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC + + HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven, + When earthly things made even + Atone together. + Good Duke, receive thy daughter; + Hymen from heaven brought her, + Yea, brought her hither, + That thou mightst join her hand with his, + Whose heart within his bosom is. + ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. + ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. + PHEBE. If sight and shape be true, + Why then, my love adieu! + ROSALIND. I'll have no father, if you be not he; + I'll have no husband, if you be not he; + Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. + HYMEN. Peace, ho! I bar confusion; + 'Tis I must make conclusion + Of these most strange events. + Here's eight that must take hands + To join in Hymen's bands, + If truth holds true contents. + You and you no cross shall part; + You and you are heart in heart; + You to his love must accord, + Or have a woman to your lord; + You and you are sure together, + As the winter to foul weather. + Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, + Feed yourselves with questioning, + That reason wonder may diminish, + How thus we met, and these things finish. + + SONG + Wedding is great Juno's crown; + O blessed bond of board and bed! + 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; + High wedlock then be honoured. + Honour, high honour, and renown, + To Hymen, god of every town! + + DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! + Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. + PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; + Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. + + Enter JAQUES de BOYS + + JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two. + I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, + That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. + Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day + Men of great worth resorted to this forest, + Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, + In his own conduct, purposely to take + His brother here, and put him to the sword; + And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, + Where, meeting with an old religious man, + After some question with him, was converted + Both from his enterprise and from the world; + His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, + And all their lands restor'd to them again + That were with him exil'd. This to be true + I do engage my life. + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man. + Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: + To one, his lands withheld; and to the other, + A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. + First, in this forest let us do those ends + That here were well begun and well begot; + And after, every of this happy number, + That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, + Shall share the good of our returned fortune, + According to the measure of their states. + Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, + And fall into our rustic revelry. + Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all, + With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall. + JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, + The Duke hath put on a religious life, + And thrown into neglect the pompous court. + JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath. + JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites + There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. + [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath; + Your patience and your virtue well deserves it. + [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit; + [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies + [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed; + [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage + Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures; + I am for other than for dancing measures. + DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay. + JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have + I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites, + As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt + +EPILOGUE + EPILOGUE. + ROSALIND. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but + it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it + be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play + needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and + good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a + case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot + insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not + furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My + way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge + you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of + this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love + you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you + hates them- that between you and the women the play may please. + If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that + pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied + not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, + or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, + bid me farewell. + +THE END + + + + + +1593 + +THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + +by William Shakespeare + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + +SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus +AEGEON, a merchant of Syracuse + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS twin brothers and sons to +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE Aegion and Aemelia + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS twin brothers, and attendants on +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE the two Antipholuses + +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, Attendants + + + + + +SCENE: +Ephesus + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + +ACT I. SCENE 1 + +A hall in the DUKE'S palace + +Enter the DUKE OF EPHESUS, AEGEON, the Merchant +of Syracuse, GAOLER, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS + +AEGEON. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, + And by the doom of death end woes and all. +DUKE. 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 threat'ning looks. + For, since the mortal and intestine jars + 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, + It hath in solemn synods been decreed, + Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, + To admit no traffic to our adverse towns; + Nay, more: if any born at Ephesus + Be seen at 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 condemn'd to die. +AEGEON. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, + My woes end likewise with the evening sun. +DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause + Why thou departed'st from thy native home, + And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. +AEGEON. A heavier task could not have been impos'd + Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; + Yet, that the world may witness that my end + Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, + I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. + In Syracuse was I born, and wed + Unto a woman, happy but for me, + And by me, had not our hap been bad. + With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd + By prosperous voyages I often made + To Epidamnum; till my factor's death, + And the great care of goods at random left, + Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: + From whom my absence was not six months old, + Before herself, almost at fainting under + The pleasing punishment that women bear, + Had made provision for her following me, + And soon and safe arrived where I was. + There had she not been long but she became + A joyful mother of two goodly sons; + And, which was strange, the one so like the other + As could not be disdnguish'd but by names. + That very hour, and in the self-same inn, + A mean woman was delivered + Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. + Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, + I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. + My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, + Made daily motions for our home return; + Unwilling, I agreed. Alas! too soon + We came aboard. + A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd + Before the always-wind-obeying deep + Gave any tragic instance of our harm: + But longer did we not retain much hope, + For what obscured light the heavens did grant + Did but convey unto our fearful minds + A doubtful warrant of immediate death; + Which though myself would gladly have embrac'd, + Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, + Weeping before for what she saw must come, + And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, + That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, + Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. + And this it was, for other means was none: + The sailors sought for safety by our boat, + And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us; + My wife, more careful for the latter-born, + Had fast'ned him unto a small spare mast, + Such as sea-faring men provide for storms; + To him one of the other twins was bound, + Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. + The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, + Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, + Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast, + And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, + Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. + At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, + Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; + And, by the benefit of his wished light, + The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered + Two ships from far making amain to us- + Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. + But ere they came-O, let me say no more! + Gather the sequel by that went before. +DUKE. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; + For we may pity, though not pardon thee. +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 encount'red by a mighty rock, + Which being violently borne upon, + Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; + So that, in this unjust divorce of us, + Fortune had left to both of us alike + What to delight in, what to sorrow for. + Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened + With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, + Was carried with more speed before the wind; + And in our sight they three were taken up + By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. + At length another ship had seiz'd on us; + And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, + Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wreck'd guests, + And would have reft the fishers of their prey, + Had not their bark been very slow of sail; + And therefore homeward did they bend their course. + Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, + That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, + To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. +DUKE. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, + Do me the favour to dilate at full + What have befall'n of them and thee till now. +AEGEON. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, + At eighteen years became inquisitive + After his brother, and importun'd me + That his attendant-so his case was like, + Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name- + Might bear him company in the quest of him; + Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see, + I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. + Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, + Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, + And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; + Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought + Or that or any place that harbours men. + But here must end the story of my life; + And happy were I in my timely death, + Could all my travels warrant me they live. +DUKE. Hapless, 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 should sue as advocate for thee. + But though thou art adjudged to the death, + And passed sentence may not be recall'd + But to our honour's great disparagement, + Yet will I favour thee in what I can. + Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day + To seek thy help by beneficial hap. + 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 + + +SCENE 2 + +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 FIRST MERCHANT +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He that commends me to mine own content + Commends me to the thing I cannot get. + I to the world am like a drop of water + That in the ocean seeks another drop, + Who, 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 a Wednesday last + To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper? + The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I am not in a sportive humour now; + Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? + We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust + So great a charge from thine own custody? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. + I from my mistress come to you in post; + If I return, I shall be post indeed, + For she will score your fault upon my pate. + Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, + And strike you home without a messenger. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season; + Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. + Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. To me, sir? Why, you gave no gold to me. + ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, + And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart + Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. + My mistress and her sister stays for you. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me + In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, + Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, + That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. + Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, + Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, + But not a thousand marks between you both. + If I should pay your worship those again, + Perchance you will not bear them patiently. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thy mistress' marks! What mistress, slave, hast thou? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; + She that doth fast till you come home to dinner, + And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, + Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. +[Beats him] +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What mean you, sir? For God's sake hold your hands! + Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. +<Exit +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Upon my life, by some device or other + The villain is o'erraught 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 + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +ACT Il. SCENE 1 + +The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS + +Enter ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, with LUCIANA, her sister + +ADRIANA. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd + That in such haste I sent to seek his master! + Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. +LUCIANA. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, + And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner; + Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. + A man is master of his liberty; + Time is their master, and when they see time, + They'll go or come. If so, be patient, sister. +ADRIANA. Why should their liberty than ours be more? +LUCIANA. Because their business still lies out o' door. +ADRIANA. Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill. +LUCIANA. O, know he is the bridle of your will. +ADRIANA. There's none but asses will be bridled so. +LUCIANA. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. + There's nothing situate under heaven's eye + But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky. + The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, + Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. + Man, more divine, the master of all these, + Lord of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas, + Indu'd with intellectual sense and souls, + Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, + Are masters to their females, and their lords; + Then let your will attend on their accords. +ADRIANA. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. +LUCIANA. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. +ADRIANA. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. +LUCIANA. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. +ADRIANA. How if your husband start some other where? +LUCIANA. Till he come home again, I would forbear. +ADRIANA. Patience unmov'd! no marvel though she pause: + They can be meek that have no other cause. + A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, + We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; + But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain, + As much, or more, we should ourselves complain. + So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, + With urging helpless patience would relieve me; + But if thou live to see like right bereft, + This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. +LUCIANA. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. + Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. + +Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS + +ADRIANA. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two + ears can witness. +ADRIANA. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. + Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. +LUCIANA. Spake he so doubtfully thou could'st not feel his meaning? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he struck so plainly I could to + 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 desir'd him to come home to dinner, + He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold. + "Tis dinner time' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. + 'Your meat doth burn' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. + 'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. + 'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?' + 'The pig' quoth I 'is burn'd'; 'My gold!' quoth he. + 'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress; + I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress.' +LUCIANA. Quoth who? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Quoth my master. + 'I know' quoth he 'no house, no wife, no mistress.' + So that my errand, due unto my tongue, + I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; + For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. +ADRIANA. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Go back again, and be new beaten home? + For God's sake, send some other messenger. +ADRIANA. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And he will bless that cross with other beating; + Between you I shall have a holy head. +ADRIANA. Hence, prating peasant! Fetch thy master home. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Am I so round with you, as you with me, + That like a football you do spurn me thus? + You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; + If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. +<Exit +LUCIANA. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face! +ADRIANA. His company must do his minions grace, + Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. + Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took + From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it. + Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit? + If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, + Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard. + Do their gay vestments his affections bait? + That's not my fault; he's master of my state. + What ruins are in me that can be found + By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground + Of my defeatures. My decayed fair + A sunny look of his would soon repair. + But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, + And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. +LUCIANA. Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence. +ADRIANA. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. + I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; + Or else what lets it but he would be here? + Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain; + Would that alone a love he would detain, + So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! + I see the jewel best enamelled + Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still + That others touch and, often touching, will + Where gold; and no man that hath a name + By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. + Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, + I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. +LUCIANA. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! +<Exeunt + + +SCENE 2 + +The mart + +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 wand'red forth in care to seek me out. + By computation and mine host's report + I could not speak with Dromio since at first + I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. + +Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE + + How now, sir, is your merry humour alter'd? + As you love strokes, so jest with me again. + You know no Centaur! You receiv'd no gold! + Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner! + My house was at the Phoenix! Wast thou mad, + That thus so madly thou didst answer me? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. What answer, sir? When spake I such a word? +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I did not see you since you sent me hence, + Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, + And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; + For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. + What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? + Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. +[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 demeanour to my looks, + Or I will beat this method in your sconce. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sconce, call you it? So you would + leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use + these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and + insconce 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 dinnertime? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In good time, sir, what's that? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Basting. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Your reason? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me + another dry basting. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; + there's a time for all things. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I durst have denied that, before you + were so choleric. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By what rule, sir? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the + plain bald pate of Father Time himself. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Let's hear it. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There's no time for a man to recover + his hair that grows bald by nature. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. May he not do it by fine and recovery? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and + recover the lost hair of another man. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why is Time such a niggard of + hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Because it is a blessing that he bestows + on beasts, and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath + given them in wit. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, but there's many a man + hath more hair than wit. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not a man of those but he hath the + wit to lose his hair. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, thou didst conclude hairy + men plain dealers without wit. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; + yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For what reason? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. For two; and sound ones too. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sound I pray you. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sure ones, then. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Certain ones, then. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Name them. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The one, to save the money that he spends in + tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his + porridge. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. You would all this time have prov'd 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 't'would be a bald conclusion. But, + soft, who wafts us yonder? + +Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA + +ADRIANA. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown. + Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects; + I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. + The time was once when thou unurg'd wouldst vow + That never words were music to thine ear, + That never object pleasing in thine eye, + That never touch well welcome to thy hand, + That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, + Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee. + How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, + That thou art then estranged from thyself? + Thyself I call it, being strange to me, + That, undividable, incorporate, + Am better than thy dear self's better part. + Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; + For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall + A drop of water in the breaking gulf, + And take unmingled thence that drop again + Without addition or diminishing, + As take from me thyself, and not me too. + How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, + Should'st thou but hear I were licentious, + And that this body, consecrate to thee, + By ruffian lust should be contaminate! + Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me, + And hurl the name of husband in my face, + And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow, + And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, + And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? + I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it. + I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; + My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; + For if we two be one, and thou play false, + I do digest the poison of thy flesh, + Being strumpeted by thy contagion. + Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; + I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not: + In Ephesus I am but two hours old, + As strange unto your town as to your talk, + Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, + Wants wit in all one word to understand. +LUCIANA. Fie, brother, how the world is chang'd with you! + When were you wont to use my sister thus? + She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By Dromio? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By me? +ADRIANA. By thee; and this thou didst return from him- + That he did buffet thee, and in his blows + Denied my house for his, me for his wife. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? + What is the course and drift of your compact? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, Sir? I never saw her till this time. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words + Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I never spake with her in all my life. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How can she thus, then, call us by our names, + Unless it be by inspiration? +ADRIANA. How ill agrees it with your gravity + To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, + Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! + Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, + But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. + Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine; + Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, + Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, + Makes me with thy strength to communicate. + If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, + Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; + Who all, for want of pruning, with intrusion + Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme. + What, was I married to her in my dream? + Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? + What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? + Until I know this sure uncertainty, + I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. +LUCIANA. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, for my beads! I cross me for sinner. + This is the fairy land. O spite of spites! + We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites. + If we obey them not, this will ensue: + They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. +LUCIANA. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not? + Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am transformed, master, am not I? +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou hast thine own form. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, I am an ape. +LUCIANA. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. + 'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be + But I should know her as well as she knows me. +ADRIANA. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, + To put the finger in the eye and weep, + Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn. + Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. + Husband, I'll dine above with you 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-advis'd? + Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd! + I'll say as they say, and persever so, + And in this mist at all adventures go. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? +ADRIANA. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. +LUCIANA. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. +<Exeunt + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1 + +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 charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold, + And that I did deny my wife and house. + Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know. + That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show; + If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, + Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I think thou art an ass. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Marry, so it doth appear + By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. + I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass, + You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Y'are 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 makes 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, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! + Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. + Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, + When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What patch is made our porter? + My master stays in the street. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [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'll tell me wherefore. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wherefore? For my dinner; + I have not din'd 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 keep'st 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 stol'n 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 chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. + +Enter LUCE, within + +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 called Luce + -Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do you hear, you minion? You'll let us in, I hope? +LUCE. [Within] I thought to have ask'd 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 beat the door down. +LUCE. [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? + +Enter ADRIANA, within + +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 here is warm within; you stand here in the cold; + It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go fetch me something; I'll break ope the gate. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [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!' 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 + Th' unviolated honour of your wife. + Once this-your long experience of her wisdom, + Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, + Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; + And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse + Why at this time the doors are made against you. + Be rul'd by me: depart in patience, + And let us to the Tiger all to dinner; + And, about evening, come yourself alone + To know the reason of this strange restraint. + If by strong hand you offer to break in + Now in the stirring passage of the day, + A vulgar comment will be made of it, + And that supposed by the common rout + Against your yet ungalled estimation + That may with foul intrusion enter in + And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; + For slander lives upon succession, + For ever hous'd where it gets possession. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You have prevail'd. I will depart in quiet, + And in despite of mirth mean to be merry. + I know a wench of excellent discourse, + Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle; + There will we dine. This woman that I mean, + My wife-but, I protest, without desert- + Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; + To her will we to dinner. [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 + + +SCENE 2 + +Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS + +Enter LUCIANA with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE + +LUCIANA. And may it be that you have quite forgot + A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus, + Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? + Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? + If you did wed my sister for her wealth, + Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness; + Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; + Muffle your false love with some show of blindness; + Let not my sister read it in your eye; + Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; + Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; + Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; + Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; + Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; + Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted? + What simple thief brags of his own attaint? + 'Tis double wrong to truant with your bed + And let her read it in thy looks at board; + Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; + Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word. + Alas, poor women! make us but believe, + Being compact of credit, that you love us; + Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; + We in your motion turn, and you may move us. + Then, gentle brother, get you in again; + Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. + 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain + When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Sweet mistress-what your name is else, I know not, + Nor by what wonder you do hit 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, + Smoth'red 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 pow'r 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 he; + 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, sir, hold you still; + I'll fetch my sister to get her good will. +<Exit LUCIANA + +Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, how now, Dromio! Where run'st thou + so fast? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? + Am I your man? Am I myself? +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art Dromio, thou art my + man, thou art thyself. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides + myself. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What woman's man, and how besides thyself? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due + to a woman-one that claims me, one that haunts me, one + that will have me. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What claim lays she to thee? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, such claim as you would + lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not + that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, + being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is she? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A very reverent body; ay, such a one + as a man may not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.' + I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a + wondrous fat marriage. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How dost thou mean a fat marriage? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, + and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but + to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. + I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn + Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn + week longer than the whole world. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What complexion is she of? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Swart, like my shoe; but her face + nothing like so clean kept; for why, she sweats, a man may + go 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, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by + the bogs. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Scotland? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I found it by the barrenness, hard in + the palm of the hand. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where France? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. In her forehead, arm'd and reverted, + making war against her heir. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where England? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I + could find no whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her + chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Spain? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot in + her breath. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where America, the Indies? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, sir, upon her nose, an 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. O, Sir, I did not look so low. To + conclude: this drudge or diviner laid claim to me; call'd me + Dromio; swore I was assur'd 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, + amaz'd, 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' th' 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 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 + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1 + +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 importun'd you; + Nor now I had not, but that I am bound + To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage. + Therefore make present satisfaction, + Or I'll attach you by this officer. +ANGELO. Even just the sum that I do owe to you + Is growing to me by Antipholus; + And in the instant that I met with you + He had of me a chain; at five o'clock + I shall receive the money for the same. + Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, + I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. + +Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS, from the 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 DROMIO +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. A man is well holp up that trusts to you! + I promised your presence and the chain; + But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. + Belike you thought our love would last too long, + If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not. +ANGELO. Saving your merry humour, here's the note + How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat, + The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, + Which doth amount to three odd ducats more + Than I stand debted to this gentleman. + I pray you see him presently discharg'd, + For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I am not 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 by me some token. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath! + Come, where's the chain? I pray you let me see it. +SECOND MERCHANT. My business cannot brook this dalliance. + Good sir, say whe'r 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 dar'st. +ANGELO. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. + I would not spare my brother in this case, + If he should scorn me so apparently. +OFFICER. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. + But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear + As all the metal in your shop will answer. +ANGELO. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, + To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. + +Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, from the bay + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, there's a bark of Epidamnum + That stays but till her owner comes aboard, + And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, + I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought + The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitx. + The ship is in her trim; the merry wind + Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at an + 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 the 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 all but DROMIO +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. To Adriana! that is where we din'd, + Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband. + She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. + Thither I must, although against my will, + For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. +<Exit + + +SCENE 2 + +The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS + +Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA + +ADRIANA. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? + Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye + That he did plead in earnest? Yea or no? + Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? + What observation mad'st thou in this case + Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? +LUCIANA. First he denied you had in him no right. +ADRIANA. He meant he did me none-the more my spite. +LUCIANA. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. +ADRIANA. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. +LUCIANA. Then pleaded I for you. +ADRIANA. And what said he? +LUCIANA. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. +ADRIANA. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? +LUCIANA. With words that in an honest suit might move. + First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. +ADRIANA. 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-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; + Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; + Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. +LUCIANA. Who would be jealous then of such a one? + No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. +ADRIANA. Ah, but I think him better than I say, + And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. + Far from her nest the lapwing cries away; + My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. + +Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Here go-the desk, the purse. Sweet + now, make haste. +LUCIANA. How hast thou lost thy breath? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By running fast. +ADRIANA. Where is thy master, Dromio? Is he well? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. + A devil in an everlasting garment hath him; + One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; + A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; + A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; + A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands + The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; + A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well; + One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell. +ADRIANA. Why, man, what is the matter? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I do not know the matter; he is rested on the case. +ADRIANA. What, is he arrested? Tell me, at whose suit? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well; + But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell. + Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk? +ADRIANA. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit LUCIANA] This I wonder at: + Thus he unknown to me should be in debt. + Tell me, was he arrested on a band? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 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 'a 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 + + +SCENE 3 + +The mart + +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-apparell'd? +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 kill'd 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 rest + them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and give + them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more + exploits with his mace than a morris-pike. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, thou mean'st an officer? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; + that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; on + that thinks a man always going to bed, and says 'God give + you good rest!' +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is + there any ship puts forth to-night? May we be gone? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Why, sir, I brought you word an + hour since that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and + then were you hind'red by the sergeant, to tarry for the + boy 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 promis'd 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 promis'd, + 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 promis'd me a chain; + Both one and other he denies me now. + The reason that I gather he is mad, + Besides this present instance of his rage, + Is a mad tale he told 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 + + +SCENE 4 + +A street + +Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS with 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 cars. + +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 rope? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I + return'd. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. +[Beating him] +OFFICER. Good sir, be patient. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in + adversity. +OFFICER. Good now, hold thy tongue. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I would I were senseless, sir, that I + might not feel your blows. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou art sensible in nothing but + blows, and so is an ass. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I am an ass indeed; you may prove it + by my long 'ears. I have served him from the hour of my + nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for + my service but blows. When I am cold he heats me with + beating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am + wak'd with it when I sleep; rais'd with it when I sit; driven + out of doors with it when I go from home; welcom'd home + with it when I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders as + beggar wont her brat; and I think, when he hath lam'd me, + I shall beg with it from door to door. + +Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and a SCHOOLMASTER +call'd PINCH + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or + rather, to prophesy 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, hous'd within this man, + To yield possession to my holy prayers, + And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight. + I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad. +ADRIANA. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You minion, you, are these your customers? + Did this companion with the saffron face + Revel and feast it at my house 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 din'd at home, + Where would you had remain'd until this time, + Free from these slanders and this open shame! +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Din'd at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sir, Sooth to say, you did not dine at home. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. 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 revil'd you there. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And did not I in rage depart from thence? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. In verity, you did. My bones bear witness, + That since have felt the vigour of his rage. +ADRIANA. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries? +PINCH. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein, + And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. +ADRIANA. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, + By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Money by me! Heart and goodwill you might, + But surely, master, not a rag of money. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Went'st not thou to her for 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 receiv'd no gold; + But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. +ADRIANA. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all, + And art confederate with a damned pack + To make a loathsome abject scorn of me; + But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes + That would behold in me this shameful sport. +ADRIANA. O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me. +PINCH. More company! The fiend is strong within him. + +Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives + +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 bind DROMIO] +ADRIANA. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? + Hast thou delight to see a wretched man + Do outrage and displeasure to himself? +OFFICER. He is my prisoner; if I let him go, + The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. +ADRIANA. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee; + Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, + And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. + Good Master Doctor, see him safe convey'd + Home to my house. O most unhappy day! +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. O most unhappy strumpet! +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, I am here ent'red in bond for you. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Out on thee, villian! 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, OFFICERS, 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 as fast as may be, frighted +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I see these witches are afraid of swords. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. She that would be your wife now ran from you. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence. + I long that we were safe and sound aboard. +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, stay here this night; they will + surely do us no harm; you saw they speak us fair, give us + gold; methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for + the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, + 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 + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1 + +A street before a priory + +Enter SECOND MERCHANT and ANGELO + +ANGELO. I am sorry, sir, that I have hind'red you; + But I protest he had the chain of me, + Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. +SECOND MERCHANT. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? +ANGELO. Of very reverend reputation, sir, + Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, + Second to none that lives here in the city; + His word might bear my wealth at any time. +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 Andpholus, 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 liv'st + To walk where any honest men resort. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus; + I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty + Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. +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 + +ABBESS. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither? +ADRIANA. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. + Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, + And bear him home for his recovery. +ANGELO. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. +SECOND MERCHANT. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. +ABBESS. How long hath this possession held the man? +ADRIANA. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, + And much different from the man he was; + But till this afternoon his passion + Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. +ABBESS. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? + Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye + Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? + A sin prevailing much in youthful men + Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. + Which of these sorrows is he subject to? +ADRIANA. To none of these, except it be the last; + Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. +ABBESS. You should for that have reprehended him. +ADRIANA. Why, so I did. +ABBESS. Ay, but not rough enough. +ADRIANA. As roughly as my modesty would let me. +ABBESS. Haply in private. +ADRIANA. And in assemblies too. +ABBESS. Ay, but not enough. +ADRIANA. It was the copy of our conference. + In bed, he slept not for my urging it; + At board, he fed not for my urging it; + Alone, it was the subject of my theme; + In company, I often glanced it; + Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. +ABBESS. And thereof came it that the man was mad. + The venom clamours of a jealous woman + Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. + It seems his sleeps were hind'red by thy railing, + And thereof comes it that his head is light. + Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings: + Unquiet meals make ill digestions; + Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; + And what's a fever but a fit of madness? + Thou say'st his sports were hind'red by thy brawls. + Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue + But moody and dull melancholy, + Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, + And at her heels a huge infectious troop + Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? + In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest, + To be disturb'd would mad or man or beast. + The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits + Hath scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. +LUCIANA. She never reprehended him but mildly, + When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly. + Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? +ADRIANA. She did betray me to my own reproof. + Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. +ABBESS. No, not a creature enters in my house. +ADRIANA. Then let your servants bring my husband forth. +ABBESS. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary, + And it shall privilege him from your hands + Till I have brought him to his wits again, + Or lose my labour in assaying it. +ADRIANA. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, + Diet his sickness, for it is my office, + And will have no attorney but myself; + And therefore let me have him home with me. +ABBESS. Be patient; for I will not let him stir + Till I have us'd the approved means I have, + With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, + To make of him a formal man again. + It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, + A charitable duty of my order; + Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. +ADRIANA. I will not hence and leave my husband here; + And ill it doth beseem your holiness + To separate the husband and the wife. +ABBESS. Be quiet, and depart; thou shalt not have him. +<Exit +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 the DUKE, attended; AEGEON, bareheaded; +with the HEADSMAN and other OFFICERS + +DUKE. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, + If any friend will pay the sum for him, + He shall not die; so much we tender him. +ADRIANA. Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess! +DUKE. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; + It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. +ADRIANA. May it please your Grace, Antipholus, my husband, + Who I made lord of me and all I had + At your important letters-this ill day + A most outrageous fit of madness took him, + That desp'rately he hurried through the street, + With him his bondman all as mad as he, + Doing displeasure to the citizens + By rushing in their houses, bearing thence + Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like. + Once did I get him bound and sent him home, + Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, + That here and there his fury had committed. + Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, + He broke from those that had the guard of him, + And with his mad attendant and himself, + Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, + Met us again and, madly bent on us, + Chas'd us away; till, raising of more aid, + We came again to bind them. Then they fled + Into this abbey, whither we pursu'd them; + And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us, + And will not suffer us to fetch him out, + Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. + Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command + Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help. +DUKE. Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars, + And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, + When thou didst make him master of thy bed, + To do him all the grace and good I could. + Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, + And bid the Lady Abbess come to me, + I will determine this before I stir. + +Enter a MESSENGER + +MESSENGER. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! + My master and his man are both broke loose, + Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor, + Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire; + And ever, as it blaz'd, they threw on him + Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. + My master preaches patience to him, and the while + His man with scissors nicks him like a fool; + And sure, unless you send some present help, + Between them they will kill the conjurer. +ADRIANA. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here, + And that is false thou dost report to us. +MESSENGER. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; + I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. + He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, + To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. +[Cry within] + Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone! +DUKE. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds. +ADRIANA. Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you + That he is borne about invisible. + Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here, + And now he's there, past thought of human reason. + +Enter ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS and DROMIO OFEPHESUS + +ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. 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 OFEPHESUS. Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman there! + She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife, + That hath abused and dishonoured me + Even in the strength and height of injury. + Beyond imagination is the wrong + That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. +DUKE. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. +ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors upon me, + While she with harlots feasted in my house. +DUKE. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so? +ADRIANA. No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister, + 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 peflur'd woman! They are both forsworn. + In this the madman justly chargeth them. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. My liege, I am advised what I say; + Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, + Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, + Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. + This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner; + That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, + Could witness it, for he was with me then; + Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, + Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, + Where 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 perjur'd goldsmith swear me down + That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, + Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which + He did arrest me with an officer. + I did obey, and sent my peasant home + For certain ducats; he with none return'd. + Then fairly I bespoke the officer + To go in person with me to my house. + By th' way we met my wife, her sister, and a rabble more + Of vile confederates. Along with them + They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain, + A mere anatomy, a mountebank, + A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, + A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, + A living dead man. This pernicious slave, + Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, + And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, + And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, + Cries out I was possess'd. Then 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 din'd not at home, but was lock'd out. +DUKE. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? +ANGELO. He had, my lord, and when he ran in here, + These people saw the chain about his neck. +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. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! + I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. + If here you hous'd him, here he would have been; + If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly. + You say he din'd at home: the goldsmith here + Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sir, he din'd 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. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? +COURTEZAN. As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace. +DUKE. Why, this is strange. Go call the Abbess hither. + I think you are all mated or stark mad. +<Exit one to the ABBESS +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. 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 OF EPHESUS. I never saw you in my life till now. +AEGEON. O! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last; + And careful hours with time's deformed hand + Have written strange defeatures in my face. + But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Neither. +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 untun'd cares? + Though now this grained face of mine be hid + In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, + And all the conduits of my blood froze up, + Yet hath my night of life some memory, + My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, + My dull deaf ears a little use to hear; + All these old witnesses-I cannot err- + Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never saw my father in my life. +AEGEON. But seven years since, in Syracuse, boy, + Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps, my son, + Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. The Duke and all that know me in + the city Can witness with me that it is not so: + I ne'er saw Syracuse in my life. +DUKE. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years + Have I been patron to Antipholus, + During which time he ne'er saw Syracuse. + I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. + +Re-enter the ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE + +ABBESS. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd. +[All gather to see them] +ADRIANA. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. +DUKE. One of these men is genius to the other; + And so of these. Which is the natural man, + And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay. +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Aegeon, art thou not? or else his +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, my old master! who hath bound +ABBESS. 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? +ABBESS. By men of Epidamnum he and I + And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; + But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth + By force took Dromio and my son from them, + And me they left with those of Epidamnum. + What then became of them I cannot tell; + I to this fortune that you see me in. +DUKE. Why, here begins his morning story right. + These two Antipholus', these two so like, + And these two Dromios, one in semblance- + Besides her urging of her wreck at sea- + These are the parents to these children, + Which accidentally are met together. + Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first? +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. +DUKE. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And I with him. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, + Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. +ADRIANA. Which of you two did dine with me 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 receiv'd from you, + And Dromio my man did bring them me. + I see we still did meet each other's man, + And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, + And thereupon these ERRORS are arose. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. These ducats pawn I for my father here. +DUKE. It shall not need; thy father hath his life. +COURTEZAN. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There, take it; and much thanks for my + good cheer. +ABBESS. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains + To go with us into the abbey here, + And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes; + And all that are assembled in this place + That by this 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 nativity! +DUKE. 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-fac'd youth. + Will you walk in to see their gossiping? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not I, sir; you are my elder. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. That's a question; how shall we try it? +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. We'll draw cuts for the senior; till then, + lead thou first. +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, then, thus: + We came into the world like brother and brother, + And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. +<Exeunt + + +THE END + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1608 + +THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + CAIUS MARCIUS, afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS + + Generals against the Volscians + TITUS LARTIUS + COMINIUS + + MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus + + Tribunes of the People + SICINIUS VELUTUS + JUNIUS BRUTUS + + YOUNG MARCIUS, son to Coriolanus + A ROMAN HERALD + NICANOR, a Roman + TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians + LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius + CONSPIRATORS, With Aufidius + ADRIAN, a Volscian + A CITIZEN of Antium + TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS + + VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus + VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus + VALERIA, friend to Virgilia + GENTLEWOMAN attending on Virgilia + + Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors, + Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other + Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood; Antium + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Rome. A street + +Enter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons + + FIRST CITIZEN. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. + ALL. Speak, speak. + FIRST CITIZEN. YOU are all resolv'd rather to die than to famish? + ALL. Resolv'd, resolv'd. + FIRST CITIZEN. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the + people. + ALL. We know't, we know't. + FIRST CITIZEN. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own + price. Is't a verdict? + ALL. No more talking on't; let it be done. Away, away! + SECOND CITIZEN. One word, good citizens. + FIRST CITIZEN. We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. + What authority surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield + us but the superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess + they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear. The + leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an + inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a + gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes ere we become + rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in + thirst for revenge. + SECOND CITIZEN. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? + FIRST CITIZEN. Against him first; he's a very dog to the + commonalty. + SECOND CITIZEN. Consider you what services he has done for his + country? + FIRST CITIZEN. Very well, and could be content to give him good + report for't but that he pays himself with being proud. + SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, but speak not maliciously. + FIRST CITIZEN. I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it + to that end; though soft-conscienc'd men can be content to say it + was for his country, he did it to please his mother and to be + partly proud, which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. + SECOND CITIZEN. What he cannot help in his nature you account a + vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous. + FIRST CITIZEN. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; + he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts + within] What shouts are these? The other side o' th' city is + risen. Why stay we prating here? To th' Capitol! + ALL. Come, come. + FIRST CITIZEN. Soft! who comes here? + + Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA + + SECOND CITIZEN. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always lov'd + the people. + FIRST CITIZEN. He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so! + MENENIUS. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you + With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you. + FIRST CITIZEN. Our business is not unknown to th' Senate; they have + had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll + show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths; + they shall know we have strong arms too. + MENENIUS. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, + Will you undo yourselves? + FIRST CITIZEN. We cannot, sir; we are undone already. + MENENIUS. I tell you, friends, most charitable care + Have the patricians of you. For your wants, + Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well + Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them + Against the Roman state; whose course will on + The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs + Of more strong link asunder than can ever + Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, + The gods, not the patricians, make it, and + Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, + You are transported by calamity + Thither where more attends you; and you slander + The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers, + When you curse them as enemies. + FIRST CITIZEN. Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er car'd for us + yet. Suffer us to famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with + grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily + any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more + piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the + wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear + us. + MENENIUS. Either you must + Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, + Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you + A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it; + But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture + To stale't a little more. + FIRST CITIZEN. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to + fob off our disgrace with a tale. But, an't please you, deliver. + MENENIUS. There was a time when all the body's members + Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: + That only like a gulf it did remain + I' th' midst o' th' body, idle and unactive, + Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing + Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments + Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, + And, mutually participate, did minister + Unto the appetite and affection common + Of the whole body. The belly answer'd- + FIRST CITIZEN. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? + MENENIUS. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile, + Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus- + For look you, I may make the belly smile + As well as speak- it tauntingly replied + To th' discontented members, the mutinous parts + That envied his receipt; even so most fitly + As you malign our senators for that + They are not such as you. + FIRST CITIZEN. Your belly's answer- What? + The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye, + The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, + Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, + With other muniments and petty helps + Is this our fabric, if that they- + MENENIUS. What then? + Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? What then? + FIRST CITIZEN. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, + Who is the sink o' th' body- + MENENIUS. Well, what then? + FIRST CITIZEN. The former agents, if they did complain, + What could the belly answer? + MENENIUS. I will tell you; + If you'll bestow a small- of what you have little- + Patience awhile, you'st hear the belly's answer. + FIRST CITIZEN. Y'are long about it. + MENENIUS. Note me this, good friend: + Your most grave belly was deliberate, + Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered. + 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he + 'That I receive the general food at first + Which you do live upon; and fit it is, + Because I am the storehouse and the shop + Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, + I send it through the rivers of your blood, + Even to the court, the heart, to th' seat o' th' brain; + And, through the cranks and offices of man, + The strongest nerves and small inferior veins + From me receive that natural competency + Whereby they live. And though that all at once + You, my good friends'- this says the belly; mark me. + FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, sir; well, well. + MENENIUS. 'Though all at once cannot + See what I do deliver out to each, + Yet I can make my audit up, that all + From me do back receive the flour of all, + And leave me but the bran.' What say you to' t? + FIRST CITIZEN. It was an answer. How apply you this? + MENENIUS. The senators of Rome are this good belly, + And you the mutinous members; for, examine + Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly + Touching the weal o' th' common, you shall find + No public benefit which you receive + But it proceeds or comes from them to you, + And no way from yourselves. What do you think, + You, the great toe of this assembly? + FIRST CITIZEN. I the great toe? Why the great toe? + MENENIUS. For that, being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest, + Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost. + Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, + Lead'st first to win some vantage. + But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs. + Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; + The one side must have bale. + + Enter CAIUS MARCIUS + + Hail, noble Marcius! + MARCIUS. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues + That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, + Make yourselves scabs? + FIRST CITIZEN. We have ever your good word. + MARCIUS. He that will give good words to thee will flatter + Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, + That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you, + The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, + Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; + Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no, + Than is the coal of fire upon the ice + Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is + To make him worthy whose offence subdues him, + And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness + Deserves your hate; and your affections are + A sick man's appetite, who desires most that + Which would increase his evil. He that depends + Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, + And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? + With every minute you do change a mind + And call him noble that was now your hate, + Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter + That in these several places of the city + You cry against the noble Senate, who, + Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else + Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? + MENENIUS. For corn at their own rates, whereof they say + The city is well stor'd. + MARCIUS. Hang 'em! They say! + They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know + What's done i' th' Capitol, who's like to rise, + Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out + Conjectural marriages, making parties strong, + And feebling such as stand not in their liking + Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough! + Would the nobility lay aside their ruth + And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry + With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high + As I could pick my lance. + MENENIUS. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; + For though abundantly they lack discretion, + Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, + What says the other troop? + MARCIUS. They are dissolv'd. Hang 'em! + They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs- + That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, + That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not + Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds + They vented their complainings; which being answer'd, + And a petition granted them- a strange one, + To break the heart of generosity + And make bold power look pale- they threw their caps + As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, + Shouting their emulation. + MENENIUS. What is granted them? + MARCIUS. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms, + Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus- + Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath! + The rabble should have first unroof'd the city + Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time + Win upon power and throw forth greater themes + For insurrection's arguing. + MENENIUS. This is strange. + MARCIUS. Go get you home, you fragments. + + Enter a MESSENGER, hastily + + MESSENGER. Where's Caius Marcius? + MARCIUS. Here. What's the matter? + MESSENGER. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. + MARCIUS. I am glad on't; then we shall ha' means to vent + Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. + + Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with other SENATORS; + JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS + + FIRST SENATOR. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us: + The Volsces are in arms. + MARCIUS. They have a leader, + Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't. + I sin in envying his nobility; + And were I anything but what I am, + I would wish me only he. + COMINIUS. You have fought together? + MARCIUS. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he + Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make + Only my wars with him. He is a lion + That I am proud to hunt. + FIRST SENATOR. Then, worthy Marcius, + Attend upon Cominius to these wars. + COMINIUS. It is your former promise. + MARCIUS. Sir, it is; + And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou + Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. + What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out? + LARTIUS. No, Caius Marcius; + I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other + Ere stay behind this business. + MENENIUS. O, true bred! + FIRST SENATOR. Your company to th' Capitol; where, I know, + Our greatest friends attend us. + LARTIUS. [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. + [To MARCIUS] Follow Cominius; we must follow you; + Right worthy you priority. + COMINIUS. Noble Marcius! + FIRST SENATOR. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone. + MARCIUS. Nay, let them follow. + The Volsces have much corn: take these rats thither + To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, + Your valour puts well forth; pray follow. + Ciitzens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS + SICINIUS. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? + BRUTUS. He has no equal. + SICINIUS. When we were chosen tribunes for the people- + BRUTUS. Mark'd you his lip and eyes? + SICINIUS. Nay, but his taunts! + BRUTUS. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods. + SICINIUS. Bemock the modest moon. + BRUTUS. The present wars devour him! He is grown + Too proud to be so valiant. + SICINIUS. Such a nature, + Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow + Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder + His insolence can brook to be commanded + Under Cominius. + BRUTUS. Fame, at the which he aims- + In whom already he is well grac'd- cannot + Better be held nor more attain'd than by + A place below the first; for what miscarries + Shall be the general's fault, though he perform + To th' utmost of a man, and giddy censure + Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he + Had borne the business!' + SICINIUS. Besides, if things go well, + Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall + Of his demerits rob Cominius. + BRUTUS. Come. + Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, + Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults + To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed + In aught he merit not. + SICINIUS. Let's hence and hear + How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, + More than his singularity, he goes + Upon this present action. + BRUTUS. Let's along. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Corioli. The Senate House. + +Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli + + FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, + That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels + And know how we proceed. + AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours? + What ever have been thought on in this state + That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome + Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone + Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think + I have the letter here;.yes, here it is: + [Reads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known + Whether for east or west. The dearth is great; + The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, + Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, + Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, + And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, + These three lead on this preparation + Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you; + Consider of it.' + FIRST SENATOR. Our army's in the field; + We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready + To answer us. + AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly + To keep your great pretences veil'd till when + They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, + It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery + We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was + To take in many towns ere almost Rome + Should know we were afoot. + SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius, + Take your commission; hie you to your bands; + Let us alone to guard Corioli. + If they set down before's, for the remove + Bring up your army; but I think you'll find + Th' have not prepar'd for us. + AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that! + I speak from certainties. Nay more, + Some parcels of their power are forth already, + And only hitherward. I leave your honours. + If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, + 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike + Till one can do no more. + ALL. The gods assist you! + AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe! + FIRST SENATOR. Farewell. + SECOND SENATOR. Farewell. + ALL. Farewell. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Rome. MARCIUS' house + +Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS; +they set them down on two low stools and sew + + VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more + comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier + rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the + embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet + he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth + with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of + kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her + beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a person- + that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall, if + renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger where + he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he + return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I + sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than + now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. + VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then? + VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I therein + would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen + sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my + good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country + than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. + + Enter a GENTLEWOMAN + + GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. + VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself. + VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not. + Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum; + See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair; + As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him. + Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: + 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear, + Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow + With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, + Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow + Or all or lose his hire. + VIRGILIA. His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood! + VOLUMNIA. Away, you fool! It more becomes a man + Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba, + When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier + Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood + At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria + We are fit to bid her welcome. Exit GENTLEWOMAN + VIRGILIA. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! + VOLUMNIA. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee + And tread upon his neck. + + Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, With VALERIA and an usher + + VALERIA. My ladies both, good day to you. + VOLUMNIA. Sweet madam! + VIRGILIA. I am glad to see your ladyship. + VALERIA. How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are + you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little + son? + VIRGILIA. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. + VOLUMNIA. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look + upon his schoolmaster. + VALERIA. O' my word, the father's son! I'll swear 'tis a very + pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd upon him a Wednesday half an + hour together; has such a confirm'd countenance! I saw him run + after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go + again, and after it again, and over and over he comes, and up + again, catch'd it again; or whether his fall enrag'd him, or how + 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I warrant, how he + mammock'd it! + VOLUMNIA. One on's father's moods. + VALERIA. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. + VIRGILIA. A crack, madam. + VALERIA. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the + idle huswife with me this afternoon. + VIRGILIA. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. + VALERIA. Not out of doors! + VOLUMNIA. She shall, she shall. + VIRGILIA. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold + till my lord return from the wars. + VALERIA. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you + must go visit the good lady that lies in. + VIRGILIA. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my + prayers; but I cannot go thither. + VOLUMNIA. Why, I pray you? + VIRGILIA. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. + VALERIA. You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn + she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. + Come, I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you + might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. + VIRGILIA. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth. + VALERIA. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news + of your husband. + VIRGILIA. O, good madam, there can be none yet. + VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him + last night. + VIRGILIA. Indeed, madam? + VALERIA. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it + is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the + general is gone, with one part of our Roman power. Your lord and + Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they + nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, + on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. + VIRGILIA. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything + hereafter. + VOLUMNIA. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease + our better mirth. + VALERIA. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come, + good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' + door and go along with us. + VIRGILIA. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much + mirth. + VALERIA. Well then, farewell. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Before Corioli + +Enter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours, +with CAPTAINS and soldiers. To them a MESSENGER + + MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met. + LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no. + MARCIUS. 'Tis done. + LARTIUS. Agreed. + MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy? + MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet. + LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine. + MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you. + LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will + For half a hundred years. Summon the town. + MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies? + MESSENGER. Within this mile and half. + MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. + Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, + That we with smoking swords may march from hence + To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. + + They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others, + on the walls of Corioli + + Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? + FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he: + That's lesser than a little. [Drum afar off] Hark, our drums + Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls + Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates, + Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; + They'll open of themselves. [Alarum far off] Hark you far off! + There is Aufidius. List what work he makes + Amongst your cloven army. + MARCIUS. O, they are at it! + LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! + + Enter the army of the Volsces + + MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. + Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight + With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus. + They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, + Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows. + He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, + And he shall feel mine edge. + + Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. + Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing + + MARCIUS. All the contagion of the south light on you, + You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues + Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd + Farther than seen, and one infect another + Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese + That bear the shapes of men, how have you run + From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! + All hurt behind! Backs red, and faces pale + With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home, + Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe + And make my wars on you. Look to't. Come on; + If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives, + As they us to our trenches. Follow me. + + Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows + them to the gates + + So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds; + 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, + Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like. + + [MARCIUS enters the gates] + + FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I. + SECOND SOLDIER. Not I. [MARCIUS is shut in] + FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in. + ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues] + + Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS + + LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius? + ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless. + FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels, + With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, + Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone, + To answer all the city. + LARTIUS. O noble fellow! + Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, + And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius; + A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, + Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier + Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible + Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and + The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds + Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world + Were feverous and did tremble. + + Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy + + FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir. + LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius! + Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. + [They fight, and all enter the city] + + + + +SCENE V. +Within Corioli. A street + +Enter certain Romans, with spoils + + FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome. + SECOND ROMAN. And I this. + THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver. + [Alarum continues still afar off] + + Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter + + MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours + At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons, + Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would + Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, + Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them! + Exeunt pillagers + And hark, what noise the general makes! To him! + There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, + Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take + Convenient numbers to make good the city; + Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste + To help Cominius. + LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; + Thy exercise hath been too violent + For a second course of fight. + MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not; + My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well; + The blood I drop is rather physical + Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus + I will appear, and fight. + LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, + Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms + Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, + Prosperity be thy page! + MARCIUS. Thy friend no less + Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. + LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS + Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place; + Call thither all the officers o' th' town, + Where they shall know our mind. Away! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +Near the camp of COMINIUS + +Enter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers + + COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off + Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands + Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs, + We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, + By interims and conveying gusts we have heard + The charges of our friends. The Roman gods, + Lead their successes as we wish our own, + That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring, + May give you thankful sacrifice! + + Enter A MESSENGER + + Thy news? + MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued + And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle; + I saw our party to their trenches driven, + And then I came away. + COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth, + Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? + MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord. + COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums. + How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, + And bring thy news so late? + MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces + Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel + Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, + Half an hour since brought my report. + + Enter MARCIUS + + COMINIUS. Who's yonder + That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods! + He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have + Before-time seen him thus. + MARCIUS. Come I too late? + COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor + More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue + From every meaner man. + MARCIUS. Come I too late? + COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, + But mantled in your own. + MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye + In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart + As merry as when our nuptial day was done, + And tapers burn'd to bedward. + COMINIUS. Flower of warriors, + How is't with Titus Lartius? + MARCIUS. As with a man busied about decrees: + Condemning some to death and some to exile; + Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning th' other; + Holding Corioli in the name of Rome + Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, + To let him slip at will. + COMINIUS. Where is that slave + Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? + Where is he? Call him hither. + MARCIUS. Let him alone; + He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, + The common file- a plague! tribunes for them! + The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge + From rascals worse than they. + COMINIUS. But how prevail'd you? + MARCIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. + Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field? + If not, why cease you till you are so? + COMINIUS. Marcius, + We have at disadvantage fought, and did + Retire to win our purpose. + MARCIUS. How lies their battle? Know you on which side + They have plac'd their men of trust? + COMINIUS. As I guess, Marcius, + Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates, + Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, + Their very heart of hope. + MARCIUS. I do beseech you, + By all the battles wherein we have fought, + By th' blood we have shed together, by th' vows + We have made to endure friends, that you directly + Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates; + And that you not delay the present, but, + Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts, + We prove this very hour. + COMINIUS. Though I could wish + You were conducted to a gentle bath + And balms applied to you, yet dare I never + Deny your asking: take your choice of those + That best can aid your action. + MARCIUS. Those are they + That most are willing. If any such be here- + As it were sin to doubt- that love this painting + Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear + Lesser his person than an ill report; + If any think brave death outweighs bad life + And that his country's dearer than himself; + Let him alone, or so many so minded, + Wave thus to express his disposition, + And follow Marcius. [They all shout and wave their + swords, take him up in their arms and cast up their caps] + O, me alone! Make you a sword of me? + If these shows be not outward, which of you + But is four Volsces? None of you but is + Able to bear against the great Aufidius + A shield as hard as his. A certain number, + Though thanks to all, must I select from all; the rest + Shall bear the business in some other fight, + As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; + And four shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclin'd. + COMINIUS. March on, my fellows; + Make good this ostentation, and you shall + Divide in all with us. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +The gates of Corioli + +TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet +toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a LIEUTENANT, other soldiers, +and a scout + + LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties + As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch + Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve + For a short holding. If we lose the field + We cannot keep the town. + LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir. + LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's. + Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VIII. +A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps + +Alarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors + + MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee + Worse than a promise-breaker. + AUFIDIUS. We hate alike: + Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor + More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. + MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave, + And the gods doom him after! + AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius, + Halloa me like a hare. + MARCIUS. Within these three hours, Tullus, + Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, + And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my blood + Wherein thou seest me mask'd. For thy revenge + Wrench up thy power to th' highest. + AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector + That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, + Thou shouldst not scape me here. + + Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid + of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in + breathless + + Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me + In your condemned seconds. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IX. +The Roman camp + +Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door, +COMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf + + COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, + Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it + Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; + Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, + I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted + And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes, + That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours, + Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods + Our Rome hath such a soldier.' + Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, + Having fully din'd before. + + Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit + + LARTIUS. O General, + Here is the steed, we the caparison. + Hadst thou beheld- + MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother, + Who has a charter to extol her blood, + When she does praise me grieves me. I have done + As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd + As you have been- that's for my country. + He that has but effected his good will + Hath overta'en mine act. + COMINIUS. You shall not be + The grave of your deserving; Rome must know + The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment + Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, + To hide your doings and to silence that + Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, + Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you, + In sign of what you are, not to reward + What you have done, before our army hear me. + MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart + To hear themselves rememb'red. + COMINIUS. Should they not, + Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude + And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses- + Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all + The treasure in this field achiev'd and city, + We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth + Before the common distribution at + Your only choice. + MARCIUS. I thank you, General, + But cannot make my heart consent to take + A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it, + And stand upon my common part with those + That have beheld the doing. + + A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!' + cast up their caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare + + May these same instruments which you profane + Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall + I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be + Made all of false-fac'd soothing. When steel grows + Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made + An overture for th' wars. No more, I say. + For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, + Or foil'd some debile wretch, which without note + Here's many else have done, you shout me forth + In acclamations hyperbolical, + As if I lov'd my little should be dieted + In praises sauc'd with lies. + COMINIUS. Too modest are you; + More cruel to your good report than grateful + To us that give you truly. By your patience, + If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you- + Like one that means his proper harm- in manacles, + Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known, + As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius + Wears this war's garland; in token of the which, + My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, + With all his trim belonging; and from this time, + For what he did before Corioli, can him + With all th' applause-and clamour of the host, + Caius Marcius Coriolanus. + Bear th' addition nobly ever! + [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums] + ALL. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! + CORIOLANUS. I will go wash; + And when my face is fair you shall perceive + Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you; + I mean to stride your steed, and at all times + To undercrest your good addition + To th' fairness of my power. + COMINIUS. So, to our tent; + Where, ere we do repose us, we will write + To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, + Must to Corioli back. Send us to Rome + The best, with whom we may articulate + For their own good and ours. + LARTIUS. I shall, my lord. + CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now + Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg + Of my Lord General. + COMINIUS. Take't- 'tis yours; what is't? + CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioli + At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly. + He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; + But then Aufidius was within my view, + And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you + To give my poor host freedom. + COMINIUS. O, well begg'd! + Were he the butcher of my son, he should + Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. + LARTIUS. Marcius, his name? + CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot! + I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd. + Have we no wine here? + COMINIUS. Go we to our tent. + The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time + It should be look'd to. Come. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE X. +The camp of the Volsces + +A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three soldiers + + AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en. + FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. + AUFIDIUS. Condition! + I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, + Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition? + What good condition can a treaty find + I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, + I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me; + And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter + As often as we eat. By th' elements, + If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, + He's mine or I am his. Mine emulation + Hath not that honour in't it had; for where + I thought to crush him in an equal force, + True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way, + Or wrath or craft may get him. + FIRST SOLDIER. He's the devil. + AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd + With only suff'ring stain by him; for him + Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary, + Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, + The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, + Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up + Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst + My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it + At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, + Against the hospitable canon, would I + Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city; + Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must + Be hostages for Rome. + FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go? + AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray you- + 'Tis south the city mills- bring me word thither + How the world goes, that to the pace of it + I may spur on my journey. + FIRST SOLDIER. I shall, sir. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS, with the two Tribunes of the people, SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight. + BRUTUS. Good or bad? + MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love + not Marcius. + SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. + MENENIUS. Pray you, who does the wolf love? + SICINIUS. The lamb. + MENENIUS. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the + noble Marcius. + BRUTUS. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. + MENENIUS. He's a bear indeed, that lives fike a lamb. You two are + old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, sir. + MENENIUS. In what enormity is Marcius poor in that you two have not + in abundance? + BRUTUS. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all. + SICINIUS. Especially in pride. + BRUTUS. And topping all others in boasting. + MENENIUS. This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured + here in the city- I mean of us o' th' right-hand file? Do you? + BOTH TRIBUNES. Why, how are we censur'd? + MENENIUS. Because you talk of pride now- will you not be angry? + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, well, sir, well. + MENENIUS. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of + occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. Give your + dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures- at the + least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame + Marcius for being proud? + BRUTUS. We do it not alone, sir. + MENENIUS. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are + many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your + abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of + pride. O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your + necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O + that you could! + BOTH TRIBUNES. What then, sir? + MENENIUS. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, + proud, violent, testy magistrates-alias fools- as any in Rome. + SICINIUS. Menenius, you are known well enough too. + MENENIUS. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves + a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to + be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint, hasty + and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more + with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the + morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. + Meeting two such wealsmen as you are- I cannot call you + Lycurguses- if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I + make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your worships have + deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with + the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to + bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie + deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the + map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? + What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this + character, if I be known well enough too? + BRUTUS. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. + MENENIUS. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are + ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good + wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and + a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of threepence + to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter + between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the + colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag + against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss + the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All + the peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties + knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. + BRUTUS. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber + for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. + MENENIUS. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall + encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak + best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your + beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to + stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entomb'd in an ass's + pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a + cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion; + though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary + hangmen. God-den to your worships. More of your conversation + would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly + plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you. + [BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside] + + Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA + + How now, my as fair as noble ladies- and the moon, were she + earthly, no nobler- whither do you follow your eyes so fast? + VOLUMNIA. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the + love of Juno, let's go. + MENENIUS. Ha! Marcius coming home? + VOLUMNIA. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous + approbation. + MENENIUS. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! + Marcius coming home! + VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA. Nay, 'tis true. + VOLUMNIA. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another, + his wife another; and I think there's one at home for you. + MENENIUS. I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me? + VIRGILIA. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. + MENENIUS. A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years' + health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician. The + most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to + this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he + not wounded? He was wont to come home wounded. + VIRGILIA. O, no, no, no. + VOLUMNIA. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. + MENENIUS. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in + his pocket? The wounds become him. + VOLUMNIA. On's brows, Menenius, he comes the third time home with + the oaken garland. + MENENIUS. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly? + VOLUMNIA. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius + got off. + MENENIUS. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; an he + had stay'd by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the + chests in Corioli and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate + possess'd of this? + VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has + letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name + of the war; he hath in this action outdone his former deeds + doubly. + VALERIA. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. + MENENIUS. Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true + purchasing. + VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true! + VOLUMNIA. True! pow, waw. + MENENIUS. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? + [To the TRIBUNES] God save your good worships! Marcius is coming + home; he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? + VOLUMNIA. I' th' shoulder and i' th' left arm; there will be large + cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place. + He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' th' body. + MENENIUS. One i' th' neck and two i' th' thigh- there's nine that I + know. + VOLUMNIA. He had before this last expedition twenty-five wounds + upon him. + MENENIUS. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an enemy's grave. + [A shout and flourish] Hark! the trumpets. + VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Marcius. Before him he carries + noise, and behind him he leaves tears; + Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie, + Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die. + + A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the + GENERAL, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, + CORIOLANUS, crown'd with an oaken garland; with + CAPTAINS and soldiers and a HERALD + + HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight + Within Corioli gates, where he hath won, + With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these + In honour follows Coriolanus. + Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish] + ALL. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! + CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart. + Pray now, no more. + COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother! + CORIOLANUS. O, + You have, I know, petition'd all the gods + For my prosperity! [Kneels] + VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up; + My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and + By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd- + What is it? Coriolanus must I can thee? + But, O, thy wife! + CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail! + Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, + That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, + Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, + And mothers that lack sons. + MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee! + CORIOLANUS. And live you yet? [To VALERIA] O my sweet lady, + pardon. + VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn. + O, welcome home! And welcome, General. + And y'are welcome all. + MENENIUS. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep + And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome! + A curse begin at very root on's heart + That is not glad to see thee! You are three + That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men, + We have some old crab trees here at home that will not + Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors. + We call a nettle but a nettle, and + The faults of fools but folly. + COMINIUS. Ever right. + CORIOLANUS. Menenius ever, ever. + HERALD. Give way there, and go on. + CORIOLANUS. [To his wife and mother] Your hand, and yours. + Ere in our own house I do shade my head, + The good patricians must be visited; + From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, + But with them change of honours. + VOLUMNIA. I have lived + To see inherited my very wishes, + And the buildings of my fancy; only + There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but + Our Rome will cast upon thee. + CORIOLANUS. Know, good mother, + I had rather be their servant in my way + Than sway with them in theirs. + COMINIUS. On, to the Capitol. + [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before] + + BRUTUS and SICINIUS come forward + + BRUTUS. All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights + Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse + Into a rapture lets her baby cry + While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins + Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, + Clamb'ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows, + Are smother'd up, leads fill'd and ridges hors'd + With variable complexions, all agreeing + In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens + Do press among the popular throngs and puff + To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames + Commit the war of white and damask in + Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil + Of Phoebus' burning kisses. Such a pother, + As if that whatsoever god who leads him + Were slily crept into his human powers, + And gave him graceful posture. + SICINIUS. On the sudden + I warrant him consul. + BRUTUS. Then our office may + During his power go sleep. + SICINIUS. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours + From where he should begin and end, but will + Lose those he hath won. + BRUTUS. In that there's comfort. + SICINIUS. Doubt not + The commoners, for whom we stand, but they + Upon their ancient malice will forget + With the least cause these his new honours; which + That he will give them make I as little question + As he is proud to do't. + BRUTUS. I heard him swear, + Were he to stand for consul, never would he + Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put + The napless vesture of humility; + Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds + To th' people, beg their stinking breaths. + SICINIUS. 'Tis right. + BRUTUS. It was his word. O, he would miss it rather + Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him + And the desire of the nobles. + SICINIUS. I wish no better + Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it + In execution. + BRUTUS. 'Tis most like he will. + SICINIUS. It shall be to him then as our good wills: + A sure destruction. + BRUTUS. So it must fall out + To him or our authorities. For an end, + We must suggest the people in what hatred + He still hath held them; that to's power he would + Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and + Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them + In human action and capacity + Of no more soul nor fitness for the world + Than camels in their war, who have their provand + Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows + For sinking under them. + SICINIUS. This, as you say, suggested + At some time when his soaring insolence + Shall touch the people- which time shall not want, + If he be put upon't, and that's as easy + As to set dogs on sheep- will be his fire + To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze + Shall darken him for ever. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + BRUTUS. What's the matter? + MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought + That Marcius shall be consul. + I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and + The blind to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves, + Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, + Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended + As to Jove's statue, and the commons made + A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts. + I never saw the like. + BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol, + And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time, + But hearts for the event. + SICINIUS. Have with you. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. The Capitol + +Enter two OFFICERS, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol + + FIRST OFFICER. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for + consulships? + SECOND OFFICER. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one + Coriolanus will carry it. + FIRST OFFICER. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and + loves not the common people. + SECOND OFFICER. Faith, there have been many great men that have + flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many + that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so that, if they + love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground. + Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or + hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their + disposition, and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly + see't. + FIRST OFFICER. If he did not care whether he had their love or no, + he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm; + but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can + render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover + him their opposite. Now to seem to affect the malice and + displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes- to + flatter them for their love. + SECOND OFFICER. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his + ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been + supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further + deed to have them at all, into their estimation and report; but + he hath so planted his honours in their eyes and his actions in + their hearts that for their tongues to be silent and not confess + so much were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise + were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof + and rebuke from every car that heard it. + FIRST OFFICER. No more of him; he's a worthy man. Make way, they + are coming. + + A sennet. Enter the PATRICIANS and the TRIBUNES + OF THE PEOPLE, LICTORS before them; CORIOLANUS, + MENENIUS, COMINIUS the Consul. SICINIUS and + BRUTUS take their places by themselves. + CORIOLANUS stands + + MENENIUS. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and + To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, + As the main point of this our after-meeting, + To gratify his noble service that + Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you, + Most reverend and grave elders, to desire + The present consul and last general + In our well-found successes to report + A little of that worthy work perform'd + By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom + We met here both to thank and to remember + With honours like himself. [CORIOLANUS sits] + FIRST SENATOR. Speak, good Cominius. + Leave nothing out for length, and make us think + Rather our state's defective for requital + Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' people, + We do request your kindest ears; and, after, + Your loving motion toward the common body, + To yield what passes here. + SICINIUS. We are convented + Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts + Inclinable to honour and advance + The theme of our assembly. + BRUTUS. Which the rather + We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember + A kinder value of the people than + He hath hereto priz'd them at. + MENENIUS. That's off, that's off; + I would you rather had been silent. Please you + To hear Cominius speak? + BRUTUS. Most willingly. + But yet my caution was more pertinent + Than the rebuke you give it. + MENENIUS. He loves your people; + But tie him not to be their bedfellow. + Worthy Cominius, speak. + [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away] + Nay, keep your place. + FIRST SENATOR. Sit, Coriolanus, never shame to hear + What you have nobly done. + CORIOLANUS. Your Honours' pardon. + I had rather have my wounds to heal again + Than hear say how I got them. + BRUTUS. Sir, I hope + My words disbench'd you not. + CORIOLANUS. No, sir; yet oft, + When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. + You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But your people, + I love them as they weigh- + MENENIUS. Pray now, sit down. + CORIOLANUS. I had rather have one scratch my head i' th' sun + When the alarum were struck than idly sit + To hear my nothings monster'd. Exit + MENENIUS. Masters of the people, + Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter- + That's thousand to one good one- when you now see + He had rather venture all his limbs for honour + Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius. + COMINIUS. I shall lack voice; the deeds of Coriolanus + Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held + That valour is the chiefest virtue and + Most dignifies the haver. If it be, + The man I speak of cannot in the world + Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, + When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought + Beyond the mark of others; our then Dictator, + Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight + When with his Amazonian chin he drove + The bristled lips before him; he bestrid + An o'erpress'd Roman and i' th' consul's view + Slew three opposers; Tarquin's self he met, + And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats, + When he might act the woman in the scene, + He prov'd best man i' th' field, and for his meed + Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age + Man-ent'red thus, he waxed like a sea, + And in the brunt of seventeen battles since + He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, + Before and in Corioli, let me say + I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers, + And by his rare example made the coward + Turn terror into sport; as weeds before + A vessel under sail, so men obey'd + And fell below his stem. His sword, death's stamp, + Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot + He was a thing of blood, whose every motion + Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he ent'red + The mortal gate of th' city, which he painted + With shunless destiny; aidless came off, + And with a sudden re-enforcement struck + Corioli like a planet. Now all's his. + When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce + His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit + Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate, + And to the battle came he; where he did + Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if + 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd + Both field and city ours he never stood + To ease his breast with panting. + MENENIUS. Worthy man! + FIRST SENATOR. He cannot but with measure fit the honours + Which we devise him. + COMINIUS. Our spoils he kick'd at, + And look'd upon things precious as they were + The common muck of the world. He covets less + Than misery itself would give, rewards + His deeds with doing them, and is content + To spend the time to end it. + MENENIUS. He's right noble; + Let him be call'd for. + FIRST SENATOR. Call Coriolanus. + OFFICER. He doth appear. + + Re-enter CORIOLANUS + + MENENIUS. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd + To make thee consul. + CORIOLANUS. I do owe them still + My life and services. + MENENIUS. It then remains + That you do speak to the people. + CORIOLANUS. I do beseech you + Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot + Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them + For my wounds' sake to give their suffrage. Please you + That I may pass this doing. + SICINIUS. Sir, the people + Must have their voices; neither will they bate + One jot of ceremony. + MENENIUS. Put them not to't. + Pray you go fit you to the custom, and + Take to you, as your predecessors have, + Your honour with your form. + CORIOLANUS. It is a part + That I shall blush in acting, and might well + Be taken from the people. + BRUTUS. Mark you that? + CORIOLANUS. To brag unto them 'Thus I did, and thus!' + Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide, + As if I had receiv'd them for the hire + Of their breath only! + MENENIUS. Do not stand upon't. + We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People, + Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul + Wish we all joy and honour. + SENATORS. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! + [Flourish. Cornets. Then exeunt all + but SICINIUS and BRUTUS] + BRUTUS. You see how he intends to use the people. + SICINIUS. May they perceive's intent! He will require them + As if he did contemn what he requested + Should be in them to give. + BRUTUS. Come, we'll inform them + Of our proceedings here. On th' market-place + I know they do attend us. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Rome. The Forum + +Enter seven or eight citizens + + FIRST CITIZEN. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to + deny him. + SECOND CITIZEN. We may, sir, if we will. + THIRD CITIZEN. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a + power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds + and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those + wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we + must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is + monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a + monster of the multitude; of the which we being members should + bring ourselves to be monstrous members. + FIRST CITIZEN. And to make us no better thought of, a little help + will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck + not to call us the many-headed multitude. + THIRD CITIZEN. We have been call'd so of many; not that our heads + are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our + wits are so diversely colour'd; and truly I think if all our wits + were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, + south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to + all the points o' th' compass. + SECOND CITIZEN. Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would + fly? + THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's + will- 'tis strongly wedg'd up in a block-head; but if it were at + liberty 'twould sure southward. + SECOND CITIZEN. Why that way? + THIRD CITIZEN. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts + melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for + conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife. + SECOND CITIZEN. YOU are never without your tricks; you may, you + may. + THIRD CITIZEN. Are you all resolv'd to give your voices? But that's + no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would + incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, in a gown of humility, + with MENENIUS + + Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour. + We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he + stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his + requests by particulars, wherein every one of us has a single + honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues; + therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him. + ALL. Content, content. Exeunt citizens + MENENIUS. O sir, you are not right; have you not known + The worthiest men have done't? + CORIOLANUS. What must I say? + 'I pray, sir'- Plague upon't! I cannot bring + My tongue to such a pace. 'Look, sir, my wounds + I got them in my country's service, when + Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran + From th' noise of our own drums.' + MENENIUS. O me, the gods! + You must not speak of that. You must desire them + To think upon you. + CORIOLANUS. Think upon me? Hang 'em! + I would they would forget me, like the virtues + Which our divines lose by 'em. + MENENIUS. You'll mar all. + I'll leave you. Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you, + In wholesome manner. Exit + + Re-enter three of the citizens + + CORIOLANUS. Bid them wash their faces + And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace. + You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. + THIRD CITIZEN. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't. + CORIOLANUS. Mine own desert. + SECOND CITIZEN. Your own desert? + CORIOLANUS. Ay, not mine own desire. + THIRD CITIZEN. How, not your own desire? + CORIOLANUS. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor + with begging. + THIRD CITIZEN. YOU MUST think, if we give you anything, we hope to + gain by you. + CORIOLANUS. Well then, I pray, your price o' th' consulship? + FIRST CITIZEN. The price is to ask it kindly. + CORIOLANUS. Kindly, sir, I pray let me ha't. I have wounds to show + you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what + say you? + SECOND CITIZEN. You shall ha' it, worthy sir. + CORIOLANUS. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begg'd. + I have your alms. Adieu. + THIRD CITIZEN. But this is something odd. + SECOND CITIZEN. An 'twere to give again- but 'tis no matter. + Exeunt the three citizens + + Re-enter two other citizens + + CORIOLANUS. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your + voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you + have not deserved nobly. + CORIOLANUS. Your enigma? + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have + been a rod to her friends. You have not indeed loved the common + people. + CORIOLANUS. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have + not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn + brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a + condition they account gentle; and since the wisdom of their + choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise + the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly. That + is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man + and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you I + may be consul. + FIFTH CITIZEN. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give + you our voices heartily. + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have received many wounds for your country. + CORIOLANUS. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I + will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no farther. + BOTH CITIZENS. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! + Exeunt citizens + CORIOLANUS. Most sweet voices! + Better it is to die, better to starve, + Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. + Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here + To beg of Hob and Dick that do appear + Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't. + What custom wills, in all things should we do't, + The dust on antique time would lie unswept, + And mountainous error be too highly heap'd + For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so, + Let the high office and the honour go + To one that would do thus. I am half through: + The one part suffered, the other will I do. + + Re-enter three citizens more + + Here come moe voices. + Your voices. For your voices I have fought; + Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear + Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six + I have seen and heard of; for your voices have + Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices? + Indeed, I would be consul. + SIXTH CITIZEN. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest + man's voice. + SEVENTH CITIZEN. Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him + joy, and make him good friend to the people! + ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! + Exeunt citizens + CORIOLANUS. Worthy voices! + + Re-enter MENENIUS with BRUTUS and SICINIUS + + MENENIUS. You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes + Endue you with the people's voice. Remains + That, in th' official marks invested, you + Anon do meet the Senate. + CORIOLANUS. Is this done? + SICINIUS. The custom of request you have discharg'd. + The people do admit you, and are summon'd + To meet anon, upon your approbation. + CORIOLANUS. Where? At the Senate House? + SICINIUS. There, Coriolanus. + CORIOLANUS. May I change these garments? + SICINIUS. You may, sir. + CORIOLANUS. That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again, + Repair to th' Senate House. + MENENIUS. I'll keep you company. Will you along? + BRUTUS. We stay here for the people. + SICINIUS. Fare you well. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS + He has it now; and by his looks methinks + 'Tis warm at's heart. + BRUTUS. With a proud heart he wore + His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people? + + Re-enter citizens + + SICINIUS. How now, my masters! Have you chose this man? + FIRST CITIZEN. He has our voices, sir. + BRUTUS. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. + SECOND CITIZEN. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice, + He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. + THIRD CITIZEN. Certainly; + He flouted us downright. + FIRST CITIZEN. No, 'tis his kind of speech- he did not mock us. + SECOND CITIZEN. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says + He us'd us scornfully. He should have show'd us + His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's country. + SICINIUS. Why, so he did, I am sure. + ALL. No, no; no man saw 'em. + THIRD CITIZEN. He said he had wounds which he could show in + private, + And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, + 'I would be consul,' says he; 'aged custom + But by your voices will not so permit me; + Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, + Here was 'I thank you for your voices. Thank you, + Your most sweet voices. Now you have left your voices, + I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? + SICINIUS. Why either were you ignorant to see't, + Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness + To yield your voices? + BRUTUS. Could you not have told him- + As you were lesson'd- when he had no power + But was a petty servant to the state, + He was your enemy; ever spake against + Your liberties and the charters that you bear + I' th' body of the weal; and now, arriving + A place of potency and sway o' th' state, + If he should still malignantly remain + Fast foe to th' plebeii, your voices might + Be curses to yourselves? You should have said + That as his worthy deeds did claim no less + Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature + Would think upon you for your voices, and + Translate his malice towards you into love, + Standing your friendly lord. + SICINIUS. Thus to have said, + As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit + And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd + Either his gracious promise, which you might, + As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; + Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, + Which easily endures not article + Tying him to aught. So, putting him to rage, + You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler + And pass'd him unelected. + BRUTUS. Did you perceive + He did solicit you in free contempt + When he did need your loves; and do you think + That his contempt shall not be bruising to you + When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies + No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry + Against the rectorship of judgment? + SICINIUS. Have you + Ere now denied the asker, and now again, + Of him that did not ask but mock, bestow + Your su'd-for tongues? + THIRD CITIZEN. He's not confirm'd: we may deny him yet. + SECOND CITIZENS. And will deny him; + I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. + FIRST CITIZEN. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece + 'em. + BRUTUS. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends + They have chose a consul that will from them take + Their liberties, make them of no more voice + Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking + As therefore kept to do so. + SICINIUS. Let them assemble; + And, on a safer judgment, all revoke + Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride + And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not + With what contempt he wore the humble weed; + How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves, + Thinking upon his services, took from you + Th' apprehension of his present portance, + Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion + After the inveterate hate he bears you. + BRUTUS. Lay + A fault on us, your tribunes, that we labour'd, + No impediment between, but that you must + Cast your election on him. + SICINIUS. Say you chose him + More after our commandment than as guided + By your own true affections; and that your minds, + Pre-occupied with what you rather must do + Than what you should, made you against the grain + To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us. + BRUTUS. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you, + How youngly he began to serve his country, + How long continued; and what stock he springs of- + The noble house o' th' Marcians; from whence came + That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, + Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; + Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, + That our best water brought by conduits hither; + And Censorinus, nobly named so, + Twice being by the people chosen censor, + Was his great ancestor. + SICINIUS. One thus descended, + That hath beside well in his person wrought + To be set high in place, we did commend + To your remembrances; but you have found, + Scaling his present bearing with his past, + That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke + Your sudden approbation. + BRUTUS. Say you ne'er had done't- + Harp on that still- but by our putting on; + And presently, when you have drawn your number, + Repair to th' Capitol. + CITIZENS. will will so; almost all + Repent in their election. Exeunt plebeians + BRUTUS. Let them go on; + This mutiny were better put in hazard + Than stay, past doubt, for greater. + If, as his nature is, he fall in rage + With their refusal, both observe and answer + The vantage of his anger. + SICINIUS. To th' Capitol, come. + We will be there before the stream o' th' people; + And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, + Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Rome. A street + +Cornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, all the GENTRY, COMINIUS, +TITUS LARTIUS, and other SENATORS + + CORIOLANUS. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new head? + LARTIUS. He had, my lord; and that it was which caus'd + Our swifter composition. + CORIOLANUS. So then the Volsces stand but as at first, + Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road + Upon's again. + COMINIUS. They are worn, Lord Consul, so + That we shall hardly in our ages see + Their banners wave again. + CORIOLANUS. Saw you Aufidius? + LARTIUS. On safeguard he came to me, and did curse + Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely + Yielded the town. He is retir'd to Antium. + CORIOLANUS. Spoke he of me? + LARTIUS. He did, my lord. + CORIOLANUS. How? What? + LARTIUS. How often he had met you, sword to sword; + That of all things upon the earth he hated + Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes + To hopeless restitution, so he might + Be call'd your vanquisher. + CORIOLANUS. At Antium lives he? + LARTIUS. At Antium. + CORIOLANUS. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, + To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. + + Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, + The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them, + For they do prank them in authority, + Against all noble sufferance. + SICINIUS. Pass no further. + CORIOLANUS. Ha! What is that? + BRUTUS. It will be dangerous to go on- no further. + CORIOLANUS. What makes this change? + MENENIUS. The matter? + COMINIUS. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? + BRUTUS. Cominius, no. + CORIOLANUS. Have I had children's voices? + FIRST SENATOR. Tribunes, give way: he shall to th' market-place. + BRUTUS. The people are incens'd against him. + SICINIUS. Stop, + Or all will fall in broil. + CORIOLANUS. Are these your herd? + Must these have voices, that can yield them now + And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? + You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? + Have you not set them on? + MENENIUS. Be calm, be calm. + CORIOLANUS. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, + To curb the will of the nobility; + Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule + Nor ever will be rul'd. + BRUTUS. Call't not a plot. + The people cry you mock'd them; and of late, + When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd; + Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them + Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. + CORIOLANUS. Why, this was known before. + BRUTUS. Not to them all. + CORIOLANUS. Have you inform'd them sithence? + BRUTUS. How? I inform them! + COMINIUS. You are like to do such business. + BRUTUS. Not unlike + Each way to better yours. + CORIOLANUS. Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, + Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me + Your fellow tribune. + SICINIUS. You show too much of that + For which the people stir; if you will pass + To where you are bound, you must enquire your way, + Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, + Or never be so noble as a consul, + Nor yoke with him for tribune. + MENENIUS. Let's be calm. + COMINIUS. The people are abus'd; set on. This palt'ring + Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus + Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely + I' th' plain way of his merit. + CORIOLANUS. Tell me of corn! + This was my speech, and I will speak't again- + MENENIUS. Not now, not now. + FIRST SENATOR. Not in this heat, sir, now. + CORIOLANUS. Now, as I live, I will. + My nobler friends, I crave their pardons. + For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let them + Regard me as I do not flatter, and + Therein behold themselves. I say again, + In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate + The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, + Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, + By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, + Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that + Which they have given to beggars. + MENENIUS. Well, no more. + FIRST SENATOR. No more words, we beseech you. + CORIOLANUS. How? no more! + As for my country I have shed my blood, + Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs + Coin words till their decay against those measles + Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought + The very way to catch them. + BRUTUS. You speak o' th' people + As if you were a god, to punish; not + A man of their infirmity. + SICINIUS. 'Twere well + We let the people know't. + MENENIUS. What, what? his choler? + CORIOLANUS. Choler! + Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, + By Jove, 'twould be my mind! + SICINIUS. It is a mind + That shall remain a poison where it is, + Not poison any further. + CORIOLANUS. Shall remain! + Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you + His absolute 'shall'? + COMINIUS. 'Twas from the canon. + CORIOLANUS. 'Shall'! + O good but most unwise patricians! Why, + You grave but reckless senators, have you thus + Given Hydra here to choose an officer + That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but + The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit + To say he'll turn your current in a ditch, + And make your channel his? If he have power, + Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake + Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd, + Be not as common fools; if you are not, + Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, + If they be senators; and they are no less, + When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste + Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate; + And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,' + His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench + Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself, + It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches + To know, when two authorities are up, + Neither supreme, how soon confusion + May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take + The one by th' other. + COMINIUS. Well, on to th' market-place. + CORIOLANUS. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth + The corn o' th' storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd + Sometime in Greece- + MENENIUS. Well, well, no more of that. + CORIOLANUS. Though there the people had more absolute pow'r- + I say they nourish'd disobedience, fed + The ruin of the state. + BRUTUS. Why shall the people give + One that speaks thus their voice? + CORIOLANUS. I'll give my reasons, + More worthier than their voices. They know the corn + Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd + They ne'er did service for't; being press'd to th' war + Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, + They would not thread the gates. This kind of service + Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' th' war, + Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd + Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation + Which they have often made against the Senate, + All cause unborn, could never be the native + Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? + How shall this bosom multiplied digest + The Senate's courtesy? Let deeds express + What's like to be their words: 'We did request it; + We are the greater poll, and in true fear + They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase + The nature of our seats, and make the rabble + Call our cares fears; which will in time + Break ope the locks o' th' Senate and bring in + The crows to peck the eagles. + MENENIUS. Come, enough. + BRUTUS. Enough, with over measure. + CORIOLANUS. No, take more. + What may be sworn by, both divine and human, + Seal what I end withal! This double worship, + Where one part does disdain with cause, the other + Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom, + Cannot conclude but by the yea and no + Of general ignorance- it must omit + Real necessities, and give way the while + To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd, it follows + Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you- + You that will be less fearful than discreet; + That love the fundamental part of state + More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer + A noble life before a long, and wish + To jump a body with a dangerous physic + That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out + The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick + The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour + Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state + Of that integrity which should become't, + Not having the power to do the good it would, + For th' ill which doth control't. + BRUTUS. Has said enough. + SICINIUS. Has spoken like a traitor and shall answer + As traitors do. + CORIOLANUS. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee! + What should the people do with these bald tribunes, + On whom depending, their obedience fails + To the greater bench? In a rebellion, + When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, + Then were they chosen; in a better hour + Let what is meet be said it must be meet, + And throw their power i' th' dust. + BRUTUS. Manifest treason! + SICINIUS. This a consul? No. + BRUTUS. The aediles, ho! + + Enter an AEDILE + + Let him be apprehended. + SICINIUS. Go call the people, [Exit AEDILE] in whose name myself + Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, + A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee, + And follow to thine answer. + CORIOLANUS. Hence, old goat! + PATRICIANS. We'll surety him. + COMINIUS. Ag'd sir, hands off. + CORIOLANUS. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones + Out of thy garments. + SICINIUS. Help, ye citizens! + + Enter a rabble of plebeians, with the AEDILES + + MENENIUS. On both sides more respect. + SICINIUS. Here's he that would take from you all your power. + BRUTUS. Seize him, aediles. + PLEBEIANS. Down with him! down with him! + SECOND SENATOR. Weapons, weapons, weapons! + [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS] + ALL. Tribunes! patricians! citizens! What, ho! Sicinius! + Brutus! Coriolanus! Citizens! + PATRICIANS. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace! + MENENIUS. What is about to be? I am out of breath; + Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You tribunes + To th' people- Coriolanus, patience! + Speak, good Sicinius. + SICINIUS. Hear me, people; peace! + PLEBEIANS. Let's hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak. + SICINIUS. You are at point to lose your liberties. + Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, + Whom late you have nam'd for consul. + MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! + This is the way to kindle, not to quench. + FIRST SENATOR. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. + SICINIUS. What is the city but the people? + PLEBEIANS. True, + The people are the city. + BRUTUS. By the consent of all we were establish'd + The people's magistrates. + PLEBEIANS. You so remain. + MENENIUS. And so are like to do. + COMINIUS. That is the way to lay the city flat, + To bring the roof to the foundation, + And bury all which yet distinctly ranges + In heaps and piles of ruin. + SICINIUS. This deserves death. + BRUTUS. Or let us stand to our authority + Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, + Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power + We were elected theirs: Marcius is worthy + Of present death. + SICINIUS. Therefore lay hold of him; + Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence + Into destruction cast him. + BRUTUS. AEdiles, seize him. + PLEBEIANS. Yield, Marcius, yield. + MENENIUS. Hear me one word; beseech you, Tribunes, + Hear me but a word. + AEDILES. Peace, peace! + MENENIUS. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, + And temp'rately proceed to what you would + Thus violently redress. + BRUTUS. Sir, those cold ways, + That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous + Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him + And bear him to the rock. + [CORIOLANUS draws his sword] + CORIOLANUS. No: I'll die here. + There's some among you have beheld me fighting; + Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. + MENENIUS. Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile. + BRUTUS. Lay hands upon him. + MENENIUS. Help Marcius, help, + You that be noble; help him, young and old. + PLEBEIANS. Down with him, down with him! + [In this mutiny the TRIBUNES, the AEDILES, + and the people are beat in] + MENENIUS. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away. + All will be nought else. + SECOND SENATOR. Get you gone. + CORIOLANUS. Stand fast; + We have as many friends as enemies. + MENENIUS. Shall it be put to that? + FIRST SENATOR. The gods forbid! + I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; + Leave us to cure this cause. + MENENIUS. For 'tis a sore upon us + You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech you. + COMINIUS. Come, sir, along with us. + CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are, + Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not, + Though calved i' th' porch o' th' Capitol. + MENENIUS. Be gone. + Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; + One time will owe another. + CORIOLANUS. On fair ground + I could beat forty of them. + MENENIUS. I could myself + Take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two tribunes. + COMINIUS. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic, + And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands + Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, + Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend + Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear + What they are us'd to bear. + MENENIUS. Pray you be gone. + I'll try whether my old wit be in request + With those that have but little; this must be patch'd + With cloth of any colour. + COMINIUS. Nay, come away. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and COMINIUS, with others + PATRICIANS. This man has marr'd his fortune. + MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world: + He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, + Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth; + What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; + And, being angry, does forget that ever + He heard the name of death. [A noise within] + Here's goodly work! + PATRICIANS. I would they were a-bed. + MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber. + What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair? + + Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, the rabble again + + SICINIUS. Where is this viper + That would depopulate the city and + Be every man himself? + MENENIUS. You worthy Tribunes- + SICINIUS. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock + With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, + And therefore law shall scorn him further trial + Than the severity of the public power, + Which he so sets at nought. + FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know + The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, + And we their hands. + PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on't. + MENENIUS. Sir, sir- + SICINIUS. Peace! + MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt + With modest warrant. + SICINIUS. Sir, how comes't that you + Have holp to make this rescue? + MENENIUS. Hear me speak. + As I do know the consul's worthiness, + So can I name his faults. + SICINIUS. Consul! What consul? + MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus. + BRUTUS. He consul! + PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no. + MENENIUS. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, + I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; + The which shall turn you to no further harm + Than so much loss of time. + SICINIUS. Speak briefly, then, + For we are peremptory to dispatch + This viperous traitor; to eject him hence + Were but one danger, and to keep him here + Our certain death; therefore it is decreed + He dies to-night. + MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid + That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude + Towards her deserved children is enroll'd + In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam + Should now eat up her own! + SICINIUS. He's a disease that must be cut away. + MENENIUS. O, he's a limb that has but a disease- + Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy. + What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? + Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost- + Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath + By many an ounce- he dropt it for his country; + And what is left, to lose it by his country + Were to us all that do't and suffer it + A brand to th' end o' th' world. + SICINIUS. This is clean kam. + BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country, + It honour'd him. + SICINIUS. The service of the foot, + Being once gangren'd, is not then respected + For what before it was. + BRUTUS. We'll hear no more. + Pursue him to his house and pluck him thence, + Lest his infection, being of catching nature, + Spread further. + MENENIUS. One word more, one word + This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find + The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, + Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process, + Lest parties- as he is belov'd- break out, + And sack great Rome with Romans. + BRUTUS. If it were so- + SICINIUS. What do ye talk? + Have we not had a taste of his obedience- + Our aediles smote, ourselves resisted? Come! + MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i' th' wars + Since 'a could draw a sword, and is ill school'd + In bolted language; meal and bran together + He throws without distinction. Give me leave, + I'll go to him and undertake to bring him + Where he shall answer by a lawful form, + In peace, to his utmost peril. + FIRST SENATOR. Noble Tribunes, + It is the humane way; the other course + Will prove too bloody, and the end of it + Unknown to the beginning. + SICINIUS. Noble Menenius, + Be you then as the people's officer. + Masters, lay down your weapons. + BRUTUS. Go not home. + SICINIUS. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there; + Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed + In our first way. + MENENIUS. I'll bring him to you. + [To the SENATORS] Let me desire your company; he must come, + Or what is worst will follow. + FIRST SENATOR. Pray you let's to him. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. The house of CORIOLANUS + +Enter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES + + CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me + Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels; + Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, + That the precipitation might down stretch + Below the beam of sight; yet will I still + Be thus to them. + FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler. + CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother + Does not approve me further, who was wont + To call them woollen vassals, things created + To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads + In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, + When one but of my ordinance stood up + To speak of peace or war. + + Enter VOLUMNIA + + I talk of you: + Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me + False to my nature? Rather say I play + The man I am. + VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir, + I would have had you put your power well on + Before you had worn it out. + CORIOLANUS. Let go. + VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are + With striving less to be so; lesser had been + The thwartings of your dispositions, if + You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd, + Ere they lack'd power to cross you. + CORIOLANUS. Let them hang. + VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too. + + Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS + + MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; + You must return and mend it. + FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy, + Unless, by not so doing, our good city + Cleave in the midst and perish. + VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd; + I have a heart as little apt as yours, + But yet a brain that leads my use of anger + To better vantage. + MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman! + Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that + The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic + For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, + Which I can scarcely bear. + CORIOLANUS. What must I do? + MENENIUS. Return to th' tribunes. + CORIOLANUS. Well, what then, what then? + MENENIUS. Repent what you have spoke. + CORIOLANUS. For them! I cannot do it to the gods; + Must I then do't to them? + VOLUMNIA. You are too absolute; + Though therein you can never be too noble + But when extremities speak. I have heard you say + Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, + I' th' war do grow together; grant that, and tell me + In peace what each of them by th' other lose + That they combine not there. + CORIOLANUS. Tush, tush! + MENENIUS. A good demand. + VOLUMNIA. If it be honour in your wars to seem + The same you are not, which for your best ends + You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse + That it shall hold companionship in peace + With honour as in war; since that to both + It stands in like request? + CORIOLANUS. Why force you this? + VOLUMNIA. Because that now it lies you on to speak + To th' people, not by your own instruction, + Nor by th' matter which your heart prompts you, + But with such words that are but roted in + Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables + Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. + Now, this no more dishonours you at all + Than to take in a town with gentle words, + Which else would put you to your fortune and + The hazard of much blood. + I would dissemble with my nature where + My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd + I should do so in honour. I am in this + Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; + And you will rather show our general louts + How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em + For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard + Of what that want might ruin. + MENENIUS. Noble lady! + Come, go with us, speak fair; you may salve so, + Not what is dangerous present, but the los + Of what is past. + VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, My son, + Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand; + And thus far having stretch'd it- here be with them- + Thy knee bussing the stones- for in such busines + Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant + More learned than the ears- waving thy head, + Which often thus correcting thy-stout heart, + Now humble as the ripest mulberry + That will not hold the handling. Or say to them + Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils, + Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, + Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, + In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame + Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far + As thou hast power and person. + MENENIUS. This but done + Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; + For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free + As words to little purpose. + VOLUMNIA. Prithee now, + Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather + Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf + Than flatter him in a bower. + + Enter COMINIUS + + Here is Cominius. + COMINIUS. I have been i' th' market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit + You make strong party, or defend yourself + By calmness or by absence; all's in anger. + MENENIUS. Only fair speech. + COMINIUS. I think 'twill serve, if he + Can thereto frame his spirit. + VOLUMNIA. He must and will. + Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. + CORIOLANUS. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I + With my base tongue give to my noble heart + A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't; + Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, + This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, + And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place! + You have put me now to such a part which never + I shall discharge to th' life. + COMINIUS. Come, come, we'll prompt you. + VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said + My praises made thee first a soldier, so, + To have my praise for this, perform a part + Thou hast not done before. + CORIOLANUS. Well, I must do't. + Away, my disposition, and possess me + Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd, + Which quier'd with my drum, into a pipe + Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice + That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves + Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up + The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue + Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees, + Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his + That hath receiv'd an alms! I will not do't, + Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, + And by my body's action teach my mind + A most inherent baseness. + VOLUMNIA. At thy choice, then. + To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour + Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let + Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear + Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death + With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. + Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me; + But owe thy pride thyself. + CORIOLANUS. Pray be content. + Mother, I am going to the market-place; + Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, + Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd + Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going. + Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul, + Or never trust to what my tongue can do + I' th' way of flattery further. + VOLUMNIA. Do your will. Exit + COMINIUS. Away! The tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself + To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd + With accusations, as I hear, more strong + Than are upon you yet. + CORIOLANUS. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you let us go. + Let them accuse me by invention; I + Will answer in mine honour. + MENENIUS. Ay, but mildly. + CORIOLANUS. Well, mildly be it then- mildly. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Rome. The Forum + +Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects + Tyrannical power. If he evade us there, + Enforce him with his envy to the people, + And that the spoil got on the Antiates + Was ne'er distributed. + + Enter an AEDILE + + What, will he come? + AEDILE. He's coming. + BRUTUS. How accompanied? + AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators + That always favour'd him. + SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue + Of all the voices that we have procur'd, + Set down by th' poll? + AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready. + SICINIUS. Have you corrected them by tribes? + AEDILE. I have. + SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither; + And when they hear me say 'It shall be so + I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either + For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, + If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!' + Insisting on the old prerogative + And power i' th' truth o' th' cause. + AEDILE. I shall inform them. + BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry, + Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd + Enforce the present execution + Of what we chance to sentence. + AEDILE. Very well. + SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, + When we shall hap to give't them. + BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE + Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd + Ever to conquer, and to have his worth + Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot + Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks + What's in his heart, and that is there which looks + With us to break his neck. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others + + SICINIUS. Well, here he comes. + MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you. + CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece + Will bear the knave by th' volume. Th' honour'd gods + Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice + Supplied with worthy men! plant love among's! + Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, + And not our streets with war! + FIRST SENATOR. Amen, amen! + MENENIUS. A noble wish. + + Re-enter the.AEDILE,with the plebeians + + SICINIUS. Draw near, ye people. + AEDILE. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace, I say! + CORIOLANUS. First, hear me speak. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, say. Peace, ho! + CORIOLANUS. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present? + Must all determine here? + SICINIUS. I do demand, + If you submit you to the people's voices, + Allow their officers, and are content + To suffer lawful censure for such faults + As shall be prov'd upon you. + CORIOLANUS. I am content. + MENENIUS. Lo, citizens, he says he is content. + The warlike service he has done, consider; think + Upon the wounds his body bears, which show + Like graves i' th' holy churchyard. + CORIOLANUS. Scratches with briers, + Scars to move laughter only. + MENENIUS. Consider further, + That when he speaks not like a citizen, + You find him like a soldier; do not take + His rougher accents for malicious sounds, + But, as I say, such as become a soldier + Rather than envy you. + COMINIUS. Well, well! No more. + CORIOLANUS. What is the matter, + That being pass'd for consul with full voice, + I am so dishonour'd that the very hour + You take it off again? + SICINIUS. Answer to us. + CORIOLANUS. Say then; 'tis true, I ought so. + SICINIUS. We charge you that you have contriv'd to take + From Rome all season'd office, and to wind + Yourself into a power tyrannical; + For which you are a traitor to the people. + CORIOLANUS. How- traitor? + MENENIUS. Nay, temperately! Your promise. + CORIOLANUS. The fires i' th' lowest hell fold in the people! + Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! + Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, + In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in + Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say + 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free + As I do pray the gods. + SICINIUS. Mark you this, people? + PLEBEIANS. To th' rock, to th' rock, with him! + SICINIUS. Peace! + We need not put new matter to his charge. + What you have seen him do and heard him speak, + Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, + Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying + Those whose great power must try him- even this, + So criminal and in such capital kind, + Deserves th' extremest death. + BRUTUS. But since he hath + Serv'd well for Rome- + CORIOLANUS. What do you prate of service? + BRUTUS. I talk of that that know it. + CORIOLANUS. You! + MENENIUS. Is this the promise that you made your mother? + COMINIUS. Know, I pray you- + CORIOLANUS. I'll know no further. + Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, + Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger + But with a grain a day, I would not buy + Their mercy at the price of one fair word, + Nor check my courage for what they can give, + To have't with saying 'Good morrow.' + SICINIUS. For that he has- + As much as in him lies- from time to time + Envied against the people, seeking means + To pluck away their power; as now at last + Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence + Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers + That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people, + And in the power of us the tribunes, we, + Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city, + In peril of precipitation + From off the rock Tarpeian, never more + To enter our Rome gates. I' th' people's name, + I say it shall be so. + PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away! + He's banish'd, and it shall be so. + COMINIUS. Hear me, my masters and my common friends- + SICINIUS. He's sentenc'd; no more hearing. + COMINIUS. Let me speak. + I have been consul, and can show for Rome + Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love + My country's good with a respect more tender, + More holy and profound, than mine own life, + My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase + And treasure of my loins. Then if I would + Speak that- + SICINIUS. We know your drift. Speak what? + BRUTUS. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, + As enemy to the people and his country. + It shall be so. + PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so. + CORIOLANUS. YOU common cry of curs, whose breath I hate + As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize + As the dead carcasses of unburied men + That do corrupt my air- I banish you. + And here remain with your uncertainty! + Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts; + Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, + Fan you into despair! Have the power still + To banish your defenders, till at length + Your ignorance- which finds not till it feels, + Making but reservation of yourselves + Still your own foes- deliver you + As most abated captives to some nation + That won you without blows! Despising + For you the city, thus I turn my back; + There is a world elsewhere. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS, + COMINIUS, MENENIUS, with the other PATRICIANS + AEDILE. The people's enemy is gone, is gone! + [They all shout and throw up their caps] + PLEBEIANS. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo-oo! + SICINIUS. Go see him out at gates, and follow him, + As he hath follow'd you, with all despite; + Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard + Attend us through the city. + PLEBEIANS. Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come! + The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Rome. Before a gate of the city + +Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, +with the young NOBILITY of Rome + + CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast + With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, + Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd + To say extremities was the trier of spirits; + That common chances common men could bear; + That when the sea was calm all boats alike + Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, + When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves + A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me + With precepts that would make invincible + The heart that conn'd them. + VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens! + CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman- + VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, + And occupations perish! + CORIOLANUS. What, what, what! + I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, + Resume that spirit when you were wont to say, + If you had been the wife of Hercules, + Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd + Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, + Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother. + I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, + Thy tears are salter than a younger man's + And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General, + I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld + Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women + 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, + As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well + My hazards still have been your solace; and + Believe't not lightly- though I go alone, + Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen + Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son + Will or exceed the common or be caught + With cautelous baits and practice. + VOLUMNIA. My first son, + Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius + With thee awhile; determine on some course + More than a wild exposture to each chance + That starts i' th' way before thee. + VIRGILIA. O the gods! + COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with the + Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us, + And we of thee; so, if the time thrust forth + A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send + O'er the vast world to seek a single man, + And lose advantage, which doth ever cool + I' th' absence of the needer. + CORIOLANUS. Fare ye well; + Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full + Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one + That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate. + Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and + My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, + Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come. + While I remain above the ground you shall + Hear from me still, and never of me aught + But what is like me formerly. + MENENIUS. That's worthily + As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. + If I could shake off but one seven years + From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, + I'd with thee every foot. + CORIOLANUS. Give me thy hand. + Come. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE + + SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. + The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided + In his behalf. + BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power, + Let us seem humbler after it is done + Than when it was a-doing. + SICINIUS. Bid them home. + Say their great enemy is gone, and they + Stand in their ancient strength. + BRUTUS. Dismiss them home. Exit AEDILE + Here comes his mother. + + Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS + + SICINIUS. Let's not meet her. + BRUTUS. Why? + SICINIUS. They say she's mad. + BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way. + VOLUMNIA. O, Y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods + Requite your love! + MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud. + VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hear- + Nay, and you shall hear some. [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone? + VIRGILIA. [To SICINIUS] You shall stay too. I would I had the + power + To say so to my husband. + SICINIUS. Are you mankind? + VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool: + Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship + To banish him that struck more blows for Rome + Than thou hast spoken words? + SICINIUS. O blessed heavens! + VOLUMNIA. Moe noble blows than ever thou wise words; + And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go! + Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son + Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, + His good sword in his hand. + SICINIUS. What then? + VIRGILIA. What then! + He'd make an end of thy posterity. + VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all. + Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! + MENENIUS. Come, come, peace. + SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country + As he began, and not unknit himself + The noble knot he made. + BRUTUS. I would he had. + VOLUMNIA. 'I would he had!' 'Twas you incens'd the rabble- + Cats that can judge as fitly of his worth + As I can of those mysteries which heaven + Will not have earth to know. + BRUTUS. Pray, let's go. + VOLUMNIA. Now, pray, sir, get you gone; + You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this: + As far as doth the Capitol exceed + The meanest house in Rome, so far my son- + This lady's husband here, this, do you see?- + Whom you have banish'd does exceed you an. + BRUTUS. Well, well, we'll leave you. + SICINIUS. Why stay we to be baited + With one that wants her wits? Exeunt TRIBUNES + VOLUMNIA. Take my prayers with you. + I would the gods had nothing else to do + But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'em + But once a day, it would unclog my heart + Of what lies heavy to't. + MENENIUS. You have told them home, + And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? + VOLUMNIA. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, + And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go. + Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, + In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. + Exeunt VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA + MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +A highway between Rome and Antium + +Enter a ROMAN and a VOLSCE, meeting + + ROMAN. I know you well, sir, and you know me; your name, I think, + is Adrian. + VOLSCE. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you. + ROMAN. I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em. + Know you me yet? + VOLSCE. Nicanor? No! + ROMAN. The same, sir. + VOLSCE. YOU had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is + well appear'd by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a + note from the Volscian state, to find you out there. You have + well saved me a day's journey. + ROMAN. There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people + against the senators, patricians, and nobles. + VOLSCE. Hath been! Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so; they + are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in + the heat of their division. + ROMAN. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make + it flame again; for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment + of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take + all power from the people, and to pluck from them their tribunes + for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature + for the violent breaking out. + VOLSCE. Coriolanus banish'd! + ROMAN. Banish'd, sir. + VOLSCE. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. + ROMAN. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said the + fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fall'n out + with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in + these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no + request of his country. + VOLSCE. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to + encounter you; you have ended my business, and I will merrily + accompany you home. + ROMAN. I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things + from Rome, all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you + an army ready, say you? + VOLSCE. A most royal one: the centurions and their charges, + distinctly billeted, already in th' entertainment, and to be on + foot at an hour's warning. + ROMAN. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I + think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily + well met, and most glad of your company. + VOLSCE. You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be + glad of yours. + ROMAN. Well, let us go together. + + + + +SCENE IV. +Antium. Before AUFIDIUS' house + +Enter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguis'd and muffled + + CORIOLANUS. A goodly city is this Antium. City, + 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir + Of these fair edifices fore my wars + Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not. + Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones, + In puny battle slay me. + + Enter A CITIZEN + + Save you, sir. + CITIZEN. And you. + CORIOLANUS. Direct me, if it be your will, + Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium? + CITIZEN. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state + At his house this night. + CORIOLANUS. Which is his house, beseech you? + CITIZEN. This here before you. + CORIOLANUS. Thank you, sir; farewell. Exit CITIZEN + O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, + Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart, + Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise + Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love, + Unseparable, shall within this hour, + On a dissension of a doit, break out + To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes, + Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep + To take the one the other, by some chance, + Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends + And interjoin their issues. So with me: + My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon + This enemy town. I'll enter. If he slay me, + He does fair justice: if he give me way, + I'll do his country service. + + + + +SCENE V. +Antium. AUFIDIUS' house + +Music plays. Enter A SERVINGMAN + + FIRST SERVANT. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our + fellows are asleep. Exit + + Enter another SERVINGMAN + + SECOND SERVANT.Where's Cotus? My master calls for him. + Cotus! Exit + + Enter CORIOLANUS + + CORIOLANUS. A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I + Appear not like a guest. + + Re-enter the first SERVINGMAN + + FIRST SERVANT. What would you have, friend? + Whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray go to the door. + Exit + CORIOLANUS. I have deserv'd no better entertainment + In being Coriolanus. + + Re-enter second SERVINGMAN + + SECOND SERVANT. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his + head that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray get you out. + CORIOLANUS. Away! + SECOND SERVANT. Away? Get you away. + CORIOLANUS. Now th' art troublesome. + SECOND SERVANT. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon. + + Enter a third SERVINGMAN. The first meets him + + THIRD SERVANT. What fellow's this? + FIRST SERVANT. A strange one as ever I look'd on. I cannot get him + out o' th' house. Prithee call my master to him. + THIRD SERVANT. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you avoid the + house. + CORIOLANUS. Let me but stand- I will not hurt your hearth. + THIRD SERVANT. What are you? + CORIOLANUS. A gentleman. + THIRD SERVANT. A marv'llous poor one. + CORIOLANUS. True, so I am. + THIRD SERVANT. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other + station; here's no place for you. Pray you avoid. Come. + CORIOLANUS. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits. + [Pushes him away from him] + THIRD SERVANT. What, you will not? Prithee tell my master what a + strange guest he has here. + SECOND SERVANT. And I shall. Exit + THIRD SERVANT. Where dwell'st thou? + CORIOLANUS. Under the canopy. + THIRD SERVANT. Under the canopy? + CORIOLANUS. Ay. + THIRD SERVANT. Where's that? + CORIOLANUS. I' th' city of kites and crows. + THIRD SERVANT. I' th' city of kites and crows! + What an ass it is! Then thou dwell'st with daws too? + CORIOLANUS. No, I serve not thy master. + THIRD SERVANT. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master? + CORIOLANUS. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy + mistress. Thou prat'st and prat'st; serve with thy trencher; + hence! [Beats him away] + + Enter AUFIDIUS with the second SERVINGMAN + + AUFIDIUS. Where is this fellow? + SECOND SERVANT. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for + disturbing the lords within. + AUFIDIUS. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name? + Why speak'st not? Speak, man. What's thy name? + CORIOLANUS. [Unmuffling] If, Tullus, + Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not + Think me for the man I am, necessity + Commands me name myself. + AUFIDIUS. What is thy name? + CORIOLANUS. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, + And harsh in sound to thine. + AUFIDIUS. Say, what's thy name? + Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face + Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, + Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name? + CORIOLANUS. Prepare thy brow to frown- know'st thou me yet? + AUFIDIUS. I know thee not. Thy name? + CORIOLANUS. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done + To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, + Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may + My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service, + The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood + Shed for my thankless country, are requited + But with that surname- a good memory + And witness of the malice and displeasure + Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains; + The cruelty and envy of the people, + Permitted by our dastard nobles, who + Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest, + An suffer'd me by th' voice of slaves to be + Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity + Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope, + Mistake me not, to save my life; for if + I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world + I would have 'voided thee; but in mere spite, + To be full quit of those my banishers, + Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast + A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge + Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims + Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight + And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it + That my revengeful services may prove + As benefits to thee; for I will fight + Against my cank'red country with the spleen + Of all the under fiends. But if so be + Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes + Th'art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am + Longer to live most weary, and present + My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; + Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, + Since I have ever followed thee with hate, + Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, + And cannot live but to thy shame, unless + It be to do thee service. + AUFIDIUS. O Marcius, Marcius! + Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart + A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter + Should from yond cloud speak divine things, + And say ''Tis true,' I'd not believe them more + Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine + Mine arms about that body, where against + My grained ash an hundred times hath broke + And scarr'd the moon with splinters; here I clip + The anvil of my sword, and do contest + As hotly and as nobly with thy love + As ever in ambitious strength I did + Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, + I lov'd the maid I married; never man + Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, + Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart + Than when I first my wedded mistress saw + Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell the + We have a power on foot, and I had purpose + Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, + Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me out + Twelve several times, and I have nightly since + Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me- + We have been down together in my sleep, + Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat- + And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, + Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that + Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all + From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war + Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, + Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in, + And take our friendly senators by th' hands, + Who now are here, taking their leaves of me + Who am prepar'd against your territories, + Though not for Rome itself. + CORIOLANUS. You bless me, gods! + AUFIDIUS. Therefore, most. absolute sir, if thou wilt have + The leading of thine own revenges, take + Th' one half of my commission, and set down- + As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st + Thy country's strength and weakness- thine own ways, + Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, + Or rudely visit them in parts remote + To fright them ere destroy. But come in; + Let me commend thee first to those that shall + Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! + And more a friend than e'er an enemy; + Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome! + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS + + The two SERVINGMEN come forward + + FIRST SERVANT. Here's a strange alteration! + SECOND SERVANT. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with + a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report + of him. + FIRST SERVANT. What an arm he has! He turn'd me about with his + finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top. + SECOND SERVANT. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in + him; he had, sir, a kind of face, methought- I cannot tell how to + term it. + FIRST SERVANT. He had so, looking as it were- Would I were hang'd, + but I thought there was more in him than I could think. + SECOND SERVANT. So did I, I'll be sworn. He is simply the rarest + man i' th' world. + FIRST SERVANT. I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot + on. + SECOND SERVANT. Who, my master? + FIRST SERVANT. Nay, it's no matter for that. + SECOND SERVANT. Worth six on him. + FIRST SERVANT. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the + greater soldier. + SECOND SERVANT. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that; + for the defence of a town our general is excellent. + FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and for an assault too. + + Re-enter the third SERVINGMAN + + THIRD SERVANT. O slaves, I can tell you news- news, you rascals! + BOTH. What, what, what? Let's partake. + THIRD SERVANT. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; + I had as lief be a condemn'd man. + BOTH. Wherefore? wherefore? + THIRD SERVANT. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general- + Caius Marcius. + FIRST SERVANT. Why do you say 'thwack our general'? + THIRD SERVANT. I do not say 'thwack our general,' but he was always + good enough for him. + SECOND SERVANT. Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too + hard for him, I have heard him say so himself. + FIRST SERVANT. He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth + on't; before Corioli he scotch'd him and notch'd him like a + carbonado. + SECOND SERVANT. An he had been cannibally given, he might have + broil'd and eaten him too. + FIRST SERVANT. But more of thy news! + THIRD SERVANT. Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son + and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' th' table; no question + asked him by any of the senators but they stand bald before him. + Our general himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself + with's hand, and turns up the white o' th' eye to his discourse. + But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' th' middle + and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other has half + by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, + and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th' ears; he will mow all + down before him, and leave his passage poll'd. + SECOND SERVANT. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. + THIRD SERVANT. Do't! He will do't; for look you, sir, he has as + many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst + not- look you, sir- show themselves, as we term it, his friends, + whilst he's in directitude. + FIRST SERVANT. Directitude? What's that? + THIRD SERVANT. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and + the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies + after rain, and revel an with him. + FIRST SERVANT. But when goes this forward? + THIRD SERVANT. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall have the + drum struck up this afternoon; 'tis as it were parcel of their + feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. + SECOND SERVANT. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. + This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and + breed ballad-makers. + FIRST SERVANT. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as + day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. + Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, deaf, sleepy, + insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a + destroyer of men. + SECOND SERVANT. 'Tis so; and as war in some sort may be said to be + a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of + cuckolds. + FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. + THIRD SERVANT. Reason: because they then less need one another. The + wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. + They are rising, they are rising. + BOTH. In, in, in, in! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +Rome. A public place + +Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + SICINIUS. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him. + His remedies are tame. The present peace + And quietness of the people, which before + Were in wild hurry, here do make his friends + Blush that the world goes well; who rather had, + Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold + Dissentious numbers pest'ring streets than see + Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going + About their functions friendly. + + Enter MENENIUS + + BRUTUS. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? + SICINIUS. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind + Of late. Hail, sir! + MENENIUS. Hail to you both! + SICINIUS. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd + But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand, + And so would do, were he more angry at it. + MENENIUS. All's well, and might have been much better + He could have temporiz'd. + SICINIUS. Where is he, hear you? + MENENIUS. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife + Hear nothing from him. + + Enter three or four citizens + + CITIZENS. The gods preserve you both! + SICINIUS. God-den, our neighbours. + BRUTUS. God-den to you all, god-den to you an. + FIRST CITIZEN. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees + Are bound to pray for you both. + SICINIUS. Live and thrive! + BRUTUS. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd Coriolanus + Had lov'd you as we did. + CITIZENS. Now the gods keep you! + BOTH TRIBUNES. Farewell, farewell. Exeunt citizens + SICINIUS. This is a happier and more comely time + Than when these fellows ran about the streets + Crying confusion. + BRUTUS. Caius Marcius was + A worthy officer i' the war, but insolent, + O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, + Self-loving- + SICINIUS. And affecting one sole throne, + Without assistance. + MENENIUS. I think not so. + SICINIUS. We should by this, to all our lamentation, + If he had gone forth consul, found it so. + BRUTUS. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome + Sits safe and still without him. + + Enter an AEDILE + + AEDILE. Worthy tribunes, + There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, + Reports the Volsces with several powers + Are ent'red in the Roman territories, + And with the deepest malice of the war + Destroy what lies before 'em. + MENENIUS. 'Tis Aufidius, + Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, + Thrusts forth his horns again into the world, + Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, + And durst not once peep out. + SICINIUS. Come, what talk you of Marcius? + BRUTUS. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be + The Volsces dare break with us. + MENENIUS. Cannot be! + We have record that very well it can; + And three examples of the like hath been + Within my age. But reason with the fellow + Before you punish him, where he heard this, + Lest you shall chance to whip your information + And beat the messenger who bids beware + Of what is to be dreaded. + SICINIUS. Tell not me. + I know this cannot be. + BRUTUS. Not Possible. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. The nobles in great earnestness are going + All to the Senate House; some news is come + That turns their countenances. + SICINIUS. 'Tis this slave- + Go whip him fore the people's eyes- his raising, + Nothing but his report. + MESSENGER. Yes, worthy sir, + The slave's report is seconded, and more, + More fearful, is deliver'd. + SICINIUS. What more fearful? + MESSENGER. It is spoke freely out of many mouths- + How probable I do not know- that Marcius, + Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, + And vows revenge as spacious as between + The young'st and oldest thing. + SICINIUS. This is most likely! + BRUTUS. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish + Good Marcius home again. + SICINIUS. The very trick on 't. + MENENIUS. This is unlikely. + He and Aufidius can no more atone + Than violent'st contrariety. + + Enter a second MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Senate. + A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius + Associated with Aufidius, rages + Upon our territories, and have already + O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took + What lay before them. + + Enter COMINIUS + + COMINIUS. O, you have made good work! + MENENIUS. What news? what news? + COMINIUS. You have holp to ravish your own daughters and + To melt the city leads upon your pates, + To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses- + MENENIUS. What's the news? What's the news? + COMINIUS. Your temples burned in their cement, and + Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd + Into an auger's bore. + MENENIUS. Pray now, your news? + You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news. + If Marcius should be join'd wi' th' Volscians- + COMINIUS. If! + He is their god; he leads them like a thing + Made by some other deity than Nature, + That shapes man better; and they follow him + Against us brats with no less confidence + Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, + Or butchers killing flies. + MENENIUS. You have made good work, + You and your apron men; you that stood so much + Upon the voice of occupation and + The breath of garlic-eaters! + COMINIUS. He'll shake + Your Rome about your ears. + MENENIUS. As Hercules + Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work! + BRUTUS. But is this true, sir? + COMINIUS. Ay; and you'll look pale + Before you find it other. All the regions + Do smilingly revolt, and who resists + Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, + And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? + Your enemies and his find something in him. + MENENIUS. We are all undone unless + The noble man have mercy. + COMINIUS. Who shall ask it? + The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people + Deserve such pity of him as the wolf + Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, if they + Should say 'Be good to Rome'- they charg'd him even + As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, + And therein show'd fike enemies. + MENENIUS. 'Tis true; + If he were putting to my house the brand + That should consume it, I have not the face + To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands, + You and your crafts! You have crafted fair! + COMINIUS. You have brought + A trembling upon Rome, such as was never + S' incapable of help. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Say not we brought it. + MENENIUS. How! Was't we? We lov'd him, but, like beasts + And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, + Who did hoot him out o' th' city. + COMINIUS. But I fear + They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, + The second name of men, obeys his points + As if he were his officer. Desperation + Is all the policy, strength, and defence, + That Rome can make against them. + + Enter a troop of citizens + + MENENIUS. Here comes the clusters. + And is Aufidius with him? You are they + That made the air unwholesome when you cast + Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at + Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming, + And not a hair upon a soldier's head + Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs + As you threw caps up will he tumble down, + And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; + If he could burn us all into one coal + We have deserv'd it. + PLEBEIANS. Faith, we hear fearful news. + FIRST CITIZEN. For mine own part, + When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity. + SECOND CITIZEN. And so did I. + THIRD CITIZEN. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very + many of us. That we did, we did for the best; and though we + willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our + will. + COMINIUS. Y'are goodly things, you voices! + MENENIUS. You have made + Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol? + COMINIUS. O, ay, what else? + Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS + SICINIUS. Go, masters, get you be not dismay'd; + These are a side that would be glad to have + This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, + And show no sign of fear. + FIRST CITIZEN. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I + ever said we were i' th' wrong when we banish'd him. + SECOND CITIZEN. So did we all. But come, let's home. + Exeunt citizens + BRUTUS. I do not like this news. + SICINIUS. Nor I. + BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth + Would buy this for a lie! + SICINIUS. Pray let's go. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +A camp at a short distance from Rome + +Enter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT + + AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman? + LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but + Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat, + Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; + And you are dark'ned in this action, sir, + Even by your own. + AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now, + Unless by using means I lame the foot + Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, + Even to my person, than I thought he would + When first I did embrace him; yet his nature + In that's no changeling, and I must excuse + What cannot be amended. + LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir- + I mean, for your particular- you had not + Join'd in commission with him, but either + Had borne the action of yourself, or else + To him had left it solely. + AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and be thou sure, + When he shall come to his account, he knows not + What I can urge against him. Although it seems, + And so he thinks, and is no less apparent + To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly + And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, + Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon + As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone + That which shall break his neck or hazard mine + Whene'er we come to our account. + LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? + AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down, + And the nobility of Rome are his; + The senators and patricians love him too. + The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people + Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty + To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome + As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it + By sovereignty of nature. First he was + A noble servant to them, but he could not + Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride, + Which out of daily fortune ever taints + The happy man; whether defect of judgment, + To fail in the disposing of those chances + Which he was lord of; or whether nature, + Not to be other than one thing, not moving + From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace + Even with the same austerity and garb + As he controll'd the war; but one of these- + As he hath spices of them all- not all, + For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd, + So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit + To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues + Lie in th' interpretation of the time; + And power, unto itself most commendable, + Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair + T' extol what it hath done. + One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; + Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail. + Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, + Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with others + + MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said + Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him + In a most dear particular. He call'd me father; + But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him: + A mile before his tent fall down, and knee + The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd + To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. + COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me. + MENENIUS. Do you hear? + COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name. + I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops + That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus' + He would not answer to; forbid all names; + He was a kind of nothing, titleless, + Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire + Of burning Rome. + MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work. + A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome + To make coals cheap- a noble memory! + COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon + When it was less expected; he replied, + It was a bare petition of a state + To one whom they had punish'd. + MENENIUS. Very well. + Could he say less? + COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard + For's private friends; his answer to me was, + He could not stay to pick them in a pile + Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly, + For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt + And still to nose th' offence. + MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two! + I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child, + And this brave fellow too- we are the grains: + You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt + Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. + SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid + In this so never-needed help, yet do not + Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you + Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, + More than the instant army we can make, + Might stop our countryman. + MENENIUS. No; I'll not meddle. + SICINIUS. Pray you go to him. + MENENIUS. What should I do? + BRUTUS. Only make trial what your love can do + For Rome, towards Marcius. + MENENIUS. Well, and say that Marcius + Return me, as Cominius is return'd, + Unheard- what then? + But as a discontented friend, grief-shot + With his unkindness? Say't be so? + SICINIUS. Yet your good will + Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure + As you intended well. + MENENIUS. I'll undertake't; + I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip + And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me. + He was not taken well: he had not din'd; + The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then + We pout upon the morning, are unapt + To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd + These pipes and these conveyances of our blood + With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls + Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll watch him + Till he be dieted to my request, + And then I'll set upon him. + BRUTUS. You know the very road into his kindness + And cannot lose your way. + MENENIUS. Good faith, I'll prove him, + Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge + Of my success. Exit + COMINIUS. He'll never hear him. + SICINIUS. Not? + COMINIUS. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye + Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury + The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; + 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise'; dismiss'd me + Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do, + He sent in writing after me; what he would not, + Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions; + So that all hope is vain, + Unless his noble mother and his wife, + Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him + For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence, + And with our fair entreaties haste them on. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The Volscian camp before Rome + +Enter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard + + FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you? + SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back. + MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave, + I am an officer of state and come + To speak with Coriolanus. + FIRST WATCH. From whence? + MENENIUS. From Rome. + FIRST WATCH. YOU may not pass; you must return. Our general + Will no more hear from thence. + SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before + You'll speak with Coriolanus. + MENENIUS. Good my friends, + If you have heard your general talk of Rome + And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks + My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius. + FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name + Is not here passable. + MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow, + Thy general is my lover. I have been + The book of his good acts whence men have read + His fame unparallel'd haply amplified; + For I have ever verified my friends- + Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity + Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes, + Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, + I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise + Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow, + I must have leave to pass. + FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf + as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; + no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. + Therefore go back. + MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always + factionary on the party of your general. + SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you + have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot + pass. Therefore go back. + MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with + him till after dinner. + FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you? + MENENIUS. I am as thy general is. + FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when + you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and in + a violent popular ignorance given your enemy your shield, think + to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the + virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied + intercession of such a decay'd dotant as you seem to be? Can you + think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame + in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceiv'd; therefore + back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You are condemn'd; + our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. + MENENIUS. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me + with estimation. + FIRST WATCH. Come, my captain knows you not. + MENENIUS. I mean thy general. + FIRST WATCH. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; go, lest I + let forth your half pint of blood. Back- that's the utmost of + your having. Back. + MENENIUS. Nay, but fellow, fellow- + + Enter CORIOLANUS with AUFIDIUS + + CORIOLANUS. What's the matter? + MENENIUS. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall + know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack + guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my + entertainment with him if thou stand'st not i' th' state of + hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller + in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come + upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy + particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father + Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; + look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come + to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I + have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to + pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage + thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, + who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. + CORIOLANUS. Away! + MENENIUS. How! away! + CORIOLANUS. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs + Are servanted to others. Though I owe + My revenge properly, my remission lies + In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, + Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather + Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone. + Mine ears against your suits are stronger than + Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, + Take this along; I writ it for thy sake [Gives a letter] + And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, + I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, + Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st. + AUFIDIUS. You keep a constant temper. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and Aufidius + FIRST WATCH. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? + SECOND WATCH. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power! You know the + way home again. + FIRST WATCH. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your + greatness back? + SECOND WATCH. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? + MENENIUS. I neither care for th' world nor your general; for such + things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are so slight. + He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another. + Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; + and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was + said to: Away! Exit + FIRST WATCH. A noble fellow, I warrant him. + SECOND WATCH. The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the + oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The tent of CORIOLANUS + +Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others + + CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow + Set down our host. My partner in this action, + You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly + I have borne this business. + AUFIDIUS. Only their ends + You have respected; stopp'd your ears against + The general suit of Rome; never admitted + A private whisper- no, not with such friends + That thought them sure of you. + CORIOLANUS. This last old man, + Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, + Lov'd me above the measure of a father; + Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge + Was to send him; for whose old love I have- + Though I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd + The first conditions, which they did refuse + And cannot now accept. To grace him only, + That thought he could do more, a very little + I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits, + Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter + Will I lend ear to. [Shout within] Ha! what shout is this? + Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow + In the same time 'tis made? I will not. + + Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA, + YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendants + + My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould + Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand + The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! + All bond and privilege of nature, break! + Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. + What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes, + Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not + Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows, + As if Olympus to a molehill should + In supplication nod; and my young boy + Hath an aspect of intercession which + Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces + Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never + Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand + As if a man were author of himself + And knew no other kin. + VIRGILIA. My lord and husband! + CORIOLANUS. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. + VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd + Makes you think so. + CORIOLANUS. Like a dull actor now + I have forgot my part and I am out, + Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, + Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, + For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss + Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! + Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss + I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip + Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, + And the most noble mother of the world + Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels] + Of thy deep duty more impression show + Than that of common sons. + VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest! + Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint + I kneel before thee, and unproperly + Show duty, as mistaken all this while + Between the child and parent. [Kneels] + CORIOLANUS. What's this? + Your knees to me, to your corrected son? + Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach + Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds + Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, + Murd'ring impossibility, to make + What cannot be slight work. + VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior; + I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? + CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola, + The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle + That's curdied by the frost from purest snow, + And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria! + VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours, + Which by th' interpretation of full time + May show like all yourself. + CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers, + With the consent of supreme Jove, inform + Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove + To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars + Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, + And saving those that eye thee! + VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah. + CORIOLANUS. That's my brave boy. + VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, + Are suitors to you. + CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace! + Or, if you'd ask, remember this before: + The thing I have forsworn to grant may never + Be held by you denials. Do not bid me + Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate + Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not + Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not + T'allay my rages and revenges with + Your colder reasons. + VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more! + You have said you will not grant us any thing- + For we have nothing else to ask but that + Which you deny already; yet we will ask, + That, if you fail in our request, the blame + May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us. + CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll + Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request? + VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment + And state of bodies would bewray what life + We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself + How more unfortunate than all living women + Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should + Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, + Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow, + Making the mother, wife, and child, to see + The son, the husband, and the father, tearing + His country's bowels out. And to poor we + Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us + Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort + That all but we enjoy. For how can we, + Alas, how can we for our country pray, + Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, + Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose + The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, + Our comfort in the country. We must find + An evident calamity, though we had + Our wish, which side should win; for either thou + Must as a foreign recreant be led + With manacles through our streets, or else + Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, + And bear the palm for having bravely shed + Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, + I purpose not to wait on fortune till + These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee + Rather to show a noble grace to both parts + Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner + March to assault thy country than to tread- + Trust to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb + That brought thee to this world. + VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine, + That brought you forth this boy to keep your name + Living to time. + BOY. 'A shall not tread on me! + I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. + CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman's tenderness to be + Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. + I have sat too long. [Rising] + VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus. + If it were so that our request did tend + To save the Romans, thereby to destroy + The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us + As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit + Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces + May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans + 'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side + Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest + For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, + The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, + That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit + Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name + Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; + Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, + But with his last attempt he wip'd it out, + Destroy'd his country, and his name remains + To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son. + Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, + To imitate the graces of the gods, + To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air, + And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt + That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? + Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man + Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: + He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy; + Perhaps thy childishness will move him more + Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world + More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate + Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life + Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, + When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, + Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home + Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, + And spurn me back; but if it he not so, + Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee, + That thou restrain'st from me the duty which + To a mother's part belongs. He turns away. + Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. + To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride + Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end; + This is the last. So we will home to Rome, + And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's! + This boy, that cannot tell what he would have + But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, + Does reason our petition with more strength + Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go. + This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; + His wife is in Corioli, and his child + Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch. + I am hush'd until our city be afire, + And then I'll speak a little. + [He holds her by the hand, silent] + CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother! + What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, + The gods look down, and this unnatural scene + They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! + You have won a happy victory to Rome; + But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!- + Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, + If not most mortal to him. But let it come. + Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, + I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, + Were you in my stead, would you have heard + A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius? + AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal. + CORIOLANUS. I dare be sworn you were! + And, sir, it is no little thing to make + Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, + What peace you'fl make, advise me. For my part, + I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you + Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife! + AUFIDIUS. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy + honour + At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work + Myself a former fortune. + CORIOLANUS. [To the ladies] Ay, by and by; + But we will drink together; and you shall bear + A better witness back than words, which we, + On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. + Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve + To have a temple built you. All the swords + In Italy, and her confederate arms, + Could not have made this peace. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS + + MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone? + SICINIUS. Why, what of that? + MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little + finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his + mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't; + our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution. + SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the + condition of a man? + MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet + your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to + dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing. + SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly. + MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now + than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe + grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground + shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with + his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in + his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is + finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but + eternity, and a heaven to throne in. + SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly. + MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother + shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is + milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all this + is 'long of you. + SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us! + MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. + When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning to + break our necks, they respect not us. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house. + The plebeians have got your fellow tribune + And hale him up and down; all swearing if + The Roman ladies bring not comfort home + They'll give him death by inches. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SICINIUS. What's the news? + SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd, + The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone. + A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, + No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins. + SICINIUS. Friend, + Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain? + SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire. + Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? + Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide + As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark you! + [Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together] + The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, + Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, + Make the sun dance. Hark you! [A shout within] + MENENIUS. This is good news. + I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia + Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, + A city full; of tribunes such as you, + A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: + This morning for ten thousand of your throats + I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! + [Sound still with the shouts] + SICINIUS. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, + Accept my thankfulness. + SECOND MESSENGER. Sir, we have all + Great cause to give great thanks. + SICINIUS. They are near the city? + MESSENGER. Almost at point to enter. + SICINIUS. We'll meet them, + And help the joy. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter two SENATORS With VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, passing over the stage, +'With other LORDS + + FIRST SENATOR. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! + Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, + And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them. + Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, + Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; + ALL. Welcome, ladies, welcome! + [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt] + + + + +SCENE VI. +Corioli. A public place + +Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with attendents + + AUFIDIUS. Go tell the lords o' th' city I am here; + Deliver them this paper' having read it, + Bid them repair to th' market-place, where I, + Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, + Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse + The city ports by this hath enter'd and + Intends t' appear before the people, hoping + To purge himself with words. Dispatch. + Exeunt attendants + + Enter three or four CONSPIRATORS of AUFIDIUS' faction + + Most welcome! + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. How is it with our general? + AUFIDIUS. Even so + As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, + And with his charity slain. + SECOND CONSPIRATOR. Most noble sir, + If you do hold the same intent wherein + You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you + Of your great danger. + AUFIDIUS. Sir, I cannot tell; + We must proceed as we do find the people. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. The people will remain uncertain whilst + 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either + Makes the survivor heir of all. + AUFIDIUS. I know it; + And my pretext to strike at him admits + A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd + Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd, + He watered his new plants with dews of flattery, + Seducing so my friends; and to this end + He bow'd his nature, never known before + But to be rough, unswayable, and free. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Sir, his stoutness + When he did stand for consul, which he lost + By lack of stooping- + AUFIDIUS. That I would have spoken of. + Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth, + Presented to my knife his throat. I took him; + Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way + In all his own desires; nay, let him choose + Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, + My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments + In mine own person; holp to reap the fame + Which he did end all his, and took some pride + To do myself this wrong. Till, at the last, + I seem'd his follower, not partner; and + He wag'd me with his countenance as if + I had been mercenary. + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. So he did, my lord. + The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last, + When he had carried Rome and that we look'd + For no less spoil than glory- + AUFIDIUS. There was it; + For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. + At a few drops of women's rheum, which are + As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour + Of our great action; therefore shall he die, + And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! + [Drums and + trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people] + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. Your native town you enter'd like a post, + And had no welcomes home; but he returns + Splitting the air with noise. + SECOND CONSPIRATOR. And patient fools, + Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear + With giving him glory. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Therefore, at your vantage, + Ere he express himself or move the people + With what he would say, let him feel your sword, + Which we will second. When he lies along, + After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury + His reasons with his body. + AUFIDIUS. Say no more: + Here come the lords. + + Enter the LORDS of the city + + LORDS. You are most welcome home. + AUFIDIUS. I have not deserv'd it. + But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused + What I have written to you? + LORDS. We have. + FIRST LORD. And grieve to hear't. + What faults he made before the last, I think + Might have found easy fines; but there to end + Where he was to begin, and give away + The benefit of our levies, answering us + With our own charge, making a treaty where + There was a yielding- this admits no excuse. + AUFIDIUS. He approaches; you shall hear him. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; + the commoners being with him + + CORIOLANUS. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; + No more infected with my country's love + Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting + Under your great command. You are to know + That prosperously I have attempted, and + With bloody passage led your wars even to + The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home + Doth more than counterpoise a full third part + The charges of the action. We have made peace + With no less honour to the Antiates + Than shame to th' Romans; and we here deliver, + Subscrib'd by th' consuls and patricians, + Together with the seal o' th' Senate, what + We have compounded on. + AUFIDIUS. Read it not, noble lords; + But tell the traitor in the highest degree + He hath abus'd your powers. + CORIOLANUS. Traitor! How now? + AUFIDIUS. Ay, traitor, Marcius. + CORIOLANUS. Marcius! + AUFIDIUS. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou think + I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name + Coriolanus, in Corioli? + You lords and heads o' th' state, perfidiously + He has betray'd your business and given up, + For certain drops of salt, your city Rome- + I say your city- to his wife and mother; + Breaking his oath and resolution like + A twist of rotten silk; never admitting + Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears + He whin'd and roar'd away your victory, + That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart + Look'd wond'ring each at others. + CORIOLANUS. Hear'st thou, Mars? + AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tears- + CORIOLANUS. Ha! + AUFIDIUS. -no more. + CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart + Too great for what contains it. 'Boy'! O slave! + Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever + I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, + Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion- + Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that + Must bear my beating to his grave- shall join + To thrust the lie unto him. + FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak. + CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, + Stain all your edges on me. 'Boy'! False hound! + If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there + That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I + Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli. + Alone I did it. 'Boy'! + AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords, + Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, + Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, + Fore your own eyes and ears? + CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for't. + ALL THE PEOPLE. Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He kill'd my + son. My daughter. He kill'd my cousin Marcus. He kill'd my + father. + SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage- peace! + The man is noble, and his fame folds in + This orb o' th' earth. His last offences to us + Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, + And trouble not the peace. + CORIOLANUS. O that I had him, + With six Aufidiuses, or more- his tribe, + To use my lawful sword! + AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain! + CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! + [The CONSPIRATORS draw and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls. + AUFIDIUS stands on him] + LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold! + AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak. + FIRST LORD. O Tullus! + SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. + THIRD LORD. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet; + Put up your swords. + AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know- as in this rage, + Provok'd by him, you cannot- the great danger + Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice + That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours + To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver + Myself your loyal servant, or endure + Your heaviest censure. + FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body, + And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded + As the most noble corse that ever herald + Did follow to his um. + SECOND LORD. His own impatience + Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. + Let's make the best of it. + AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone, + And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. + Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. + Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; + Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he + Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, + Which to this hour bewail the injury, + Yet he shall have a noble memory. + Assist. Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS + [A dead march sounded] + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1609 + +CYMBELINE + +by William Shakespeare + + + +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 and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the + names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius + PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus + IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario + A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario + CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman Forces + A ROMAN CAPTAIN + TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS + PISANIO, servant to Posthumus + CORNELIUS, a physician + TWO LORDS of Cymbeline's court + TWO GENTLEMEN of the same + TWO GAOLERS + + QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline + IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen + HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen + + APPARITIONS + + Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Soothsayer, a + Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, + Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +SCENE: +Britain; Italy + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Britain. The garden of CYMBELINE'S palace + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods + No more obey the heavens than our courtiers + Still seem as does the King's. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what's the matter? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom + He purpos'd to his wife's sole son- a widow + That late he married- hath referr'd herself + Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded; + Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd. All + Is outward sorrow, though I think the King + Be touch'd at very heart. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. None but the King? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, + That most desir'd the match. But not a courtier, + Although they wear their faces to the bent + Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not + Glad at the thing they scowl at. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. And why so? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing + Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her- + I mean that married her, alack, good man! + And therefore banish'd- is a creature such + As, to seek through the regions of the earth + For one his like, there would be something failing + In him that should compare. I do not think + So fair an outward and such stuff within + Endows a man but he. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. You speak him far. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I do extend him, sir, within himself; + Crush him together rather than unfold + His measure duly. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. What's his name and birth? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I cannot delve him to the root; his father + Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour + Against the Romans with Cassibelan, + But had his titles by Tenantius, whom + He serv'd with glory and admir'd success, + So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus; + And had, besides this gentleman in question, + Two other sons, who, in the wars o' th' time, + Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, + Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow + That he quit being; and his gentle lady, + Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd + As he was born. The King he takes the babe + To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, + Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, + Puts to him all the learnings that his time + Could make him the receiver of; which he took, + As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red, + And in's spring became a harvest, liv'd in court- + Which rare it is to do- most prais'd, most lov'd, + A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature + A glass that feated them; and to the graver + A child that guided dotards. To his mistress, + For whom he now is banish'd- her own price + Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; + By her election may be truly read + What kind of man he is. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I honour him + Even out of your report. But pray you tell me, + Is she sole child to th' King? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. His only child. + He had two sons- if this be worth your hearing, + Mark it- the eldest of them at three years old, + I' th' swathing clothes the other, from their nursery + Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge + Which way they went. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. How long is this ago? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. That a king's children should be so convey'd, + So slackly guarded, and the search so slow + That could not trace them! + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, + Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, + Yet is it true, sir. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do well believe you. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, + The Queen, and Princess. Exeunt + + Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN + + QUEEN. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter, + After the slander of most stepmothers, + Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my prisoner, but + Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys + That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, + So soon as I can win th' offended King, + I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet + The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good + You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience + Your wisdom may inform you. + POSTHUMUS. Please your Highness, + I will from hence 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 charg'd you should not speak together. Exit + IMOGEN. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant + Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, + I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing- + Always reserv'd my holy duty- what + His rage can do on me. You must be gone; + And I shall here abide the hourly shot + Of angry eyes, not comforted to live + But that there is this jewel in the world + That I may see again. + POSTHUMUS. My queen! my mistress! + O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause + To be suspected of more tenderness + Than doth become a man. I will remain + The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth; + My residence in Rome at one Philario's, + Who to my father was a friend, to me + Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, + And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, + Though ink be made of gall. + + 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. Should we be taking leave + As long a term as yet we have to live, + The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! + IMOGEN. Nay, stay a little. + Were you but riding forth to air yourself, + Such parting were too petty. Look here, love: + This diamond was my mother's; take it, heart; + But keep it till you woo another wife, + When Imogen is dead. + POSTHUMUS. How, how? Another? + You gentle gods, give me but this I have, + And sear up my embracements from a next + With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here + [Puts on the ring] + While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, + As I my poor self did exchange for you, + To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles + I still win of you. For my sake wear this; + It is a manacle of love; I'll place it + Upon this fairest prisoner. [Puts a bracelet on her arm] + IMOGEN. O the gods! + When shall we see again? + + Enter CYMBELINE and LORDS + + POSTHUMUS. Alack, the King! + CYMBELINE. Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight + If after this command thou fraught the court + With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! + Thou'rt poison to my blood. + POSTHUMUS. The gods protect you, + And bless the good remainders of the court! + I am gone. Exit + IMOGEN. There cannot be a pinch in death + More sharp than this is. + CYMBELINE. O disloyal thing, + That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st + A year's age on me! + IMOGEN. I beseech you, sir, + Harm not yourself with your vexation. + I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare + Subdues all pangs, all fears. + CYMBELINE. Past grace? obedience? + IMOGEN. Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace. + CYMBELINE. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! + IMOGEN. O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle, + And did avoid a puttock. + CYMBELINE. Thou took'st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne + A seat for baseness. + IMOGEN. No; I rather added + A lustre to it. + CYMBELINE. O thou vile one! + IMOGEN. Sir, + It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus. + You bred him as my playfellow, and he is + A man worth any woman; overbuys me + Almost the sum he pays. + CYMBELINE. What, art thou mad? + IMOGEN. Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were + A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus + Our neighbour shepherd's son! + + Re-enter QUEEN + + CYMBELINE. Thou foolish thing! + [To the QUEEN] They were again together. You have done + Not after our command. Away with her, + And pen her up. + QUEEN. Beseech your patience.- Peace, + Dear lady daughter, peace!- Sweet sovereign, + Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort + Out of your best advice. + CYMBELINE. Nay, let her languish + A drop of blood a day and, being aged, + Die of this folly. Exit, with LORDS + + Enter PISANIO + + QUEEN. Fie! you must give way. + Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? + PISANIO. My lord your son drew on my master. + QUEEN. Ha! + No harm, I trust, is done? + PISANIO. There might have been, + But that my master rather play'd than fought, + And had no help of anger; they were parted + By gentlemen at hand. + QUEEN. I am very glad on't. + IMOGEN. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part + To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! + I would they were in Afric both together; + Myself by with a needle, that I might prick + The goer-back. Why came you from your master? + PISANIO. On his command. He would not suffer me + To bring him to the haven; left these notes + Of what commands I should be subject to, + When't pleas'd you to employ me. + QUEEN. This hath been + Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour + He will remain so. + PISANIO. I humbly thank your Highness. + QUEEN. Pray walk awhile. + IMOGEN. About some half-hour hence, + Pray you speak with me. You shall at least + Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Britain. A public place + +Enter CLOTEN and two LORDS + + FIRST LORD. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence + of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, + air comes in; there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. + CLOTEN. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? + SECOND LORD. [Aside] No, faith; not so much as his patience. + FIRST LORD. Hurt him! His body's a passable carcass if he be not + hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' th' back + side the town. + CLOTEN. The villain would not stand me. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your + face. + FIRST LORD. Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he + added to your having, gave you some ground. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans. + Puppies! + CLOTEN. I would they had not come between us. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] So would I, till you had measur'd how long a + fool you were upon the ground. + CLOTEN. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! + SECOND LORD. [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is + damn'd. + FIRST LORD. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go + not together; she's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection + of her wit. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection + should hurt her. + CLOTEN. Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt + done! + SECOND LORD. [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of + an ass, which is no great hurt. + CLOTEN. You'll go with us? + FIRST LORD. I'll attend your lordship. + CLOTEN. Nay, come, let's go together. + SECOND LORD. Well, my lord. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO + + IMOGEN. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' th' haven, + And questioned'st every sail; if he should write, + And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost, + As offer'd mercy is. What was the last + That he spake to thee? + PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen! + IMOGEN. Then wav'd his handkerchief? + PISANIO. And kiss'd it, madam. + IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I! + And that was all? + PISANIO. No, madam; for so long + As he could make me with his eye, or care + Distinguish him from others, he did keep + The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, + Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind + Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, + How swift his ship. + IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him + As little as a crow, or less, ere left + To after-eye him. + PISANIO. Madam, so I did. + IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack'd them but + To look upon him, till the diminution + Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; + Nay, followed him till he had melted from + The smallness of a gnat to air, and then + Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, + When shall we hear from him? + PISANIO. Be assur'd, madam, + With his next vantage. + IMOGEN. I did not take my leave of him, but had + Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him + How I would think on him at certain hours + Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear + The shes of Italy should not betray + Mine interest and his honour; or have charg'd him, + At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, + T' encounter me with orisons, for then + I am in heaven for him; or ere I could + Give him that parting kiss which I had set + Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, + And like the tyrannous breathing of the north + Shakes all our buds from growing. + + Enter a LADY + + LADY. The Queen, madam, + Desires your Highness' company. + IMOGEN. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd. + I will attend the Queen. + PISANIO. Madam, I shall. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 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 look'd on him + without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his + endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by + items. + PHILARIO. You speak of him when he was less furnish'd than now he + is with that which makes him both without and within. + FRENCHMAN. I have seen him in France; we had very many there could + behold the sun with as firm eyes as he. + IACHIMO. This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein he + must be weighed rather by her value than his own, words him, I + doubt not, a great deal from the matter. + FRENCHMAN. And then his banishment. + IACHIMO. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable + divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it + but to fortify her 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. + + Enter POSTHUMUS + + Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as + suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his + quality. I beseech you all be better known to this gentleman, + whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is + I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his + own hearing. + FRENCHMAN. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. + POSTHUMUS. Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, + which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still. + FRENCHMAN. Sir, you o'errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did + atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have + been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, + upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature. + POSTHUMUS. By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; + rather shunn'd to go even with what I heard than in my every + action to be guided by others' experiences; but upon my mended + 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 fall'n both. + IACHIMO. Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference? + FRENCHMAN. Safely, I think. 'Twas a contention in public, which + may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like + an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in + praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time + vouching- and upon warrant of bloody affirmation- his to be more + fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less + attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France. + IACHIMO. That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's opinion, + by this, worn out. + POSTHUMUS. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. + IACHIMO. You must not so far prefer her fore ours of Italy. + POSTHUMUS. Being so far provok'd as I was in France, I would abate + her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend. + IACHIMO. As fair and as good- a kind of hand-in-hand comparison- + had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. + If she went before others I have seen as that diamond of yours + outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she + excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that + is, nor you the lady. + POSTHUMUS. I prais'd her as I rated her. So do I my stone. + IACHIMO. What do you esteem it at? + POSTHUMUS. More than the world enjoys. + IACHIMO. Either your unparagon'd mistress is dead, or she's + outpriz'd by a trifle. + POSTHUMUS. You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there + were wealth enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the + other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods. + IACHIMO. Which the gods have given you? + POSTHUMUS. Which by their graces I will keep. + IACHIMO. You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl + light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol'n too. So + your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and + the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish'd + courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last. + POSTHUMUS. Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a courtier to + convince the honour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of + that you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of + thieves; notwithstanding, I fear not my ring. + PHILARIO. Let us leave here, gentlemen. + POSTHUMUS. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank + him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first. + IACHIMO. With five times so much conversation I should get ground + of your fair mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had + I admittance and opportunity to friend. + POSTHUMUS. No, no. + IACHIMO. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your + ring, which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it something. But I make + my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and, + to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any + lady in the world. + POSTHUMUS. You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a persuasion, + and I doubt not you sustain what y'are worthy of by your attempt. + IACHIMO. What's that? + POSTHUMUS. A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve + more- a punishment too. + PHILARIO. Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let + it die as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted. + IACHIMO. Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on th' + approbation of what I have spoke! + POSTHUMUS. What lady would you choose to assail? + IACHIMO. Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will + lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring that, commend me to the + court where your lady is, with no more advantage than the + opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence + that honour of hers which you imagine so reserv'd. + POSTHUMUS. I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I + hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it. + IACHIMO. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy + ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from + tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that you fear. + POSTHUMUS. This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver + purpose, I hope. + IACHIMO. I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's + spoken, I swear. + POSTHUMUS. Will you? I Shall but lend my diamond till your return. + Let there be covenants drawn between's. My mistress exceeds in + goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to + this match: here's my ring. + PHILARIO. I will have it no lay. + IACHIMO. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient + testimony that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your + mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond + too. If I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have + trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours- + provided I have your commendation for my more free entertainment. + POSTHUMUS. I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt + us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon + her, and give me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am + no further your enemy- she is not worth our debate; if she remain + unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise, for your ill + opinion and th' assault you have made to her chastity you shall + answer me with your sword. + IACHIMO. Your hand- a covenant! We will have these things set down + by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the + bargain should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and + have our two wagers recorded. + POSTHUMUS. Agreed. Exeunt POSTHUMUS and IACHIMO + FRENCHMAN. Will this hold, think you? + PHILARIO. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow 'em. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter QUEEN, LADIES, and CORNELIUS + + QUEEN. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers; + Make haste; who has the note of them? + LADY. I, madam. + QUEEN. Dispatch. Exeunt LADIES + Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs? + CORNELIUS. Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam. + [Presenting a box] + But I beseech your Grace, without offence- + My conscience bids me ask- wherefore you have + Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds + Which are the movers of a languishing death, + But, though slow, deadly? + QUEEN. I wonder, Doctor, + Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been + Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how + To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so + That our great king himself doth woo me oft + For my confections? Having thus far proceeded- + Unless thou think'st me devilish- is't not meet + That I did amplify my 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 practice but make hard your heart; + Besides, the seeing these effects will be + Both noisome and infectious. + QUEEN. O, content thee. + + Enter PISANIO + + [Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him + Will I first work. He's for his master, + An enemy to my son.- How now, Pisanio! + Doctor, your service for this time is ended; + Take your own way. + CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam; + But you shall do no harm. + QUEEN. [To PISANIO] Hark thee, a word. + CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has + Strange ling'ring poisons. I do know her spirit, + And will not trust one of her malice with + A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has + Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile, + Which first perchance she'll prove on cats and dogs, + Then afterward up higher; but there is + No danger in what show of death it makes, + More than the locking up the spirits a time, + To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd + With a most false effect; and I the truer + So to be false with her. + QUEEN. No further service, Doctor, + Until I send for thee. + CORNELIUS. I humbly take my leave. Exit + QUEEN. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time + She will not quench, and let instructions enter + Where folly now possesses? Do thou work. + When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, + I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then + As great as is thy master; greater, for + His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name + Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor + Continue where he is. To shift his being + Is to exchange one misery with another, + And every day that comes comes comes to + A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect + To be depender on a thing that leans, + Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends + So much as but to prop him? + [The QUEEN drops the box. PISANIO takes it up] + Thou tak'st up + Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour. + It is a thing I made, which hath the King + Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know + What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it; + It is an earnest of a further good + That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how + The case stands with her; do't as from thyself. + Think what a chance thou changest on; but think + Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, + Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the King + To any shape of thy preferment, such + As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, + That set thee on to this desert, am bound + To load thy merit richly. Call my women. + Think on my words. Exit PISANIO + A sly and constant knave, + Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master, + And the remembrancer of her to hold + The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that + Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her + Of leigers for her sweet; and which she after, + Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd + 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 + + + + +SCENE VI. +Britain. The palace + +Enter IMOGEN alone + + IMOGEN. A father cruel and a step-dame false; + A foolish suitor to a wedded lady + That hath her husband banish'd. O, that husband! + My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated + Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n, + As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable + Is the desire that's glorious. Blessed be those, + How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, + Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! + + Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO + + PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome + Comes from my lord with letters. + IACHIMO. Change you, madam? + The worthy Leonatus is in safety, + And greets your Highness dearly. [Presents a letter] + IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir. + You're kindly welcome. + IACHIMO. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich! + If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, + She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I + Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! + Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! + Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; + Rather, directly fly. + IMOGEN. [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose + kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him + accordingly, as you value your trust. LEONATUS.' + + So far I read aloud; + But even the very middle of my heart + Is warm'd by th' rest and takes it thankfully. + You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I + Have words to bid you; and shall find it so + In all that I can do. + IACHIMO. Thanks, fairest lady. + What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes + To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop + Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt + The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones + Upon the number'd beach, and can we not + Partition make with spectacles so precious + 'Twixt fair and foul? + IMOGEN. What makes your admiration? + IACHIMO. It cannot be i' th' eye, for apes and monkeys, + 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and + Contemn with mows the other; nor i' th' judgment, + For idiots in this case of favour would + Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite; + Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, + Should make desire vomit emptiness, + Not so allur'd to feed. + IMOGEN. What is the matter, trow? + IACHIMO. The cloyed will- + That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub + Both fill'd and running- ravening first the lamb, + Longs after for the garbage. + IMOGEN. What, dear sir, + Thus raps you? Are you well? + IACHIMO. Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir, + Desire my man's abode where I did leave him. + He's strange and peevish. + PISANIO. I was going, sir, + To give him welcome. Exit + IMOGEN. Continues well my lord? His health beseech you? + IACHIMO. Well, madam. + IMOGEN. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. + IACHIMO. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there + So merry and so gamesome. He is call'd + The Britain reveller. + IMOGEN. When he was here + He did incline to sadness, and oft-times + Not knowing why. + IACHIMO. I never saw him sad. + There is a Frenchman his companion, one + An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves + A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces + The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton- + Your lord, I mean- laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O, + Can my sides hold, to think that man- who knows + By history, report, or his own proof, + What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose + But must be- will's free hours languish for + Assured bondage?' + IMOGEN. Will my lord say so? + IACHIMO. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. + It is a recreation to be by + And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know + Some men are much to blame. + IMOGEN. Not he, I hope. + IACHIMO. Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might + Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; + In you, which I account his, beyond all talents. + Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound + To pity too. + IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir? + IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily. + IMOGEN. Am I one, sir? + You look on me: what wreck discern you in me + Deserves your pity? + IACHIMO. Lamentable! What, + To hide me from the radiant sun and solace + I' th' dungeon by a snuff? + IMOGEN. I pray you, sir, + Deliver with more openness your answers + To my demands. Why do you pity me? + IACHIMO. That others do, + I was about to say, enjoy your- But + It is an office of the gods to venge it, + Not mine to speak on't. + IMOGEN. You do seem to know + Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you- + Since doubting things go ill often hurts more + Than to be sure they do; for certainties + Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, + The remedy then born- discover to me + What both you spur and stop. + IACHIMO. Had I this cheek + To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, + Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul + To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which + Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, + Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then, + Slaver with lips as common as the stairs + That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands + Made hard with hourly falsehood- falsehood as + With labour; then by-peeping in an eye + Base and illustrious as the smoky light + That's fed with stinking tallow- it were fit + That all the plagues of hell should at one time + Encounter such revolt. + IMOGEN. My lord, I fear, + Has forgot Britain. + IACHIMO. And himself. Not I + Inclin'd to this intelligence pronounce + The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces + That from my mutest conscience to my tongue + Charms this report out. + IMOGEN. Let me hear no more. + IACHIMO. O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart + With pity that doth make me sick! A lady + So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, + Would make the great'st king double, to be partner'd + With tomboys hir'd with that self exhibition + Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures + That play with all infirmities for gold + Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff + As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd; + Or she that bore you was no queen, and you + Recoil from your great stock. + IMOGEN. Reveng'd? + How should I be reveng'd? If this be true- + As I have such a heart that both mine ears + Must not in haste abuse- if it be true, + How should I be reveng'd? + IACHIMO. Should he make me + Live like Diana's priest betwixt cold sheets, + Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, + In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. + I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, + More noble than that runagate to your bed, + And will continue fast to your affection, + Still close as sure. + IMOGEN. What ho, Pisanio! + IACHIMO. Let me my service tender on your lips. + IMOGEN. Away! I do condemn mine ears that have + So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, + Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not + For such an end thou seek'st, as base as strange. + Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far + From thy report as thou from honour; and + Solicits here a lady that disdains + Thee and the devil alike.- What ho, Pisanio!- + The King my father shall be made acquainted + Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit + A saucy stranger in his court to mart + As in a Romish stew, and to expound + His beastly mind to us, he hath a court + He little cares for, and a daughter who + He not respects at all.- What ho, Pisanio! + IACHIMO. O happy Leonatus! I may say + The credit that thy lady hath of thee + Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness + Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long, + A lady to the worthiest sir that ever + Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only + For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. + I have spoke this to know if your affiance + Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord + That which he is new o'er; and he is one + The truest manner'd, such a holy witch + That he enchants societies into him, + Half all men's hearts are his. + IMOGEN. You make amends. + IACHIMO. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god: + He hath a kind of honour sets him of + More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, + Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd + To try your taking of a false report, which hath + Honour'd with confirmation your great 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 pow'r i' th' court for yours. + IACHIMO. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot + T' entreat your Grace but in a small request, + And yet of moment too, for it concerns + Your lord; myself and other noble friends + Are partners in the business. + IMOGEN. Pray what is't? + IACHIMO. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord- + The best feather of our wing- have mingled sums + To buy a present for the Emperor; + Which I, the factor for the rest, have done + In France. 'Tis plate of rare device, and jewels + Of rich and exquisite form, their values great; + And I am something curious, being strange, + To have them in safe stowage. May it please you + To take them in protection? + IMOGEN. Willingly; + And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since + My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them + In my bedchamber. + IACHIMO. They are in a trunk, + Attended by my men. I will make bold + To send them to you only for this night; + I must aboard to-morrow. + IMOGEN. O, no, no. + IACHIMO. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word + By length'ning my return. From Gallia + I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise + To see your Grace. + IMOGEN. I thank you for your pains. + But not away 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 th' tender of our present. + IMOGEN. I will write. + Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept + And truly yielded you. You're very welcome. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Britain. Before CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter CLOTEN and the two LORDS + + CLOTEN. Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss'd the jack, + upon an 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 dispos'd to swear, it is not for any + standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha? + SECOND LORD. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop the ears of them. + CLOTEN. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? Would he had been + one of my rank! + SECOND LORD. [Aside] To have smell'd like a fool. + CLOTEN. I am not vex'd more at anything in th' earth. A pox on't! I + had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, + because of the Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful + of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody + can match. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, + cock, with your comb on. + CLOTEN. Sayest thou? + SECOND LORD. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every + companion that you give offence to. + CLOTEN. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to + my inferiors. + SECOND LORD. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. + CLOTEN. Why, so I say. + FIRST LORD. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court + to-night? + CLOTEN. A stranger, and I not known on't? + SECOND LORD. [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it + not. + FIRST LORD. There's an Italian come, and, 'tis thought, one of + Leonatus' friends. + CLOTEN. Leonatus? A banish'd rascal; and he's another, whatsoever + he be. Who told you of this stranger? + FIRST LORD. One of your lordship's pages. + CLOTEN. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation + in't? + SECOND LORD. You cannot derogate, my lord. + CLOTEN. Not easily, I think. + SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, + being foolish, do not derogate. + CLOTEN. Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have lost 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 endur'st, + Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd, + A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer + More hateful than the foul expulsion is + Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act + Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens hold firm + The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd + That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand + T' enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land! Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Britain. IMOGEN'S bedchamber in CYMBELINE'S palace; a trunk in one corner + +Enter IMOGEN in her bed, and a LADY attending + + IMOGEN. Who's there? My woman? Helen? + LADY. Please you, madam. + IMOGEN. What hour is it? + LADY. Almost midnight, madam. + IMOGEN. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; + Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed. + Take not away the taper, leave it burning; + And if thou canst awake by four o' th' clock, + I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. Exit LADY + To your protection I commend me, gods. + From fairies and the tempters of the night + Guard me, beseech ye! + [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk] + IACHIMO. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense + Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus + Did softly press the rushes ere he waken'd + The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, + How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily, + And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! + But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd, + How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that + Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o' th' taper + Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids + To see th' enclosed lights, now canopied + Under these windows white and azure, lac'd + With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design + To note the chamber. I will write all down: + Such and such pictures; there the window; such + Th' adornment of her bed; the arras, figures- + Why, such and such; and the contents o' th' story. + Ah, but some natural notes about her body + Above ten thousand meaner movables + Would testify, t' enrich mine inventory. + O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! + And be her sense but as a monument, + Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off; + [Taking off her bracelet] + As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! + 'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, + As strongly as the conscience does within, + To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast + A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops + I' th' bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher + Stronger than ever law could make; this secret + Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en + The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? + Why should I write this down that's riveted, + Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late + The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down + Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. + To th' trunk again, and shut the spring of it. + Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning + May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; + Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes] + One, two, three. Time, time! Exit into the trunk + + + + +SCENE III. +CYMBELINE'S palace. An ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN'S apartments + +Enter CLOTEN and LORDS + + FIRST LORD. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most + coldest that ever turn'd up ace. + CLOTEN. It would make any man cold to lose. + FIRST LORD. But not every man patient after the noble temper of + your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win. + CLOTEN. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this + foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, + is't not? + FIRST LORD. Day, my lord. + CLOTEN. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her + music a mornings; they say it will penetrate. + + Enter musicians + + Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. + We'll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but + I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited + thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to + it- and then let her consider. + + SONG + + Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, + And Phoebus 'gins arise, + His steeds to water at those springs + On chalic'd flow'rs that lies; + And winking Mary-buds begin + To ope their golden eyes. + With everything that pretty bin, + My lady sweet, arise; + Arise, arise! + + So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music + the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which + horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to + boot, can never amend. Exeunt musicians + + Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN + + SECOND LORD. Here comes the King. + CLOTEN. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up + so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done + fatherly.- Good morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious mother. + CYMBELINE. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? + Will she not forth? + CLOTEN. I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no + notice. + CYMBELINE. The exile of her minion is too new; + She hath not yet forgot him; some more time + Must wear the print of his remembrance out, + And then she's yours. + QUEEN. You are most bound to th' King, + Who lets go by no vantages that may + Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself + To orderly soliciting, and be friended + With aptness of the season; make denials + Increase your services; so seem as if + You were inspir'd to do those duties which + You tender to her; that you in all obey her, + Save when command to your dismission tends, + And therein you are senseless. + CLOTEN. Senseless? Not so. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; + The one is Caius Lucius. + CYMBELINE. A worthy fellow, + Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; + But that's no fault of his. We must receive him + According to the honour of his sender; + And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, + We must extend our notice. Our dear son, + When you have given good morning to your mistress, + Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need + T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. + Exeunt all but CLOTEN + CLOTEN. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, + Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! [Knocks] + I know her women are about her; what + If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold + Which buys admittance; oft it doth-yea, and makes + Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up + Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold + Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief; + Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What + Can it not do and undo? I will make + One of her women lawyer to me, for + I yet not understand the case myself. + By your leave. [Knocks] + + Enter a LADY + + LADY. Who's there that knocks? + CLOTEN. A gentleman. + LADY. No more? + CLOTEN. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. + LADY. That's more + Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours + Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure? + CLOTEN. Your lady's person; is she ready? + LADY. Ay, + To keep her chamber. + CLOTEN. There is gold for you; sell me your good report. + LADY. How? My good name? or to report of you + What I shall think is good? The Princess! + + Enter IMOGEN + + CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. + Exit LADY + IMOGEN. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains + For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give + Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, + And scarce can spare them. + CLOTEN. Still I swear I love you. + IMOGEN. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me. + If you swear still, your recompense is still + That I regard it not. + CLOTEN. This is no answer. + IMOGEN. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, + I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith, + I shall unfold equal discourtesy + To your best kindness; one of your great knowing + Should learn, being taught, forbearance. + CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin; + I will not. + IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks. + CLOTEN. Do you call me fool? + IMOGEN. As I am mad, I do; + If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; + That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, + You put me to forget a lady's manners + By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, + That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, + By th' very truth of it, I care not for you, + And am so near the lack of charity + To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather + You felt than make't my boast. + CLOTEN. You sin against + Obedience, which you owe your father. For + The contract you pretend with that base wretch, + One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, + With scraps o' th' court- it is no contract, none. + And though it be allowed in meaner parties- + Yet who than he more mean?- to knit their souls- + On whom there is no more dependency + But brats and beggary- in self-figur'd knot, + Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by + The consequence o' th' crown, and must not foil + The precious note of it with a base slave, + A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, + A pantler- not so eminent! + IMOGEN. Profane fellow! + Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more + But what thou art besides, thou wert too base + To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, + Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made + Comparative for your virtues to be styl'd + The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated + For being preferr'd so well. + CLOTEN. The south fog rot him! + IMOGEN. He never can meet more mischance than come + To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment + That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer + In my respect than all the hairs above thee, + Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! + + Enter PISANIO + + CLOTEN. 'His garments'! Now the devil- + IMOGEN. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. + CLOTEN. 'His garment'! + IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool; + Frighted, and ang'red worse. Go bid my woman + Search for a jewel that too casually + Hath left mine arm. It was thy master's; shrew me, + If I would lose it for a revenue + Of any king's in Europe! I do think + I saw't this morning; confident I am + Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it. + I hope it be not gone to tell my lord + That I kiss aught but he. + PISANIO. 'Twill not be lost. + IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search. Exit PISANIO + CLOTEN. You have abus'd me. + 'His meanest garment'! + IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir. + If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't. + CLOTEN. I will inform your father. + IMOGEN. Your mother too. + She's my good lady and will conceive, I hope, + But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, + To th' worst of discontent. Exit + CLOTEN. I'll be reveng'd. + 'His mean'st garment'! Well. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rome. PHILARIO'S house + +Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO + + POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure + To win the King as I am bold her honour + Will remain hers. + PHILARIO. What means do you make to him? + POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time, + Quake in the present winter's state, and wish + That warmer days would come. In these fear'd hopes + I barely gratify your love; they failing, + I must die much your debtor. + PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company + O'erpays all I can do. By this your king + Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius + Will do's commission throughly; and I think + He'll grant the tribute, send th' arrearages, + Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance + Is yet fresh in their grief. + POSTHUMUS. I do believe + Statist though I am none, nor like to be, + That this will prove a war; and you shall hear + The legions now in Gallia sooner landed + In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings + Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen + Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar + Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage + Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, + Now mingled with their courages, will make known + To their approvers they are people such + That mend upon the world. + + Enter IACHIMO + + PHILARIO. See! Iachimo! + POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, + And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails, + To make your vessel nimble. + PHILARIO. Welcome, sir. + POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made + The speediness of your return. + IACHIMO. Your lady + Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon. + POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty + Look through a casement to allure false hearts, + And be false with them. + IACHIMO. Here are letters for you. + POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust. + IACHIMO. 'Tis very like. + PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court + When you were there? + IACHIMO. He was expected then, + But not approach'd. + POSTHUMUS. All is well yet. + Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is't not + Too dull for your good wearing? + IACHIMO. If I have lost it, + I should have lost the worth of it in gold. + I'll make a journey twice as far t' enjoy + A second night of such sweet shortness which + Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. + POSTHUMUS. The stone's too hard to come by. + IACHIMO. Not a whit, + Your lady being so easy. + POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir, + Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we + Must not continue friends. + IACHIMO. Good sir, we must, + If you keep covenant. Had I not brought + The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant + We were to question farther; but I now + Profess myself the winner of her honour, + Together with your ring; and not the wronger + Of her or you, having proceeded but + By both your wills. + POSTHUMUS. If you can make't apparent + That you have tasted her in bed, my hand + And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion + You had of her pure honour gains or loses + Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both + To who shall find them. + IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances, + Being so near the truth as I will make them, + Must first induce you to believe- whose strength + I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not + You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find + You need it not. + POSTHUMUS. Proceed. + IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber, + Where I confess I slept not, but profess + Had that was well worth watching-it was hang'd + With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, + Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman + And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for + The press of boats or pride. A piece of work + So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive + In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd + Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, + Since the true life on't was- + POSTHUMUS. This is true; + And this you might have heard of here, by me + Or by some other. + IACHIMO. More particulars + Must justify my knowledge. + POSTHUMUS. So they must, + Or do your honour injury. + IACHIMO. The chimney + Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece + Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures + So likely to report themselves. The cutter + Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, + Motion and breath left out. + POSTHUMUS. This is a thing + Which you might from relation likewise reap, + Being, as it is, much spoke of. + IACHIMO. The roof o' th' chamber + With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons- + I had forgot them- were two winking Cupids + Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely + Depending on their brands. + POSTHUMUS. This is her honour! + Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise + Be given to your remembrance; the description + Of what is in her chamber nothing saves + The wager you have laid. + IACHIMO. Then, if you can, [Shows the bracelet] + Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See! + And now 'tis up again. It must be married + To that your diamond; I'll keep them. + POSTHUMUS. Jove! + Once more let me behold it. Is it that + Which I left with her? + IACHIMO. Sir- I thank her- that. + She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; + Her pretty action did outsell her gift, + And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said + She priz'd it once. + POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck'd it of + To send it me. + IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she? + POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too; + [Gives the ring] + It is a basilisk unto mine eye, + Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour + Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love + Where there's another man. The vows of women + Of no more bondage be to where they are made + Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing. + O, above measure false! + PHILARIO. Have patience, sir, + And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won. + It may be probable she lost it, or + Who knows if one her women, being corrupted + Hath stol'n it from her? + POSTHUMUS. Very true; + And so I hope he came by't. Back my ring. + Render to me some corporal sign about her, + More evident than this; for this was stol'n. + IACHIMO. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm! + POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. + 'Tis true- nay, keep the ring, 'tis true. I am sure + She would not lose it. Her attendants are + All sworn and honourable- they induc'd to steal it! + And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her. + The cognizance of her incontinency + Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. + There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell + Divide themselves between you! + PHILARIO. Sir, be patient; + This is not strong enough to be believ'd + Of one persuaded well of. + POSTHUMUS. Never talk on't; + She hath been colted by him. + IACHIMO. If you seek + For further satisfying, under her breast- + Worthy the pressing- lies a mole, right proud + Of that most delicate lodging. By my life, + I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger + To feed again, though full. You do remember + This stain upon her? + POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm + Another stain, as big as hell can hold, + Were there no more but it. + IACHIMO. Will you hear more? + POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns. + Once, and a million! + IACHIMO. I'll be sworn- + POSTHUMUS. No swearing. + If you will swear you have not done't, you lie; + And I will kill thee if thou dost deny + Thou'st made me cuckold. + IACHIMO. I'll deny nothing. + POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal! + I will go there and do't, i' th' court, before + Her father. I'll do something- Exit + PHILARIO. Quite besides + The government of patience! You have won. + Let's follow him and pervert the present wrath + He hath against himself. + IACHIMO. With all my heart. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Rome. Another room in PHILARIO'S house + +Enter POSTHUMUS + + POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men to be, but women + Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, + And that most venerable man which I + Did call my father was I know not where + When I was stamp'd. Some coiner with his tools + Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd + The Dian of that time. So doth my wife + The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! + Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, + And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with + A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't + Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her + As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils! + This yellow Iachimo in an hour- was't not? + Or less!- at first? Perchance he spoke not, but, + Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, + Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition + But what he look'd for should oppose and she + Should from encounter guard. Could I find out + The woman's part in me! For there's no motion + That tends to vice in man but I affirm + It is the woman's part. Be it lying, note it, + The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; + Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; + Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, + Nice longing, slanders, mutability, + All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows, + Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all; + For even to vice + They are not constant, but are changing still + One vice but of a minute old for one + Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, + Detest them, curse them. Yet 'tis greater skill + In a true hate to pray they have their will: + The very devils cannot plague them better. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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? + 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, ribb'd and pal'd in + With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, + With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats + But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest + Caesar made here; but made not here his brag + Of 'came, and saw, and overcame.' With shame- + The first that ever touch'd him- he was carried + From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping- + Poor ignorant baubles!- on our terrible seas, + Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd + As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof + The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point- + O, giglot fortune!- to master 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' th' world- against all colour here + Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake of + Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon + Ourselves to be. + CLOTEN. We do. + CYMBELINE. Say then to 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. + LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline, + That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar- + Caesar, that hath moe 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. + LUCIUS. Let proof speak. + CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or + two, or longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you + shall find us in our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it, + it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare + the better for you; and there's an end. + LUCIUS. So, sir. + CYMBELINE. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine; + All the remain is, welcome. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter PISANIO reading of a letter + + PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not + What monsters her accuse? Leonatus! + O master, what a strange infection + Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian- + As poisonous-tongu'd as handed- hath prevail'd + On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No. + She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, + More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults + As would take in some virtue. O my master! + Thy mind to her is now as low as were + Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her? + Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I + Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood? + If it be so to do good service, never + Let me be counted serviceable. How look I + That I should seem to lack humanity + So much as this fact comes to? [Reads] 'Do't. The letter + That I have sent her, by her own command + Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper, + Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble, + Art thou a fedary for this act, and look'st + So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. + + Enter IMOGEN + + I am ignorant in what I am commanded. + IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio! + PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. + IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord- Leonatus? + O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer + That knew the stars as I his characters- + He'd lay the future open. You good gods, + Let what is here contain'd relish of love, + Of my lord's health, of his content; yet not + That we two are asunder- let that grieve him! + Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, + For it doth physic love- of his content, + All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be + You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers + And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; + Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet + You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! + [Reads] + 'Justice and your father's wrath, should he take me in his + dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of + creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I + am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of + this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that + remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love + LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.' + + O for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? + He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me + How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs + May plod it in a week, why may not I + Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio- + Who long'st like me to see thy lord, who long'st- + O, let me 'bate!- but not like me, yet long'st, + But in a fainter kind- O, not like me, + For mine's beyond beyond!-say, and speak thick- + Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing + To th' smothering of the sense- how far it is + To this same blessed Milford. And by th' way + Tell me how Wales was made so happy as + T' inherit such a haven. But first of all, + How we may steal from hence; and for the gap + That we shall make in time from our hence-going + And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence. + Why should excuse be born or ere begot? + We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, + How many score of miles may we well ride + 'Twixt hour and hour? + PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun, + Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too. + IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to's execution, man, + Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers + Where horses have been nimbler than the sands + That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry. + Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say + She'll home to her father; and provide me presently + A riding suit, no costlier than would fit + A franklin's huswife. + PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider. + IMOGEN. I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, + Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them + That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; + Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say; + Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Wales. A mountainous country with a cave + +Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS + + BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such + Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate + Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you + To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs + Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through + And keep their impious turbans on without + Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven! + We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly + As prouder livers do. + GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven! + ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven! + BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill, + Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider, + When you above perceive me like a crow, + That it is place which lessens and sets off; + And you may then revolve what tales I have told you + Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. + This service is not service so being done, + But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus + Draws us a profit from all things we see, + And often to our comfort shall we find + The sharded beetle in a safer hold + Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life + Is nobler than attending for a check, + Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, + Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: + Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, + Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours! + GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd, + Have never wing'd from view o' th' nest, nor know not + What air's from home. Haply this life is best, + If quiet life be best; sweeter to you + That have a sharper known; well corresponding + With your stiff age. But unto us it is + A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, + A prison for a debtor that not dares + To stride a limit. + ARVIRAGUS. What should we speak of + When we are old as you? When we shall hear + The rain and wind beat dark December, how, + In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse. + The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing; + We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, + Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat. + Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage + We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird, + And sing our bondage freely. + BELARIUS. How you speak! + Did you but know the city's usuries, + And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court, + As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb + Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that + The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war, + A pain that only seems to seek out danger + I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search, + And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph + As record of fair act; nay, many times, + Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse- + Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story + The world may read in me; my body's mark'd + With Roman swords, and my report was once + first with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me; + And when a soldier was the theme, my name + Was not far off. Then was I as a tree + Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night + A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, + Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, + And left me bare to weather. + GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour! + BELARIUS. My fault being nothing- as I have told you oft- + But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd + Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline + I was confederate with the Romans. So + Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years + This rock and these demesnes have been my world, + Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid + More pious debts to heaven than in all + The fore-end of my time. But up to th' mountains! + This is not hunters' language. He that strikes + The venison first shall be the lord o' th' feast; + To him the other two shall minister; + And we will fear no poison, which attends + In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. + Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS + How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! + These boys know little they are sons to th' King, + Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. + They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly + I' th' cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit + The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them + In simple and low things to prince it much + Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, + The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who + The King his father call'd Guiderius- Jove! + When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell + The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out + Into my story; say 'Thus mine enemy fell, + And thus I set my foot on's neck'; even then + The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, + Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture + That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, + Once Arviragus, in as like a figure + Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more + His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous'd! + O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows + Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon, + At three and two years old, I stole these babes, + Thinking to bar thee of succession as + Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile, + Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, + And every day do honour to her grave. + Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, + They take for natural father. The game is up. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Wales, near Milford Haven + +Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN + + IMOGEN. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place + Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother so + To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man! + Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind + That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh + From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus + Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd + Beyond self-explication. Put thyself + Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness + Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? + Why tender'st thou that paper to me with + A look untender! If't be summer news, + Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st + But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand? + That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, + And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue + May take off some extremity, which to read + Would be even mortal to me. + PISANIO. Please you read, + And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing + The most disdain'd of fortune. + IMOGEN. [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in + my bed, the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not + out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as + certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act + for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let + thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity + at Milford Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose; where, if + thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art + the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.' + PISANIO. What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper + Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander, + Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue + Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath + Rides on the posting winds and doth belie + All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, + Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, + This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? + IMOGEN. False to his bed? What is it to be false? + To lie in watch there, and to think on him? + To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature, + To break it with a fearful dream of him, + And cry myself awake? That's false to's bed, + Is it? + PISANIO. Alas, good lady! + IMOGEN. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, + Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; + Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, + Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy, + Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him. + Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, + And for I am richer than to hang by th' walls + I must be ripp'd. To pieces with me! O, + Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, + By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought + Put on for villainy; not born where't grows, + But worn a bait for ladies. + PISANIO. Good madam, hear me. + IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false 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 perjur'd + From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; + Do thou thy master's bidding; when thou seest him, + A little witness my obedience. Look! + I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit + The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. + Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief; + Thy master is not there, who was indeed + The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. + Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, + But now thou seem'st a coward. + PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument! + Thou shalt not damn my hand. + IMOGEN. Why, I must die; + And if I do not by thy hand, thou art + No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter + There is a prohibition so divine + That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart- + Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence!- + Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? + The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus + All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, + Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more + Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools + Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd + Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor + Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, + That didst set up my disobedience 'gainst the King + My father, and make me put into contempt the suits + Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find + It is no act of common passage but + A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself + To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her + That now thou tirest on, how thy memory + Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch. + The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife? + Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, + When I desire it too. + PISANIO. O gracious lady, + Since I receiv'd command to do this busines + I have not slept one wink. + IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then. + PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeballs first. + IMOGEN. Wherefore then + Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd + So many miles with a pretence? This place? + Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour? + The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, + For my being absent?- whereunto I never + Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far + To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, + Th' elected deer before thee? + PISANIO. But to win time + To lose so bad employment, in the which + I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, + Hear me with patience. + IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary- speak. + I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, + Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, + Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. + PISANIO. Then, madam, + I thought you would not back again. + IMOGEN. Most like- + Bringing me here to kill me. + PISANIO. Not so, neither; + But if I were as wise as honest, then + My purpose would prove well. It cannot be + But that my master is abus'd. Some villain, + Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both + This cursed injury. + IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan! + PISANIO. No, on my life! + I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him + Some bloody sign of it, for 'tis commanded + I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court, + And that will well confirm it. + IMOGEN. Why, good fellow, + What shall I do the while? where bide? how live? + Or in my life what comfort, when I am + Dead to my husband? + PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court- + IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado + With that harsh, noble, simple nothing- + That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me + As fearful as a siege. + PISANIO. If not at court, + Then not in Britain must you bide. + IMOGEN. Where then? + Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, + Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume + Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't; + In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think + There's livers out of Britain. + PISANIO. I am most glad + You think of other place. Th' ambassador, + LUCIUS the Roman, comes to Milford Haven + To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind + Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise + That which t' appear itself must not yet be + But by self-danger, you should tread a course + Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near + The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, + That though his actions were not visible, yet + Report should render him hourly to your ear + As truly as he moves. + IMOGEN. O! for such means, + Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, + I would adventure. + PISANIO. Well then, here's the point: + You must forget to be a woman; change + Command into obedience; fear and niceness- + The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, + Woman it pretty self- into a waggish courage; + Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and + As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must + Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, + Exposing it- but, O, the harder heart! + Alack, no remedy!- to the greedy touch + Of common-kissing Titan, and forget + Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein + You made great Juno angry. + IMOGEN. Nay, be brief; + I see into thy end, and am almost + A man already. + PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one. + Fore-thinking this, I have already fit- + 'Tis in my cloak-bag- doublet, hat, hose, all + That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, + And with what imitation you can borrow + From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius + Present yourself, desire his service, tell him + Wherein you're happy- which will make him know + If that his head have ear in music; doubtless + With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, + And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad- + You have me, rich; and I will never fail + Beginning nor supplyment. + IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort + The gods will diet me with. Prithee away! + There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even + All that good time will give us. This attempt + I am soldier to, and will abide it with + A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. + PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, + Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of + Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, + Here is a box; I had it from the Queen. + What's in't is precious. If you are sick at sea + Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this + Will drive away distemper. To some shade, + And fit you to your manhood. May the gods + Direct you to the best! + IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee. Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE V. +Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS + + CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell. + LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir. + My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, + And am right sorry that I must report ye + My master's enemy. + CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir, + Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself + To show less sovereignty than they, must needs + Appear unkinglike. + LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you + A conduct overland to Milford Haven. + Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you! + CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office; + The due of honour in no point omit. + So farewell, noble Lucius. + LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord. + CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth + I wear it as your enemy. + LUCIUS. Sir, the event + Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. + CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, + Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness! + Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS + QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us + That we have given him cause. + CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better; + Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. + CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor + How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely + Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. + The pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia + Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves + His war for Britain. + QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business, + But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. + CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus + Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, + Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd + Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd + The duty of the day. She looks us like + A thing more made of malice than of duty; + We have noted it. Call her before us, for + We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit a MESSENGER + QUEEN. Royal sir, + Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd + Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, + 'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, + Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady + So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, + And strokes death to her. + + Re-enter MESSENGER + + CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How + Can her contempt be answer'd? + MESSENGER. Please you, sir, + Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer + That will be given to th' loud of noise we make. + QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her, + She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; + Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity + She should that duty leave unpaid to you + Which daily she was bound to proffer. This + She wish'd me to make known; but our great court + Made me to blame in memory. + CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd? + Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear + Prove false! Exit + QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King. + CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, + I have not seen these two days. + QUEEN. Go, look after. Exit CLOTEN + Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! + He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence + Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes + It is a thing most precious. But for her, + Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz'd her; + Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown + To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is + To death or to dishonour, and my end + Can make good use of either. She being down, + I have the placing of the British crown. + + 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. 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 chok'd; and in that point + I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, + To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools + Shall- + + Enter PISANIO + + Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? + Come hither. Ah, you precious 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 miss'd? + He is in Rome. + CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer. + No farther halting! Satisfy me home + What is become of her. + PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord! + CLOTEN. All-worthy villain! + Discover where thy mistress is at once, + At the next word. No more of 'worthy lord'! + Speak, or thy silence on the instant is + Thy condemnation and thy death. + PISANIO. Then, sir, + This paper is the history of my knowledge + Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter] + CLOTEN. Let's see't. I will pursue her + Even to Augustus' throne. + PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish. + She's far enough; and what he learns by this + May prove his travel, not her danger. + CLOTEN. Humh! + PISANIO. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, + Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! + CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true? + PISANIO. Sir, as I think. + CLOTEN. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst + not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those + employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a + serious industry- that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to + perform it directly and truly- I would think thee an honest man; + thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice + for thy preferment. + PISANIO. Well, my good lord. + CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou + hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou + canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower + of mine. Wilt thou serve me? + PISANIO. Sir, I will. + CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late + master's garments in thy possession? + PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when + he took leave of my lady and mistress. + CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let + it be thy first service; go. + PISANIO. I shall, my lord. Exit + CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; + I'll remember't anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I + kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a + time- the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart- that she + held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble + and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. + With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, + and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour, which will then + be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of + insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined- + which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that + she so prais'd- to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home + again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my + revenge. + + 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 + + + + +SCENE VI. +Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS + +Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes + + IMOGEN. I see a man's life is a tedious one. + I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together + Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick + But that my resolution helps me. Milford, + When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, + Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think + Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, + Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me + I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, + That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis + A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, + When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness + Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood + Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! + Thou art one o' th' false ones. Now I think on thee + My hunger's gone; but even before, I was + At point to sink for food. But what is this? + Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold. + I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, + Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. + Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever + Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here? + If anything that's civil, speak; if savage, + Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter. + Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy + But fear the sword, like me, he'll scarcely look on't. + Such a foe, good heavens! Exit into the cave + + Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS + + BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman and + Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I + Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match. + The sweat of industry would dry and die + But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs + Will make what's homely savoury; weariness + Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth + Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, + Poor house, that keep'st thyself! + GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary. + ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. + GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i' th' cave; we'll browse on that + Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. + BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in. + But that it eats our victuals, I should think + Here were a fairy. + GUIDERIUS. What's the matter, sir? + BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, + An earthly paragon! Behold divineness + No elder than a boy! + + 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' th' floor. Here's money for my meat. + I would have left it on the board, so soon + As I had made my meal, and parted + With pray'rs for the provider. + GUIDERIUS. Money, youth? + ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, + As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those + Who worship dirty gods. + IMOGEN. I see you're angry. + Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should + Have died had I not made it. + BELARIUS. Whither bound? + IMOGEN. To Milford Haven. + BELARIUS. What's your name? + IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who + Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford; + To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, + I am fall'n in this offence. + BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth, + Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds + By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! + 'Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer + Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. + Boys, bid him welcome. + GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth, + I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty + I bid for you as I'd buy. + ARVIRAGUS. I'll make't my comfort + He is a man. I'll love him as my brother; + And such a welcome as I'd give to him + After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome! + Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. + IMOGEN. 'Mongst friends, + If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so that they + Had been my father's sons! Then had my prize + Been less, and so more equal ballasting + To thee, Posthumus. + BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress. + GUIDERIUS. Would I could free't! + ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whate'er it be, + What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! + BELARIUS. [Whispering] Hark, boys. + IMOGEN. [Aside] Great men, + That had a court no bigger than this cave, + That did attend themselves, and had the virtue + Which their own conscience seal'd them, laying by + That nothing-gift of differing multitudes, + Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! + I'd change my sex to be companion with them, + Since Leonatus' false. + BELARIUS. It shall be so. + Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in. + Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, + We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, + So far as thou wilt speak it. + GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near. + ARVIRAGUS. The night to th' owl and morn to th' lark less welcome. + IMOGEN. Thanks, sir. + ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +Rome. A public place + +Enter two ROMAN SENATORS and TRIBUNES + + FIRST SENATOR. This is the tenour of the Emperor's writ: + That since the common men are now in action + 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, + And that the legions now in Gallia are + Full weak to undertake our wars against + The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite + The gentry to this business. He creates + Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes, + For this immediate levy, he commands + His absolute commission. Long live Caesar! + TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces? + SECOND SENATOR. Ay. + TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia? + FIRST SENATOR. With those legions + Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy + Must be supplyant. The words of your commission + Will tie you to the numbers and the time + Of their dispatch. + TRIBUNE. We will discharge our duty. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Wales. Near the cave of BELARIUS + +Enter CLOTEN alone + + CLOTEN. I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio + have mapp'd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should + his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be + fit too? The rather- saving reverence of the word- for 'tis said + a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. + I dare speak it to myself, for it is not vain-glory for a man and + his glass to confer in his own chamber- I mean, the lines of my + body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not + beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, + above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and + more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this imperceiverant + thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy + head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this + hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces + before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, + who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my + mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my + commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a + sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very + description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not + deceive me. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS + +Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN + + BELARIUS. [To IMOGEN] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; + We'll come to you after hunting. + ARVIRAGUS. [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here. + Are we not brothers? + IMOGEN. So man and man should be; + But clay and clay differs in dignity, + Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. + GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. + IMOGEN. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; + But not so citizen a wanton as + To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; + Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom + Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me + Cannot amend me; society is no comfort + To one not sociable. I am not very sick, + Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. + I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, + Stealing so poorly. + GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it. + How much the quantity, the weight as much + As I do love my father. + BELARIUS. What? how? how? + ARVIRAGUS. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me + In my good brother's fault. I know not why + I love this youth, and I have heard you say + Love's reason's without reason. The bier at door, + And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say + 'My father, not this youth.' + BELARIUS. [Aside] O noble strain! + O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! + Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. + Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. + I'm not their father; yet who this should be + Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.- + 'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn. + ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell. + IMOGEN. I wish ye sport. + ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [To BELARIUS] So please you, sir. + IMOGEN. [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have + heard! + Our courtiers say all's savage but at court. + Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! + Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, + Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. + I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, + I'll now taste of thy drug. [Swallows some] + GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him. + He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; + Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. + ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter + I might know more. + BELARIUS. To th' field, to th' field! + We'll leave you for this time. Go in and rest. + ARVIRAGUS. We'll not be long away. + BELARIUS. Pray be not sick, + For you must be our huswife. + IMOGEN. Well, or ill, + I am bound to you. + BELARIUS. And shalt be ever. Exit IMOGEN into the cave + This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had + Good ancestors. + ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings! + GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, + And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick, + And he her dieter. + ARVIRAGUS. Nobly he yokes + A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh + Was that it was for not being such a smile; + The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly + From so divine a temple to commix + With winds that sailors rail at. + GUIDERIUS. I do note + That grief and patience, rooted in him both, + Mingle their spurs together. + ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience! + And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine + His perishing root with the increasing vine! + BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Who's there? + + Enter CLOTEN + + CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that villain + Hath mock'd me. I am faint. + BELARIUS. Those runagates? + Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis + Cloten, the son o' th' Queen. I fear some ambush. + I saw him not these many years, and yet + I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence! + GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search + What companies are near. Pray you away; + Let me alone with him. Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS + CLOTEN. Soft! What are you + That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? + I have heard of such. What slave art thou? + GUIDERIUS. A thing + More slavish did I ne'er than answering + 'A slave' without a knock. + CLOTEN. Thou art a robber, + A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. + GUIDERIUS. To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I + An arm as big as thine, a heart as big? + Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not + My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art; + Why I should yield to thee. + CLOTEN. Thou villain base, + Know'st me not by my clothes? + GUIDERIUS. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, + Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, + Which, as it seems, make thee. + CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet, + My tailor made them not. + GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank + The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; + I am loath to beat thee. + CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief, + Hear but my name, and tremble. + GUIDERIUS. What's thy name? + CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain. + GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, + I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad, or adder, spider, + 'Twould move me sooner. + CLOTEN. To thy further fear, + Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know + I am son to th' Queen. + GUIDERIUS. I'm sorry for't; not seeming + So worthy as thy birth. + CLOTEN. Art not afeard? + GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fear- the wise: + At fools I laugh, not fear them. + CLOTEN. Die the death. + When I have slain thee with my proper hand, + I'll follow those that even now fled hence, + And on the gates of Lud's Town set your heads. + Yield, rustic mountaineer. Exeunt, fighting + + Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS + + BELARIUS. No company's abroad. + ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure. + BELARIUS. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, + But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour + Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, + And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute + 'Twas very Cloten. + ARVIRAGUS. In this place we left them. + I wish my brother make good time with him, + You say he is so fell. + BELARIUS. Being scarce made up, + I mean to man, he had not apprehension + Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgment + Is oft the cease of fear. + + Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head + + But, see, thy brother. + GUIDERIUS. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; + There was no money in't. Not Hercules + Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none; + Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne + My head as I do his. + BELARIUS. What hast thou done? + GUIDERIUS. I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head, + Son to the Queen, after his own report; + Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore + With his own single hand he'd take us in, + Displace our heads where- thank the gods!- they grow, + And set them on Lud's Town. + BELARIUS. We are all undone. + GUIDERIUS. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose + But that he swore to take, our lives? The law + Protects not us; then why should we be tender + To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, + Play judge and executioner all himself, + For we do fear the law? What company + Discover you abroad? + BELARIUS. No single soul + Can we set eye on, but in an safe reason + He must have some attendants. Though his humour + Was nothing but mutation- ay, and that + From one bad thing to worse- not frenzy, not + Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, + To bring him here alone. Although perhaps + It may be heard at court that such as we + Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time + May make some stronger head- the which he hearing, + As it is like him, might break out and swear + He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable + To come alone, either he so undertaking + Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, + If we do fear this body hath a tail + More perilous than the head. + ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance + Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe'er, + My brother hath done well. + BELARIUS. I had no mind + To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness + Did make my way long forth. + GUIDERIUS. With his own sword, + Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en + His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek + Behind our rock, and let it to the sea + And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Cloten. + That's all I reck. Exit + BELARIUS. I fear'twill be reveng'd. + Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour + Becomes thee well enough. + ARVIRAGUS. Would I had done't, + So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polydore, + I love thee brotherly, but envy much + Thou hast robb'd me of this deed. I would revenges, + That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, + And put us to our answer. + BELARIUS. Well, 'tis done. + We'll hunt no more 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 Polydore return, and bring him + To dinner presently. + ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele! + I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour + I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood, + And praise myself for charity. Exit + BELARIUS. O thou goddess, + Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st + In these two princely boys! They are as gentle + As zephyrs blowing below the violet, + Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, + Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind + That by the top doth take the mountain pine + And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder + That an invisible instinct should frame them + To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, + Civility not seen from other, valour + That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop + As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange + What Cloten's being here to us portends, + Or what his death will bring us. + + 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? + + Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing + her in his arms + + BELARIUS. Look, here he comes, + And brings the dire occasion in his arms + Of what we blame him for! + ARVIRAGUS. The bird is dead + That we have made so much on. I had rather + Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, + To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, + Than have seen this. + GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily! + My brother wears thee not the one half so well + As when thou grew'st thyself. + BELARIUS. O melancholy! + Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find + The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare + Might'st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! + Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, + Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. + How found you him? + ARVIRAGUS. Stark, as you see; + Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, + Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek + Reposing on a cushion. + GUIDERIUS. Where? + ARVIRAGUS. O' th' floor; + His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept, and put + My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness + Answer'd my steps too loud. + GUIDERIUS. Why, he but sleeps. + If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed; + With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, + And worms will not come to thee. + ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers, + Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, + I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack + The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor + The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor + The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, + Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock would, + With charitable bill- O bill, sore shaming + Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie + Without a monument!- bring thee all this; + Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none, + To winter-ground thy corse- + GUIDERIUS. Prithee have done, + And do not play in wench-like words with that + Which is so serious. Let us bury him, + And not protract with admiration what + Is now due debt. To th' grave. + ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shall's lay him? + GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother. + ARVIRAGUS. Be't so; + And let us, Polydore, though now our voices + Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground, + As once to our mother; use like note and words, + Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. + GUIDERIUS. Cadwal, + I cannot sing. I'll weep, and word it with thee; + For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse + Than priests and fanes that lie. + ARVIRAGUS. We'll speak it, then. + BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Cloten + Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; + And though he came our enemy, remember + He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting + Together have one dust, yet reverence- + That angel of the world- doth make distinction + Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; + And though you took his life, as being our foe, + Yet bury him as a prince. + GUIDERIUS. Pray you fetch him hither. + Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', + When neither are alive. + ARVIRAGUS. If you'll go fetch him, + We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. + Exit BELARIUS + GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East; + My father hath a reason for't. + ARVIRAGUS. 'Tis true. + GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him. + ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin. + + SONG + + GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the heat o' th' sun + Nor the furious winter's rages; + Thou thy worldly task hast done, + Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. + Golden lads and girls all must, + As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. + + ARVIRAGUS. Fear no more the frown o' th' great; + Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. + Care no more to clothe and eat; + To thee the reed is as the oak. + The sceptre, learning, physic, must + All follow this and come to dust. + + GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the lightning flash, + ARVIRAGUS. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; + GUIDERIUS. Fear not slander, censure rash; + ARVIRAGUS. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. + BOTH. All lovers young, all lovers must + Consign to thee and come to dust. + + GUIDERIUS. No exorciser harm thee! + ARVIRAGUS. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! + GUIDERIUS. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! + ARVIRAGUS. Nothing ill come near thee! + BOTH. Quiet consummation have, + And renowned be thy grave! + + 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' th' night + Are strewings fit'st for graves. Upon their faces. + You were as flow'rs, now wither'd. Even so + These herblets shall which we upon you strew. + Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. + The ground that gave them first has them again. + Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. + Exeunt all but IMOGEN + IMOGEN. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? + I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? + 'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? + I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. + But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses! + [Seeing the body] + These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world; + This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream; + For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, + And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so; + 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, + Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes + Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. Good faith, + I tremble still with fear; but if there be + Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity + As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! + The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is + Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt. + A headless man? The garments of Posthumus? + I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand, + His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, + The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face- + Murder in heaven! How! 'Tis gone. Pisanio, + All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, + And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, + Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, + Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read + Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio + Hath with his forged letters- damn'd Pisanio- + From this most bravest vessel of the world + Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas, + Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! where's that? + Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, + And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? + 'Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them + Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant! + The drug he gave me, which he said was precious + And cordial to me, have I not found it + Murd'rous to th' senses? That confirms it home. + This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten. O! + Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, + That we the horrider may seem to those + Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! + [Falls fainting on the body] + + Enter LUCIUS, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER + + CAPTAIN. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, + After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending + You here at Milford Haven; with your ships, + They are in readiness. + LUCIUS. But what from Rome? + CAPTAIN. The Senate hath stirr'd up the confiners + And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, + That promise noble service; and they come + Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, + Sienna's brother. + LUCIUS. When expect you them? + CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o' th' wind. + LUCIUS. This forwardness + Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers + Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir, + What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose? + SOOTHSAYER. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision- + I fast and pray'd for their intelligence- thus: + I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd + From the spongy south to this part of the west, + There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which portends, + Unless my sins abuse my divination, + Success to th' Roman host. + LUCIUS. Dream often so, + And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here + Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime + It was a worthy building. How? a page? + Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather; + For nature doth abhor to make his bed + With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. + Let's see the boy's face. + CAPTAIN. He's alive, my lord. + LUCIUS. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one, + Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems + They crave to be demanded. Who is this + Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he + That, otherwise than noble nature did, + Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest + In this sad wreck? How came't? Who is't? What art thou? + IMOGEN. I am nothing; or if not, + Nothing to be were better. This was my master, + A very valiant Briton and a good, + That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! + There is no more such masters. I may wander + From east to occident; cry out for service; + Try many, all good; serve truly; never + Find such another master. + LUCIUS. 'Lack, good youth! + Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than + Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. + IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie, and do + No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope + They'll pardon it.- Say you, sir? + LUCIUS. Thy name? + IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. + LUCIUS. Thou dost approve thyself the very same; + Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. + Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say + Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, + No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters, + Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner + Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. + IMOGEN. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, + I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep + As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when + With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave, + And on it said a century of prayers, + Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; + And leaving so his service, follow you, + So please you entertain me. + LUCIUS. Ay, good youth; + And rather father thee than master thee. + My friends, + The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us + Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, + And make him with our pikes and partisans + A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd + By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd + As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. + Some falls are means the happier to arise. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace + +Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants + + CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her. + Exit an attendant + A fever with the absence of her son; + A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens, + How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, + The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen + Upon a desperate bed, and in a time + When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, + So needful for this present. It strikes me past + The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, + Who needs must know of her departure and + Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee + By a sharp torture. + PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours; + I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, + I nothing know where she remains, why gone, + Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, + Hold me your loyal servant. + LORD. Good my liege, + The day that she was missing he was here. + I dare be bound he's true and shall perform + All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, + There wants no diligence in seeking him, + And will no doubt be found. + CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome. + [To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy + Does yet depend. + LORD. So please your Majesty, + The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, + Are landed on your coast, with a supply + Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent. + CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! + I am amaz'd with matter. + LORD. Good my liege, + Your preparation can affront no less + Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready. + The want is but to put those pow'rs in motion + That long to move. + CYMBELINE. I thank you. Let's withdraw, + And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not + What can from Italy annoy us; but + We grieve at chances here. Away! Exeunt all but PISANIO + PISANIO. I heard no letter from my master since + I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange. + Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise + To yield me often tidings. Neither know + What is betid to Cloten, but remain + Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work. + Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. + These present wars shall find I love my country, + Even to the note o' th' King, or I'll fall in them. + All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: + Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS + +Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS + + GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us. + BELARIUS. Let us from it. + ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it + From action and adventure? + GUIDERIUS. Nay, what hope + Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans + Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us + For barbarous and unnatural revolts + During their use, and slay us after. + BELARIUS. Sons, + We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. + To the King's party there's no going. Newness + Of Cloten's death- we being not known, not muster'd + Among the bands-may drive us to a render + Where we have liv'd, and so extort from's that + Which we have done, whose answer would be death, + Drawn on with torture. + GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt + In such a time nothing becoming you + Nor satisfying us. + ARVIRAGUS. It is not likely + That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, + Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes + And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, + That they will waste their time upon our note, + To know from whence we are. + BELARIUS. O, I am known + Of many in the army. Many years, + Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him + From my remembrance. And, besides, the King + Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves, + Who find in my exile the want of breeding, + The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless + To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, + But to be still hot summer's tanlings and + The shrinking slaves of winter. + GUIDERIUS. Than be so, + Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th' army. + I and my brother are not known; yourself + So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, + Cannot be questioned. + ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines, + I'll thither. What thing is't that I never + Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood + But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! + Never bestrid a horse, save one that had + A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel + Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd + To look upon the holy sun, to have + The benefit of his blest beams, remaining + So long a poor unknown. + GUIDERIUS. By heavens, I'll go! + If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, + I'll take the better care; but if you will not, + The hazard therefore due fall on me by + The hands of Romans! + ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen. + BELARIUS. No reason I, since of your lives you set + So slight a valuation, should reserve + My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys! + If in your country wars you chance to die, + That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie. + Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn + Till it fly out and show them princes born. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Britain. The Roman camp + +Enter POSTHUMUS alone, with a bloody handkerchief + + POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd + Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones, + If each of you should take this course, how many + Must murder wives much better than themselves + For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! + Every good servant does not all commands; + No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you + Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never + Had liv'd to put on this; so had you saved + The noble Imogen to repent, and struck + Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, + You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love, + To have them fall no more. You some permit + To second ills with ills, each elder worse, + And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift. + But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, + And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither + Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight + Against my lady's kingdom. 'Tis enough + That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! + I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, + Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me + Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself + As does a Britain peasant. So I'll fight + Against the part I come with; so I'll die + For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life + Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, + Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril + Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know + More valour in me than my habits show. + Gods, put the strength o' th' Leonati in me! + To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin + The fashion- less without and more within. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps + +Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army at one door, and the British army +at another, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier. +They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, +IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS. He vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, +and then leaves him + + IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom + Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, + The Princess of this country, and the air on't + Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, + A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me + In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne + As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. + If that thy gentry, Britain, go before + This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds + Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. Exit + + The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken. + Then enter to his rescue BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS + + BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th' advantage of the ground; + The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but + The villainy of our fears. + GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight! + + Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue + CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS and IACHIMO, + with IMOGEN + + LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; + For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such + As war were hoodwink'd. + IACHIMO. 'Tis their fresh supplies. + LUCIUS. It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes + Let's reinforce or fly. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Another part of the field + +Enter POSTHUMUS and a Britain LORD + + LORD. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand? + POSTHUMUS. I did: + Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. + LORD. I did. + POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, + But that the heavens fought. The King himself + Of his wings destitute, the army broken, + And but the backs of Britons seen, an flying, + Through a strait lane- the enemy, full-hearted, + Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work + More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down + Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling + Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm'd + With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living + To die with length'ned shame. + LORD. Where was this lane? + POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf, + Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier- + An honest one, I warrant, who deserv'd + So long a breeding as his white beard came to, + In doing this for's country. Athwart the lane + He, with two striplings- lads more like to run + The country base than to commit such slaughter; + With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer + Than those for preservation cas'd or shame- + Made good the passage, cried to those that fled + 'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men. + To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; + Or we are Romans and will give you that, + Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save + But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!' These three, + Three thousand confident, in act as many- + For three performers are the file when all + The rest do nothing- with this word 'Stand, stand!' + Accommodated by the place, more charming + With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd + A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, + Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some turn'd coward + But by example- O, a sin in war + Damn'd in the first beginners!- gan to look + The way that they did and to grin like lions + Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began + A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon + A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, + Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, + The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, + Like fragments in hard voyages, became + The life o' th' need. Having found the back-door open + Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! + Some slain before, some dying, some their friends + O'erborne i' th' former wave. Ten chas'd by one + Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. + Those that would die or ere resist are grown + The mortal bugs o' th' field. + LORD. This was strange chance: + A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. + POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made + Rather to wonder at the things you hear + Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, + And vent it for a mock'ry? Here is one: + 'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, + Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' + LORD. Nay, be not angry, sir. + POSTHUMUS. 'Lack, to what end? + Who dares not stand his foe I'll be his friend; + For if he'll do as he is made to do, + I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. + You have put me into rhyme. + LORD. Farewell; you're angry. Exit + POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, + To be i' th' field and ask 'What news?' of me! + To-day how many would have given their honours + To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't, + And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd, + Could not find death where I did hear him groan, + Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, + 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, + Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we + That draw his knives i' th' war. Well, I will find him; + For being now a favourer to the Briton, + No more a Briton, I have resum'd again + The part I came in. Fight I will no more, + But yield me to the veriest hind that shall + Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is + Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be + Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death; + On either side I come to spend my breath, + Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again, + But end it by some means for Imogen. + + Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers + + FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken. + 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. + SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, + That gave th' affront with them. + FIRST CAPTAIN. So 'tis reported; + But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there? + POSTHUMUS. A Roman, + Who had not now been drooping here if seconds + Had answer'd him. + SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog! + A leg of Rome shall not return to tell + What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service, + As if he were of note. Bring him to th' King. + + Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman + captives. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers + him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes + + + + +SCENE IV. +Britain. A prison + +Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS + + FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you; + So graze as you find pasture. + SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach. Exeunt GAOLERS + POSTHUMUS. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, + I think, to liberty. Yet am I better + Than one that's sick o' th' gout, since he had rather + Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd + By th' sure physician death, who is the key + T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd + More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me + The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, + Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry? + So children temporal fathers do appease; + Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, + I cannot do it better than in gyves, + Desir'd more than constrain'd. To satisfy, + If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take + No stricter render of me than my all. + I know you are more clement than vile men, + Who of their broken debtors take a third, + A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again + On their abatement; that's not my desire. + For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though + 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it. + 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; + Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake; + You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow'rs, + If you will take this audit, take this life, + And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! + I'll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps] + + Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS + LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired + like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient + matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with + music before them. Then, after other music, follows + the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, + with wounds, as they died in the wars. + They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping + + SICILIUS. No more, thou thunder-master, show + Thy spite on mortal flies. + With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, + That thy adulteries + Rates and revenges. + Hath my poor boy done aught but well, + Whose face I never saw? + I died whilst in the womb he stay'd + Attending nature's law; + Whose father then, as men report + Thou orphans' father art, + Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him + From this earth-vexing smart. + + MOTHER. Lucina lent not me her aid, + But took me in my throes, + That from me was Posthumus ripp'd, + Came crying 'mongst his foes, + A thing of pity. + + SICILIUS. Great Nature like his ancestry + Moulded the stuff so fair + That he deserv'd the praise o' th' world + As great Sicilius' heir. + + FIRST BROTHER. When once he was mature for man, + In Britain where was he + That could stand up his parallel, + Or fruitful object be + In eye of Imogen, that best + Could deem his dignity? + + MOTHER. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, + To be exil'd and thrown + From Leonati seat and cast + From her his dearest one, + Sweet Imogen? + + SICILIUS. Why did you suffer Iachimo, + Slight thing of Italy, + To taint his nobler heart and brain + With needless jealousy, + And to become the geck and scorn + O' th' other's villainy? + + SECOND BROTHER. For this from stiller seats we came, + Our parents and us twain, + That, striking in our country's cause, + Fell bravely and were slain, + Our fealty and Tenantius' right + With honour to maintain. + + FIRST BROTHER. Like hardiment Posthumus hath + To Cymbeline perform'd. + Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, + Why hast thou thus adjourn'd + The graces for his merits due, + Being all to dolours turn'd? + + SICILIUS. Thy crystal window ope; look out; + No longer exercise + Upon a valiant race thy harsh + And potent injuries. + + MOTHER. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, + Take off his miseries. + + SICILIUS. Peep through thy marble mansion. Help! + Or we poor ghosts will cry + To th' shining synod of the rest + Against thy deity. + + BROTHERS. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal, + And from thy justice fly. + + JUPITER descends-in thunder and lightning, sitting + upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS + fall on their knees + + JUPITER. No more, you petty spirits of region low, + Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts + Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, + Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? + Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest + Upon your never-withering banks of flow'rs. + Be not with mortal accidents opprest: + No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. + Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, + The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; + Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; + His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. + Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in + Our temple was he married. Rise and fade! + He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, + And happier much by his affliction made. + This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein + Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; + And so, away; no farther with your din + Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. + Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends] + SICILIUS. He came in thunder; his celestial breath + Was sulpherous to smell; the holy eagle + Stoop'd as to foot us. His ascension is + More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird + Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, + As when his god is pleas'd. + ALL. Thanks, Jupiter! + SICILIUS. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd + His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, + Let us with care perform his great behest. [GHOSTS vanish] + + POSTHUMUS. [Waking] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot + A father to me; and thou hast created + A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, + Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born. + And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend + On greatness' favour, dream as I have done; + Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; + Many dream not to find, neither deserve, + And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, + That have this golden chance, and know not why. + What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! + Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment + Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects + So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, + As good as promise. + + [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, + without seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; + and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches which, + being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old + stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, + Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.' + + 'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen + Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, + Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such + As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, + The action of my life is like it, which + I'll keep, if but for sympathy. + + Re-enter GAOLER + + GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death? + POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. + GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are + well cook'd. + POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish + pays the shot. + GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you + shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, + which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth. + You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much + drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are + paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier + for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of + heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the + charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You + have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and + to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and + counters; so the acquittance follows. + POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live. + GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a + man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to + bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look + you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. + POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow. + GAOLER. Your death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so + pictur'd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them + to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not + know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you + shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to + tell one. + POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct + them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them. + GAOLER. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the + best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's + the way of winking. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King. + POSTHUMUS. Thou bring'st good news: I am call'd to be made free. + GAOLER. I'll be hang'd then. + POSTHUMUS. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the + dead. Exeunt POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER + GAOLER. Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, + I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier + knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some + of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were + one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there + were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my + present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't. Exit + + + + +SCENE V. +Britain. CYMBELINE'S tent + +Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, LORDS, +OFFICERS, and attendants + + CYMBELINE. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made + Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart + That the poor soldier that so richly fought, + Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast + Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found. + He shall be happy that can find him, if + Our grace can make him so. + BELARIUS. I never saw + Such noble fury in so poor a thing; + Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought + But beggary and poor looks. + CYMBELINE. No tidings of him? + PISANIO. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, + But no trace of him. + CYMBELINE. To my grief, I am + The heir of his reward; [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS] + which I will add + To you, the liver, heart, and brain, of Britain, + By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time + To ask of whence you are. Report it. + BELARIUS. Sir, + In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; + Further to boast were neither true nor modest, + Unless I add we are honest. + CYMBELINE. Bow your knees. + Arise my knights o' th' battle; I create you + Companions to our person, and will fit you + With dignities becoming your estates. + + Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES + + There's business in these faces. Why so sadly + Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, + And not o' th' court of Britain. + CORNELIUS. Hail, great King! + To sour your happiness I must report + The Queen is dead. + CYMBELINE. Who worse than a physician + Would this report become? But I consider + By med'cine'life may be prolong'd, yet death + Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? + CORNELIUS. With horror, madly dying, like her life; + Which, being cruel to the world, concluded + Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd + I will report, so please you; these her women + Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks + Were present when she finish'd. + CYMBELINE. Prithee say. + CORNELIUS. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only + Affected greatness got by you, not you; + Married your royalty, was wife to your place; + Abhorr'd your person. + CYMBELINE. She alone knew this; + And but she spoke it dying, I would not + Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. + CORNELIUS. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love + With such integrity, she did confess + Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, + But that her flight prevented it, she had + Ta'en off by poison. + CYMBELINE. O most delicate fiend! + Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? + CORNELIUS. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had + For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, + Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring, + By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd, + By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to + O'ercome you with her show; and in time, + When she had fitted you with her craft, to work + Her son into th' adoption of the crown; + But failing of her end by his strange absence, + Grew shameless-desperate, open'd, in despite + Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented + The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, + Despairing, died. + CYMBELINE. Heard you all this, her women? + 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 behind, and IMOGEN + + Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that + The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss + Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit + That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter + Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; + So think of your estate. + LUCIUS. Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day + Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, + We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd + Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods + Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives + May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth + A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer. + Augustus lives to think on't; and so much + For my peculiar care. This one thing only + I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born, + Let him be ransom'd. Never master had + A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, + So tender over his occasions, true, + So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join + With my request, which I'll make bold your Highness + Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm + Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir, + And spare no blood beside. + CYMBELINE. I have surely seen him; + His favour is familiar to me. Boy, + Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, + And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore + To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live; + And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, + Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it; + Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, + The noblest ta'en. + IMOGEN. I humbly thank your Highness. + LUCIUS. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, + And yet I know thou wilt. + IMOGEN. No, no! Alack, + There's other work in hand. I see a thing + Bitter to me as death; your life, good master, + Must shuffle for itself. + LUCIUS. The boy disdains me, + He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys + That place them on the truth of girls and boys. + Why stands he so perplex'd? + CYMBELINE. What wouldst thou, boy? + I love thee more and more; think more and more + What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak, + Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? + IMOGEN. He is a Roman, no more kin to me + Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal, + Am something nearer. + CYMBELINE. Wherefore ey'st him so? + IMOGEN. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please + To give me hearing. + CYMBELINE. Ay, with all my heart, + And lend my best attention. What's thy name? + IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. + CYMBELINE. Thou'rt my good youth, my page; + I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely. + [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart] + BELARIUS. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? + ARVIRAGUS. One sand another + Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad + Who died and was Fidele. What think you? + GUIDERIUS. The same dead thing alive. + BELARIUS. Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear. + Creatures may be alike; were't he, I am sure + He would have spoke to us. + GUIDERIUS. But we 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 advance] + CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our side; + Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth; + Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, + Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, + Which is our honour, bitter torture shall + Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him. + IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render + Of whom he had this ring. + POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him? + CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say + How came it yours? + IACHIMO. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that + Which to be spoke would torture thee. + CYMBELINE. How? me? + IACHIMO. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that + Which torments me to conceal. By villainy + I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, + Whom thou didst banish; and- which more may grieve thee, + As it doth me- a nobler sir ne'er liv'd + 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? + CYMBELINE. All that belongs to this. + IACHIMO. That paragon, thy daughter, + For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits + Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint. + CYMBELINE. My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength; + I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will + Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak. + IACHIMO. Upon a time- unhappy was the clock + That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd + The mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would + Our viands had been poison'd, or at least + Those which I heav'd to head!- the good Posthumus- + What should I say? he was too good to be + Where ill men were, and was the best of all + Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly + Hearing us praise our loves of Italy + For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast + Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming + The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, + Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, + A shop of all the qualities that man + Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, + Fairness which strikes the eye- + CYMBELINE. I stand on fire. + Come to the matter. + IACHIMO. All too soon I shall, + Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, + Most like a noble lord in love and one + That had a royal lover, took his hint; + And not dispraising whom we prais'd- therein + He was as calm as virtue- he began + His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, + And then a mind put in't, either our brags + Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description + Prov'd us unspeaking sots. + CYMBELINE. Nay, nay, to th' purpose. + IACHIMO. Your daughter's chastity- there it begins. + He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams + And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch, + Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him + Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore + Upon his honour'd finger, to attain + In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring + By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, + No lesser of her honour confident + Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; + And would so, had it been a carbuncle + Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it + Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain + Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, + Remember me at court, where I was taught + Of your chaste daughter the wide difference + 'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd + Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain + Gan in your duller Britain operate + Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; + And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd + That I return'd with simular proof enough + To make the noble Leonatus mad, + By wounding his belief in her renown + With tokens thus and thus; averring notes + Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet- + O cunning, how I got it!- nay, some marks + Of secret on her person, that he could not + But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, + I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon- + Methinks I see him now- + POSTHUMUS. [Coming forward] Ay, so thou dost, + Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool, + Egregious murderer, thief, anything + That's due to all the villains past, in being, + To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, + Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out + For torturers ingenious. It is I + That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend + By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, + That kill'd thy daughter; villain-like, I lie- + That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, + A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple + Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. + Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set + The dogs o' th' street to bay me. Every villain + Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and + Be villainy less than 'twas! O Imogen! + My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, + Imogen, Imogen! + IMOGEN. Peace, my lord. Hear, hear! + POSTHUMUS. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, + There lies thy part. [Strikes her. She falls] + PISANIO. O gentlemen, help! + Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! + You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help! + Mine honour'd lady! + CYMBELINE. Does the world go round? + POSTHUMUS. How comes these staggers on me? + PISANIO. Wake, my mistress! + CYMBELINE. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me + To death with mortal joy. + PISANIO. How fares my mistress? + IMOGEN. O, get thee from my sight; + Thou gav'st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence! + Breathe not where princes are. + CYMBELINE. The tune of Imogen! + PISANIO. Lady, + The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if + That box I gave you was not thought by me + A precious thing! I had it from the Queen. + CYMBELINE. New matter still? + IMOGEN. It poison'd me. + CORNELIUS. O gods! + I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd, + Which must approve thee honest. 'If Pisanio + Have' said she 'given his mistress that confection + Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd + As I would serve a rat.' + CYMBELINE. What's this, Cornelius? + CORNELIUS. The Queen, sir, very oft importun'd me + To temper poisons for her; still pretending + The satisfaction of her knowledge only + In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, + Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose + Was of more danger, did compound for her + A certain stuff, which, being ta'en would cease + The present pow'r of life, but in short time + All offices of nature should again + Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? + IMOGEN. Most like I did, for I was dead. + BELARIUS. My boys, + There was our error. + GUIDERIUS. This is sure Fidele. + IMOGEN. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? + Think that you are upon a rock, and now + Throw me again. [Embracing him] + POSTHUMUS. Hang there like fruit, my soul, + Till the tree die! + CYMBELINE. How now, my flesh? my child? + What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? + Wilt thou not speak to me? + IMOGEN. [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir. + BELARIUS. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love this + youth, I blame ye not; + You had a motive for't. + CYMBELINE. My tears that fall + Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, + Thy mother's dead. + IMOGEN. I am sorry for't, my lord. + CYMBELINE. O, she was naught, and long of her it was + That we meet here so strangely; but her son + Is gone, we know not how nor where. + PISANIO. My lord, + Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, + Upon my lady's missing, came to me + With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore, + If I discover'd not which way she was gone, + It was my instant death. By accident + I had a feigned letter of my master's + Then in my pocket, which directed him + To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; + Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, + Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts + With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate + My lady's honour. What became of him + I further know not. + GUIDERIUS. Let me end the story: + I slew him there. + CYMBELINE. Marry, the gods forfend! + I would not thy good deeds should from my lips + Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth, + Deny't again. + GUIDERIUS. I have spoke it, and I did it. + CYMBELINE. He was a prince. + GUIDERIUS. A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me + Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me + With language that would make me spurn the sea, + If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head, + And am right glad he is not standing here + To tell this tale of mine. + CYMBELINE. I am sorry for thee. + By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must + Endure our law. Thou'rt dead. + IMOGEN. That headless man + I thought had been my lord. + CYMBELINE. Bind the offender, + And take him from our presence. + BELARIUS. Stay, sir King. + This man is better than the man he slew, + As well descended as thyself, and hath + More of thee merited than a band of Clotens + Had ever scar for. [To the guard] Let his arms alone; + They were not born for bondage. + CYMBELINE. Why, old soldier, + Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for + By tasting of our wrath? How of descent + As good as we? + ARVIRAGUS. In that he spake too far. + CYMBELINE. And thou shalt die for't. + BELARIUS. We will die all three; + But I will prove that two on's are as good + As I have given out him. My sons, I must + For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech, + Though haply well for you. + ARVIRAGUS. Your danger's ours. + GUIDERIUS. And our good his. + BELARIUS. Have at it then by leave! + Thou hadst, great King, a subject who + Was call'd Belarius. + CYMBELINE. What of him? He is + A banish'd traitor. + BELARIUS. He it is that hath + Assum'd this age; indeed a banish'd man; + I know not how a traitor. + CYMBELINE. Take him hence, + The whole world shall not save him. + BELARIUS. Not too hot. + First pay me for the nursing of thy sons, + And let it be confiscate all, so soon + As I have receiv'd it. + CYMBELINE. Nursing of my sons? + BELARIUS. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee. + Ere I arise I will prefer my sons; + Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, + These two young gentlemen that call me father, + And think they are my sons, are none of mine; + They are the issue of your loins, my liege, + And blood of your begetting. + CYMBELINE. How? my issue? + BELARIUS. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, + Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd. + Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment + Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd + Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes- + For such and so they are- these twenty years + Have I train'd up; those arts they have as + Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as + Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, + Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children + Upon my banishment; I mov'd her to't, + Having receiv'd the punishment before + For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty + Excited me to treason. Their dear loss, + The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd + Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, + Here are your sons again, and I must lose + Two of the sweet'st companions in the world. + The benediction of these covering heavens + Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy + To inlay heaven with stars. + CYMBELINE. Thou weep'st and speak'st. + The service that you three have done is more + Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children. + If these be they, I know not how to wish + A pair of worthier sons. + BELARIUS. Be pleas'd awhile. + This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, + Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; + This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, + Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd + In a most curious mantle, wrought by th' hand + Of his queen mother, which for more probation + I can with ease produce. + CYMBELINE. Guiderius had + Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; + It was a mark of wonder. + BELARIUS. This is he, + Who hath upon him still that natural stamp. + It was wise nature's end in the donation, + To be his evidence now. + CYMBELINE. O, what am I? + A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother + Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you be, + That, after this strange starting from your orbs, + You may reign in them now! O Imogen, + Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. + IMOGEN. No, my lord; + I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle brothers, + Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter + But I am truest speaker! You call'd me brother, + When I was but your sister: I you brothers, + When we were so indeed. + CYMBELINE. Did you e'er meet? + ARVIRAGUS. Ay, my good lord. + GUIDERIUS. And at first meeting lov'd, + Continu'd so until we thought he died. + CORNELIUS. By the Queen's dram she swallow'd. + CYMBELINE. O rare instinct! + When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment + Hath to it circumstantial branches, which + Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you? + And when came you to serve our Roman captive? + How parted with your brothers? how first met them? + Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, + And your three motives to the battle, with + I know not how much more, should be demanded, + And all the other by-dependences, + From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place + Will serve our long interrogatories. See, + Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; + And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye + On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting + Each object with a joy; the counterchange + Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, + And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. + [To BELARIUS] Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever. + IMOGEN. You are my father too, and did relieve me + To see this gracious season. + CYMBELINE. All o'erjoy'd + Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too, + For they shall taste our comfort. + IMOGEN. My good master, + I will yet do you service. + LUCIUS. Happy be you! + CYMBELINE. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, + He would have well becom'd this place and grac'd + The thankings of a king. + POSTHUMUS. I am, sir, + The soldier that did company these three + In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for + The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, + Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might + Have made you finish. + IACHIMO. [Kneeling] I am down again; + But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, + As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, + Which I so often owe; but your ring first, + And here the bracelet of the truest princess + That ever swore her faith. + POSTHUMUS. Kneel not to me. + The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; + The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, + And deal with others better. + CYMBELINE. Nobly doom'd! + We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; + Pardon's the word to all. + ARVIRAGUS. You holp us, sir, + As you did mean indeed to be our brother; + Joy'd are we that you are. + POSTHUMUS. Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome, + Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought + Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, + Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows + Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, I found + This label on my bosom; whose containing + Is so from sense in hardness that I can + Make no collection of it. Let him show + His skill in the construction. + LUCIUS. Philarmonus! + SOOTHSAYER. Here, my good lord. + LUCIUS. Read, and declare the meaning. + SOOTHSAYER. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself + unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac'd by + a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall + be lopp'd branches which, being dead many years, shall + after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; + then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate + and flourish in peace and plenty.' + Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; + The fit and apt construction of thy name, + Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. + [To CYMBELINE] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, + Which we call 'mollis aer,' and 'mollis aer' + We term it 'mulier'; which 'mulier' I divine + Is this most constant wife, who even now + Answering the letter of the oracle, + Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about + With this most tender air. + CYMBELINE. This hath some seeming. + SOOTHSAYER. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, + Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point + Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n, + For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, + To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue + Promises Britain peace and plenty. + CYMBELINE. Well, + My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, + Although the victor, we submit to 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 pow'rs above do tune + The harmony of this peace. The vision + Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke + Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant + Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle, + From south to west on wing soaring aloft, + Lessen'd herself and in the beams o' th' sun + So vanish'd; which foreshow'd our princely eagle, + Th'imperial Caesar, 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 bless'd altars. Publish we this peace + To all our subjects. Set we forward; let + A Roman and a British ensign wave + Friendly together. So through Lud's Town march; + And in the temple of great Jupiter + Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. + Set on there! Never was a war did cease, + Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1604 + + +THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + Claudius, King of Denmark. + Marcellus, Officer. + Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the present king. + Polonius, Lord Chamberlain. + Horatio, friend to Hamlet. + Laertes, son to Polonius. + Voltemand, courtier. + Cornelius, courtier. + Rosencrantz, courtier. + Guildenstern, courtier. + Osric, courtier. + A Gentleman, courtier. + A Priest. + Marcellus, officer. + Bernardo, officer. + Francisco, a soldier + Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. + Players. + Two Clowns, gravediggers. + Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. + A Norwegian Captain. + English Ambassadors. + + Getrude, Queen of Denmark, mother to Hamlet. + Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. + + Ghost of Hamlet's Father. + + Lords, ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, Attendants. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE.- Elsinore. + + +ACT I. Scene I. +Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. + +Enter two Sentinels-[first,] Francisco, [who paces up and down +at his post; then] Bernardo, [who approaches him]. + + Ber. Who's there.? + Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. + Ber. Long live the King! + Fran. Bernardo? + Ber. He. + Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. + Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. + Fran. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, + And I am sick at heart. + Ber. Have you had quiet guard? + Fran. Not a mouse stirring. + Ber. Well, good night. + If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, + The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. + + Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + + Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there? + Hor. Friends to this ground. + Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. + Fran. Give you good night. + Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier. + Who hath reliev'd you? + Fran. Bernardo hath my place. + Give you good night. Exit. + Mar. Holla, Bernardo! + Ber. Say- + What, is Horatio there ? + Hor. A piece of him. + Ber. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. + Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? + Ber. I have seen nothing. + Mar. 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. + Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. + Ber. Sit down awhile, + And let us once again assail your ears, + That are so fortified against our story, + What we two nights have seen. + Hor. Well, sit we down, + And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. + Ber. Last night of all, + When yond same star that's westward from the pole + Had made his course t' illume that part of heaven + Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, + The bell then beating one- + + Enter Ghost. + + Mar. Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again! + Ber. In the same figure, like the King that's dead. + Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. + Ber. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio. + Hor. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder. + Ber. It would be spoke to. + Mar. Question it, Horatio. + Hor. 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! + Mar. It is offended. + Ber. See, it stalks away! + Hor. Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee speak! + Exit Ghost. + Mar. 'Tis gone and will not answer. + Ber. How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale. + Is not this something more than fantasy? + What think you on't? + Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe + Without the sensible and true avouch + Of mine own eyes. + Mar. Is it not like the King? + Hor. As thou art to thyself. + Such was the very armour he had on + When he th' ambitious Norway combated. + So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle, + He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. + 'Tis strange. + Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, + With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. + Hor. 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. + Mar. 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? + Hor. That can I. + At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, + Whose image even but now appear'd to us, + Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, + Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, + Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet + (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) + Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact, + Well ratified by law and heraldry, + Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands + Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror; + Against the which a moiety competent + Was gaged by our king; which had return'd + To the inheritance of Fortinbras, + Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart + 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. + Ber. 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. + Hor. 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 climature and countrymen. + + Enter Ghost again. + + But soft! behold! Lo, where it comes again! + I'll cross it, though it blast me.- Stay illusion! + Spreads his arms. + 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, race to me, + Speak to me. + If thou art privy to thy country's fate, + Which happily foreknowing may avoid, + O, speak! + Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life + Extorted treasure in the womb of earth + (For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death), + The cock crows. + Speak of it! Stay, and speak!- Stop it, Marcellus! + Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan? + Hor. Do, if it will not stand. + Ber. 'Tis here! + Hor. 'Tis here! + Mar. '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. + Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. + Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing + Upon a fearful summons. I have heard + The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, + Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat + Awake the god of day; and at his warning, + Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, + Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies + To his confine; and of the truth herein + This present object made probation. + Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. + Some say that ever, 'gainst that season comes + Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, + The bird of dawning singeth all night long; + And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, + The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, + No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, + So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. + Hor. 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? + Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know + Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle. + +Flourish. [Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, +Polonius, Laertes and his sister Ophelia, [Voltemand, Cornelius,] +Lords Attendant. + + King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death + The memory be green, and that it us befitted + To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom + To be contracted in one brow of woe, + Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature + That we with wisest sorrow think on him + Together with remembrance of ourselves. + Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, + Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state, + Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, + With 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 this dream of his advantage, + He hath not fail'd to pester us with message + Importing the surrender of those lands + Lost by his father, with all bands 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 bedrid, scarcely hears + Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress + His further gait herein, in that the levies, + The lists, and full proportions are all made + Out of his subject; and we here dispatch + You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand, + For bearers of this greeting to old Norway, + Giving to you no further personal power + To business with the King, more than the scope + Of these dilated articles allow. [Gives a paper.] + Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. + Cor., Volt. In that, and all things, will we show our duty. + King. We doubt it nothing. Heartily farewell. + Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius. + And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? + You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes? + You cannot speak of reason to the Dane + And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, + That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? + The head is not more native to the heart, + The hand more instrumental to the mouth, + Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. + What wouldst thou have, Laertes? + Laer. 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. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? + Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave + By laboursome petition, and at last + Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent. + I do beseech you give him leave to go. + King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine, + And thy best graces spend it at thy will! + But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son- + Ham. [aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind! + King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? + Ham. Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun. + Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, + And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. + Do not for ever with thy vailed lids + Seek for thy noble father in the dust. + Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die, + Passing through nature to eternity. + Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. + Queen. If it be, + Why seems it so particular with thee? + Ham. Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.' + 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, + Nor customary suits of solemn black, + Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, + No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, + Nor the dejected 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. '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. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. + I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg. + Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. + King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply. + Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come. + This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet + Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, + No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day + But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, + And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, + Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away. + Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet. + Ham. 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 followed my poor father's body + Like Niobe, all tears- why she, even she + (O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason + Would have mourn'd longer) married with 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. + + Hor. Hail to your lordship! + Ham. I am glad to see you well. + Horatio!- or I do forget myself. + Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. + Ham. Sir, my good friend- I'll change that name with you. + And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? + Marcellus? + Mar. My good lord! + Ham. I am very glad to see you.- [To Bernardo] Good even, sir.- + But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? + Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. + Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so, + Nor shall you do my ear that violence + To make it truster of your own report + Against yourself. I know you are no truant. + But what is your affair in Elsinore? + We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. + Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. + Ham. I prithee do not mock me, fellow student. + I think it was to see my mother's wedding. + Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. + Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats + Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. + Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven + Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! + My father- methinks I see my father. + Hor. O, where, my lord? + Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. + Hor. I saw him once. He was a goodly king. + Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all. + I shall not look upon his like again. + Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. + Ham. Saw? who? + Hor. My lord, the King your father. + Ham. The King my father? + Hor. Season your admiration for a while + With an attent ear, till I may deliver + Upon the witness of these gentlemen, + This marvel to you. + Ham. For God's love let me hear! + Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen + (Marcellus and Bernardo) on their watch + In the dead vast and middle of the night + Been thus encount'red. 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 distill'd + Almost to jelly with the act of fear, + Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me + In dreadful secrecy impart they did, + And I with them the third night kept the watch; + Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, + Form of the thing, each word made true and good, + The apparition comes. I knew your father. + These hands are not more like. + Ham. But where was this? + Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. + Ham. Did you not speak to it? + Hor. My lord, I did; + But answer made it none. Yet once methought + It lifted up it head and did address + Itself to motion, like as it would speak; + But even then the morning cock crew loud, + And at the sound it shrunk in haste away + And vanish'd from our sight. + Ham. 'Tis very strange. + Hor. 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. + Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs. But this troubles me. + Hold you the watch to-night? + Both [Mar. and Ber.] We do, my lord. + Ham. Arm'd, say you? + Both. Arm'd, my lord. + Ham. From top to toe? + Both. My lord, from head to foot. + Ham. Then saw you not his face? + Hor. O, yes, my lord! He wore his beaver up. + Ham. What, look'd he frowningly. + Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. + Ham. Pale or red? + Hor. Nay, very pale. + Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? + Hor. Most constantly. + Ham. I would I had been there. + Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. + Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? + Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. + Both. Longer, longer. + Hor. Not when I saw't. + Ham. His beard was grizzled- no? + Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, + A sable silver'd. + Ham. I will watch to-night. + Perchance 'twill walk again. + Hor. I warr'nt it will. + Ham. 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. + Ham. 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. + + + + +Scene III. +Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius. + +Enter Laertes and Ophelia. + + Laer. 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. + Oph. Do you doubt that? + Laer. 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. + Oph. No more but so? + Laer. 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 circumscrib'd + Unto the voice and yielding of that body + Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you, + It fits your wisdom so far to believe it + As he in his particular act and place + May give his saying deed; which is no further + Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. + Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain + If with too credent ear you list his songs, + Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open + To his unmast'red importunity. + Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister, + And keep you in the rear of your affection, + Out of the shot and danger of desire. + The chariest maid is prodigal enough + If she unmask her beauty to the moon. + Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes. + The canker galls the infants of the spring + Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd, + And in the morn and liquid dew of youth + Contagious blastments are most imminent. + Be wary then; best safety lies in fear. + Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. + Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep + As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, + Do not as some ungracious pastors do, + Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven, + Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, + Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads + And recks not his own rede. + Laer. O, fear me not! + + Enter Polonius. + + I stay too long. But here my father comes. + A double blessing is a double grace; + Occasion smiles upon a second leave. + Pol. 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 + Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, + Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. + Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar: + Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, + Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel; + But do not dull thy palm with entertainment + Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware + Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, + Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee. + Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; + Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. + Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, + But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; + For the apparel oft proclaims the man, + And they in France of the best rank and station + Are most select and generous, chief in that. + Neither a borrower nor a lender be; + For loan oft loses both itself and friend, + And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. + This above all- to thine own self be true, + And it must follow, as the night the day, + Thou canst not then be false to any man. + Farewell. My blessing season this in thee! + Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. + Pol. The time invites you. Go, your servants tend. + Laer. Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well + What I have said to you. + Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, + And you yourself shall keep the key of it. + Laer. Farewell. Exit. + Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? + Oph. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. + Pol. 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 behooves my daughter and your honour. + What is between you? Give me up the truth. + Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders + Of his affection to me. + Pol. Affection? Pooh! You speak like a green girl, + Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. + Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? + Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think, + Pol. Marry, I will 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. + Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love + In honourable fashion. + Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to, go to! + Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, + With almost all the holy vows of heaven. + Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks! I do know, + When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul + Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter, + Giving more light than heat, extinct in both + Even in their promise, as it is a-making, + You must not take for fire. From this time + Be something scanter of your maiden presence. + Set your entreatments at a higher rate + Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, + Believe so much in him, that he is young, + And with a larger tether may he walk + Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia, + Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, + Not of that dye which their investments show, + But mere implorators of unholy suits, + Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, + The better to beguile. This is for all: + I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth + Have you so slander any moment leisure + As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. + Look to't, I charge you. Come your ways. + Oph. I shall obey, my lord. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +Elsinore. The platform before the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. + + Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. + Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. + Ham. What hour now? + Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. + Mar. No, it is struck. + Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season + Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. + A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off. + What does this mean, my lord? + Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, + Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels, + And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, + The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out + The triumph of his pledge. + Hor. Is it a custom? + Ham. 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 traduc'd and tax'd of other nations; + They clip 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'erleavens + The form of plausive manners, that these men + Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, + Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, + 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 e'il + Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal. + + Enter Ghost. + + Hor. Look, my lord, it comes! + Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! + Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, + Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, + Be thy intents wicked or charitable, + Thou com'st in such a questionable shape + That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, + King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me? + Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell + Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, + Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre + Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, + Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws + To cast thee up again. What may this mean + That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, + Revisits 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. + Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, + As if it some impartment did desire + To you alone. + Mar. Look with what courteous action + It waves you to a more removed ground. + But do not go with it! + Hor. No, by no means! + Ham. It will not speak. Then will I follow it. + Hor. Do not, my lord! + Ham. Why, what should be the fear? + I do not set my life at a pin's fee; + And for my soul, what can it do to that, + Being a thing immortal as itself? + It waves me forth again. I'll follow it. + Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, + Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff + That beetles o'er his base into the sea, + And there assume some other, horrible form + Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason + And draw you into madness? Think of it. + The very place puts toys of desperation, + Without more motive, into every brain + That looks so many fadoms to the sea + And hears it roar beneath. + Ham. It waves me still. + Go on. I'll follow thee. + Mar. You shall not go, my lord. + Ham. Hold off your hands! + Hor. Be rul'd. You shall not go. + Ham. My fate cries out + And makes each petty artire in this body + As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. + [Ghost beckons.] + 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. + Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. + Mar. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him. + Hor. Have after. To what issue wail this come? + Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. + Hor. Heaven will direct it. + Mar. Nay, let's follow him. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene V. +Elsinore. The Castle. Another part of the fortifications. + +Enter Ghost and Hamlet. + + Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak! I'll go no further. + Ghost. Mark me. + Ham. I will. + Ghost. My hour is almost come, + When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames + Must render up myself. + Ham. Alas, poor ghost! + Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing + To what I shall unfold. + Ham. Speak. I am bound to hear. + Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. + Ham. What? + Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, + Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, + And for the day confin'd to fast in fires, + Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature + Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid + To tell the secrets of my prison house, + I could a tale unfold whose lightest word + Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, + Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, + Thy knotted and combined locks to part, + And each particular hair to stand an 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- + Ham. O God! + Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther. + Ham. Murther? + Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is; + But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. + Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift + As meditation or the thoughts of love, + May sweep to my revenge. + Ghost. I find thee apt; + And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed + That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, + Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. + 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, + A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark + Is by a forged process of my death + Rankly abus'd. But know, thou noble youth, + The serpent that did sting thy father's life + Now wears his crown. + Ham. 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 mov'd, + Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, + So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, + Will sate itself in a celestial bed + And prey on garbage. + But soft! methinks I scent the morning air. + Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, + My custom always of the afternoon, + Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, + With juice of cursed hebona 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 quicksilverr it courses through + The natural gates and alleys of the body, + And with a sudden vigour it doth posset + And curd, like eager droppings into milk, + The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine; + And a most instant tetter bark'd about, + Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust + All my smooth body. + Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand + Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd; + Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, + Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd, + No reckoning made, but sent to my account + With all my imperfections on my head. + Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! + Ghost. 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 glowworm shows the matin to be near + And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. + Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me. Exit. + Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? + And shall I couple hell? 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 am sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writes.] + So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word: + It is 'Adieu, adieu! Remember me.' + I have sworn't. + Hor. (within) My lord, my lord! + + Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + + Mar. Lord Hamlet! + Hor. Heaven secure him! + Ham. So be it! + Mar. Illo, ho, ho, my lord! + Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. + Mar. How is't, my noble lord? + Hor. What news, my lord? + Mar. O, wonderful! + Hor. Good my lord, tell it. + Ham. No, you will reveal it. + Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven! + Mar. Nor I, my lord. + Ham. How say you then? Would heart of man once think it? + But you'll be secret? + Both. Ay, by heaven, my lord. + Ham. There's neer a villain dwelling in all Denmark + But he's an arrant knave. + Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave + To tell us this. + Ham. Why, right! You are in the right! + And so, without more circumstance at all, + I hold it fit that we shake hands and part; + You, as your business and desires shall point you, + For every man hath business and desire, + Such as it is; and for my own poor part, + Look you, I'll go pray. + Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. + Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; + Yes, faith, heartily. + Hor. There's no offence, my lord. + Ham. 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. + Hor. What is't, my lord? We will. + Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. + Both. My lord, we will not. + Ham. Nay, but swear't. + Hor. In faith, + My lord, not I. + Mar. Nor I, my lord- in faith. + Ham. Upon my sword. + Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. + Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. + + Ghost cries under the stage. + + Ghost. Swear. + Ham. Aha boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? + Come on! You hear this fellow in the cellarage. + Consent to swear. + Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. + Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen. + Swear by my sword. + Ghost. [beneath] Swear. + Ham. 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 by his sword. + Ham. Well said, old mole! Canst work i' th' earth so fast? + A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends." + Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! + Ham. 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 encumb'red thus, or this head-shake, + 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 is not to do, + So grace and mercy at your most need help you, + Swear. + Ghost. [beneath] Swear. + [They swear.] + Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen, + With all my love I do commend me to you; + And what so poor a man as Hamlet is + May do t' express his love and friending to you, + God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; + And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. + The time is out of joint. O cursed spite + That ever I was born to set it right! + Nay, come, let's go together. + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Act II. Scene I. +Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius. + +Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. + + Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. + Rey. I will, my lord. + Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo, + Before You visit him, to make inquire + Of his behaviour. + Rey. My lord, I did intend it. + Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir, + Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; + And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, + What company, at what expense; and finding + By this encompassment and drift of question + That they do know my son, come you more nearer + Than your particular demands will touch it. + Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; + As thus, 'I know his father and his friends, + And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo? + Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. + Pol. '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. + Rey. As gaming, my lord. + Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, + Drabbing. You may go so far. + Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. + Pol. 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. + Rey. But, my good lord- + Pol. Wherefore should you do this? + Rey. Ay, my lord, + I would know that. + Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift, + And I believe it is a fetch of warrant. + You laying these slight sullies on my son + As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working, + Mark you, + Your party in converse, him you would sound, + Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes + The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd + He closes with you in this consequence: + 'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'- + According to the phrase or the addition + Of man and country- + Rey. Very good, my lord. + Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to say? + By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave? + Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and + gentleman.' + Pol. 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 + Rey. My lord, I have. + Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well! + Rey. Good my lord! [Going.] + Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. + Rey. I shall, my lord. + Pol. And let him ply his music. + Rey. Well, my lord. + Pol. Farewell! + Exit Reynaldo. + + Enter Ophelia. + + How now, Ophelia? What's the matter? + Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! + Pol. With what, i' th' name of God I + Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, + Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd, + No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, + Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle; + Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, + And with a look so piteous in purport + As if he had been loosed out of hell + To speak of horrors- he comes before me. + Pol. Mad for thy love? + Oph. My lord, I do not know, + But truly I do fear it. + Pol. What said he? + Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard; + Then goes he to the length of all his arm, + And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, + He falls to such perusal of my face + As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so. + At last, a little shaking of mine arm, + And thrice his head thus waving up and down, + He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound + As it did seem to shatter all his bulk + And end his being. That done, he lets me go, + And with his head over his shoulder turn'd + He seem'd to find his way without his eyes, + For out o' doors he went without their help + And to the last bended their light on me. + Pol. 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? + Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, + I did repel his letters and denied + His access to me. + Pol. 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 wrack 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. + Come. + Exeunt. + +Scene II. +Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, cum aliis. + + King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + Moreover that we much did long to see you, + The need we have to use you did provoke + Our hasty sending. Something have you heard + Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it, + Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man + Resembles that it was. What it should be, + More than his father's death, that thus hath put him + So much from th' understanding of himself, + I cannot dream of. I entreat you both + That, being of so young clays brought up with him, + And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour, + That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court + Some little time; so by your companies + To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather + So much as from occasion you may glean, + Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus + That, open'd, lies within our remedy. + Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, + And sure I am two men there are not living + To whom he more adheres. If it will please you + To show us so much gentry and good will + As to expend your time with us awhile + For the supply and profit of our hope, + Your visitation shall receive such thanks + As fits a king's remembrance. + Ros. Both your Majesties + Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, + Put your dread pleasures more into command + Than to entreaty. + Guil. 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. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. + Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. + And I beseech you instantly to visit + My too much changed son.- Go, some of you, + And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. + Guil. Heavens make our presence and our practices + Pleasant and helpful to him! + Queen. Ay, amen! + Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, [with some + Attendants]. + + Enter Polonius. + + Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, + Are joyfully return'd. + King. Thou still hast been the father of good news. + Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, + I hold my duty as I hold my soul, + Both to my God and to my gracious king; + And I do think- or else this brain of mine + Hunts not the trail of policy so sure + As it hath us'd to do- that I have found + The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. + King. O, speak of that! That do I long to hear. + Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors. + My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. + King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. + [Exit Polonius.] + He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found + The head and source of all your son's distemper. + Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main, + His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. + King. Well, we shall sift him. + + Enter Polonius, Voltemand, and Cornelius. + + Welcome, my good friends. + Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway? + Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. + Upon our first, he sent out to suppress + His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd + To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack, + But better look'd into, he truly found + It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd, + That so his sickness, age, and impotence + Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests + On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys, + Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine, + Makes vow before his uncle never more + To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty. + Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, + Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee + And his commission to employ those soldiers, + So levied as before, against the Polack; + With an entreaty, herein further shown, + [Gives a paper.] + That it might please you to give quiet pass + Through your dominions for this enterprise, + On such regards of safety and allowance + As therein are set down. + King. It likes us well; + And at our more consider'd time we'll read, + Answer, and think upon this business. + Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour. + Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together. + Most welcome home! Exeunt Ambassadors. + Pol. This business is well ended. + My liege, and madam, to expostulate + What majesty should be, what duty is, + Why day is day, night is night, and time is time. + Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. + Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, + And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, + I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. + Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, + What is't but to be nothing else but mad? + But let that go. + Queen. More matter, with less art. + Pol. 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] the letter. + '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. Came this from Hamlet to her? + Pol. 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. But how hath she + Receiv'd his love? + Pol. What do you think of me? + King. As of a man faithful and honourable. + Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think, + When I had seen this hot love on the wing + (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, + Before my daughter told me), what might you, + Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think, + If I had play'd the desk or table book, + Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, + Or look'd upon this love with idle sight? + What might you think? No, I went round to work + And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: + 'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. + This must not be.' And then I prescripts 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. Do you think 'tis this? + Queen. it may be, very like. + Pol. Hath there been such a time- I would fain know that- + That I have Positively said ''Tis so,' + When it prov'd otherwise.? + King. Not that I know. + Pol. [points 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. How may we try it further? + Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours together + Here in the lobby. + Queen. So he does indeed. + Pol. 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 he not from his reason fall'n thereon + Let me be no assistant for a state, + But keep a farm and carters. + King. We will try it. + + Enter Hamlet, reading on a book. + + Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. + Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away + I'll board him presently. O, give me leave. + Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants]. + How does my good Lord Hamlet? + Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. + Pol. Do you know me, my lord? + Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger. + Pol. Not I, my lord. + Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. + Pol. Honest, my lord? + Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man + pick'd out of ten thousand. + Pol. That's very true, my lord. + Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god + kissing carrion- Have you a daughter? + Pol. I have, my lord. + Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not + as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't. + Pol. [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 suff'red much extremity + for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do you + read, my lord? + Ham. Words, words, words. + Pol. What is the matter, my lord? + Ham. Between who? + Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. + Ham. 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 you yourself, sir, + should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward. + Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.- + Will You walk out of the air, my lord? + Ham. Into my grave? + Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' 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. + Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more + willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except my + life, + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + + Pol. Fare you well, my lord. + Ham. These tedious old fools! + Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is. + Ros. [to Polonius] God save you, sir! + Exit [Polonius]. + Guil. My honour'd lord! + Ros. My most dear lord! + Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, + Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? + Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. + Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy. + On Fortune's cap we are not the very button. + Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? + Ros. Neither, my lord. + Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her + favours? + Guil. Faith, her privates we. + Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune? O! most true! she is a + strumpet. What news ? + Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. + Ham. 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? + Guil. Prison, my lord? + Ham. Denmark's a prison. + Ros. Then is the world one. + Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and + dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst. + Ros. We think not so, my lord. + Ham. 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. + Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your + mind. + Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a + king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. + Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of + the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. + Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. + Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that + it is but a shadow's shadow. + Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd + heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? for, by my + fay, I cannot reason. + Both. We'll wait upon you. + Ham. 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? + Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. + Ham. 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. + Guil. What should we say, my lord? + Ham. Why, anything- but to th' 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. + Ros. To what end, my lord? + Ham. 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. + Ros. [aside to Guildenstern] What say you? + Ham. [aside] Nay then, I have an eye of you.- If you love me, hold + not off. + Guil. My lord, we were sent for. + Ham. 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 appeareth 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 + faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in + action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the + beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what + is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor woman + neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so. + Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. + Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? + Ros. 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. + Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall + have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and + target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall + end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose + lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind + freely, or the blank verse shall halt fort. What players are + they? + Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the + tragedians of the city. + Ham. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in + reputation and profit, was better both ways. + Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late + innovation. + Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the + city? Are they so follow'd? + Ros. No indeed are they not. + Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? + Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, + sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top + of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd fort. These are now + the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call + them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and + dare scarce come thither. + Ham. 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. + Ros. 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. + Ham. Is't possible? + Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains. + Ham. Do the boys carry it away? + Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too. + Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and + those that would make mows at him while my father lived give + twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in + little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if + philosophy could find it out. + + Flourish for the Players. + + Guil. There are the players. + Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come! Th' + 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 outwards) should more appear like + entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my uncle-father + and aunt-mother are deceiv'd. + Guil. In what, my dear lord? + Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I + know a hawk from a handsaw. + + Enter Polonius. + + Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! + Ham. 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. + Ros. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old + man is twice a child. + Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.- + You say right, sir; a Monday morning; twas so indeed. + Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. + Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in + Rome- + Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. + Ham. Buzz, buzz! + Pol. Upon my honour- + Ham. Then came each actor on his ass- + Pol. 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. + Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! + Pol. What treasure had he, my lord? + Ham. Why, + + 'One fair daughter, and no more, + The which he loved passing well.' + + Pol. [aside] Still on my daughter. + Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah? + Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I + love passing well. + Ham. Nay, that follows not. + Pol. What follows then, my lord? + Ham. 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 abridgment 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? Why, thy face is + valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in + Denmark?- What, my young lady and mistress? By'r Lady, your + ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the + altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of + uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.- Masters, you are + all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at + anything we see. We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a + taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech. + 1. Play. What speech, my good lord? + Ham. 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, pleas'd + not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was (as I + receiv'd 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 call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as + sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in't + I chiefly lov'd. 'Twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout of it + especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in + your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see: + + 'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast-' + + 'Tis 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 be total gules, horridly trick'd + With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, + Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, + That lend a tyrannous and a damned light + To their lord's murther. Roasted in wrath and fire, + And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, + With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus + Old grandsire Priam seeks.' + + So, proceed you. + Pol. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good + discretion. + + 1. Play. 'Anon he finds him, + Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword, + Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, + Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd, + Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; + But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword + Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, + Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top + Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash + Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword, + Which was declining on the milky head + Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick. + So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, + And, like a neutral to his will and matter, + Did nothing. + But, as we often see, against some storm, + A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, + The bold winds speechless, and the orb below + As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder + Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, + Aroused vengeance sets him new awork; + And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall + On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, + With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword + Now falls on Priam. + Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods, + In general synod take away her power; + Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, + And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, + As low as to the fiends! + + Pol. This is too long. + Ham. 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. + + 1. Play. 'But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen-' + + Ham. 'The mobled queen'? + Pol. That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good. + + 1. Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames + With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head + Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, + About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, + A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up- + Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd + 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd. + But if the gods themselves did see her then, + When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport + In Mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, + The instant burst of clamour that she made + (Unless things mortal move them not at all) + Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven + And passion in the gods.' + + Pol. Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's + eyes. Prithee no more! + Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.- + Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Do you + hear? Let them be well us'd; 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. + Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. + Ham. 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. + Pol. Come, sirs. + Ham. Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play to-morrow. + Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First]. + Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murther of + Gonzago'? + 1. Play. Ay, my lord. + Ham. 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? + 1. Play. Ay, my lord. + Ham. 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. + Ros. Good my lord! + Ham. Ay, so, God b' 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 th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat + As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha? + 'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be + But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall + To make oppression bitter, or ere this + I should have fatted all the region kites + With this slave's offal. Bloody bawdy villain! + Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! + O, vengeance! + Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, + That I, the son of a dear father murther'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! Hum, 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 murther, though it have no tongue, will speak + With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players + Play something like the murther 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 a devil; and the devil hath power + T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps + Out of my weakness and my melancholy, + As he is very potent with such spirits, + Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds + More relative than this. The play's the thing + Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. Exit. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. Scene I. +Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords. + + King. And can you by no drift of circumstance + Get from him why he puts on this confusion, + Grating so harshly all his days of quiet + With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? + Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted, + But from what cause he will by no means speak. + Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, + But with a crafty madness keeps aloof + When we would bring him on to some confession + Of his true state. + Queen. Did he receive you well? + Ros. Most like a gentleman. + Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. + Ros. Niggard of question, but of our demands + Most free in his reply. + Queen. Did you assay him + To any pastime? + Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain players + We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him, + And there did seem in him a kind of joy + To hear of it. They are here about the court, + And, as I think, they have already order + This night to play before him. + Pol. 'Tis most true; + And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties + To hear and see the matter. + King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me + To hear him so inclin'd. + Good gentlemen, give him a further edge + And drive his purpose on to these delights. + Ros. We shall, my lord. + Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; + For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, + That he, as 'twere by accident, may here + Affront Ophelia. + Her father and myself (lawful espials) + Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, + We may of their encounter frankly judge + And gather by him, as he is behav'd, + If't be th' affliction of his love, or no, + That thus he suffers for. + Queen. I shall obey you; + And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish + That your good beauties be the happy cause + Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues + Will bring him to his wonted way again, + To both your honours. + Oph. Madam, I wish it may. + [Exit Queen.] + Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.- Gracious, so please you, + We will bestow ourselves.- [To Ophelia] Read on this book, + That show of such an exercise may colour + Your loneliness.- We are oft to blame in this, + 'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage + And pious action we do sugar o'er + The Devil himself. + King. [aside] O, 'tis too true! + How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! + The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art, + Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it + Than is my deed to my most painted word. + O heavy burthen! + Pol. I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord. + Exeunt King and Polonius]. + + Enter Hamlet. + + Ham. 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 heartache, 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, + Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, + The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, + The insolence of office, and the spurns + That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, + When he himself might his quietus make + With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, + To grunt and sweat under a weary life, + But that the dread of something after death- + The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn + No traveller returns- puzzles the will, + And makes us rather bear those ills we have + Than fly to others that we know not of? + Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, + And thus the native hue of resolution + Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, + And enterprises of great pith and moment + With this regard their currents turn awry + And lose the name of action.- Soft you now! + The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons + Be all my sins rememb'red. + Oph. Good my lord, + How does your honour for this many a day? + Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well. + Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours + That I have longed long to re-deliver. + I pray you, now receive them. + Ham. No, not I! + I never gave you aught. + Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you did, + And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd + As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, + Take these again; for to the noble mind + Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. + There, my lord. + Ham. Ha, ha! Are you honest? + Oph. My lord? + Ham. Are you fair? + Oph. What means your lordship? + Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no + discourse to your beauty. + Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? + Ham. 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. + Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. + Ham. You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so + inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you + not. + Oph. I was the more deceived. + Ham. 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? + Oph. At home, my lord. + Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool + nowhere but in's own house. Farewell. + Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens! + Ham. 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. + Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him! + Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath + given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you + amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make your + wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath made + me mad. I say, we will have no moe marriages. Those that are + married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep as + they are. To a nunnery, go. Exit. + Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! + The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword, + Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state, + The glass of fashion and the mould of form, + Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down! + And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, + That suck'd the honey of his music vows, + Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, + Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; + That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth + Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me + T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see! + + Enter King and Polonius. + + King. Love? his affections do not that way tend; + Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, + Was not like madness. There's something in his soul + O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; + And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose + Will be some danger; which for to prevent, + I have in quick determination + Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England + For the demand of our neglected tribute. + Haply the seas, and countries different, + With variable objects, shall expel + This something-settled matter in his heart, + Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus + From fashion of himself. What think you on't? + Pol. It shall do well. But yet do I believe + The origin and commencement of his grief + Sprung from neglected love.- How now, Ophelia? + You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said. + We heard it all.- My lord, do as you please; + But if you hold it fit, after the play + Let his queen mother all alone entreat him + To show his grief. Let her be round with him; + And I'll be plac'd so please you, in the ear + Of all their conference. If she find him not, + To England send him; or confine him where + Your wisdom best shall think. + King. It shall be so. + Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Elsinore. hall in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet and three of the Players. + + Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, + trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our + players do, I had as live the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do + not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all + gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) + whirlwind of your 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 cars of the groundlings, who + (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb + shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipp'd for o'erdoing + Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. + Player. I warrant your honour. + Ham. Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your + tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with + this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of + nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, + whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as + 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show Virtue her own feature, + scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his + form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though + it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious + grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance + o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I + have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to + speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of + Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so + strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's + journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated + humanity so abominably. + Player. I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir. + Ham. 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? Will the King hear this piece of work? + Pol. And the Queen too, and that presently. + Ham. Bid the players make haste, [Exit Polonius.] Will you two + help to hasten them? + Both. We will, my lord. Exeunt they two. + Ham. What, ho, Horatio! + + Enter Horatio. + + Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. + Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man + As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. + Hor. O, my dear lord! + Ham. 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 scald thee for herself. For thou hast been + As one, in suff'ring 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 I + 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 my 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. + Hor. Well, my lord. + If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, + And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. + + Sound a flourish. [Enter Trumpets and Kettledrums. Danish + march. [Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, + Guildenstern, and other Lords attendant, with the Guard + carrying torches. + + Ham. They are coming to the play. I must be idle. + Get you a place. + King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? + Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air, + promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so. + King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not + mine. + Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius] My lord, you play'd once + i' th' university, you say? + Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. + Ham. What did you enact? + Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' th' Capitol; Brutus + kill'd me. + Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be + the players ready. + Ros. Ay, my lord. They stay upon your patience. + Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. + Ham. No, good mother. Here's metal more attractive. + Pol. [to the King] O, ho! do you mark that? + Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? + [Sits down at Ophelia's feet.] + Oph. No, my lord. + Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? + Oph. Ay, my lord. + Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? + Oph. I think nothing, my lord. + Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. + Oph. What is, my lord? + Ham. Nothing. + Oph. You are merry, my lord. + Ham. Who, I? + Oph. Ay, my lord. + Ham. O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? + For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died + within 's two hours. + Oph. Nay 'tis twice two months, my lord. + Ham. 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. He lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She, seeing + him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his + crown, kisses it, pours poison in the sleeper's ears, and + leaves him. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes + passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, + comes in again, seem to condole with her. The dead body is + carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she + seems harsh and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts + his love. + Exeunt. + + Oph. What means this, my lord? + Ham. Marry, this is miching malhecho; it means mischief. + Oph. Belike this show imports the argument of the play. + + Enter Prologue. + + Ham. We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep counsel; + they'll tell all. + Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? + Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him. Be not you asham'd to + show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means. + Oph. You are naught, you are naught! I'll mark the play. + + Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, + Here stooping to your clemency, + We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit.] + + Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? + Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. + Ham. As woman's love. + + Enter [two Players as] King and Queen. + + King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round + Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, + And thirty dozed moons with borrowed sheen + About the world have times twelve thirties been, + Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, + Unite comutual in most sacred bands. + Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon + Make us again count o'er ere love be done! + But woe is me! you are so sick of late, + So far from cheer and from your former state. + That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, + Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must; + For women's fear and love holds quantity, + In neither aught, or in extremity. + Now what my love is, proof hath made you know; + And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. + Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; + Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. + King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too; + My operant powers their functions leave to do. + And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, + Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind + For husband shalt thou- + Queen. O, confound the rest! + Such love must needs be treason in my breast. + When second husband let me be accurst! + None wed the second but who killed the first. + + Ham. [aside] Wormwood, wormwood! + + 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. + 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 fill unshaken when they mellow be. + Most necessary 'tis that we forget + To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. + What to ourselves in passion we propose, + The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. + The violence of either grief or joy + Their own enactures with themselves destroy. + Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; + Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. + This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange + That even our loves should with our fortunes change; + For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, + Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. + The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, + The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies; + And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, + For who not needs shall never lack a friend, + And who in want a hollow friend doth try, + Directly seasons him his enemy. + But, orderly to end where I begun, + Our wills and fates do so contrary run + That our devices still are overthrown; + Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. + So think thou wilt no second husband wed; + But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. + 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! + + Ham. If she should break it now! + + King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile. + My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile + The tedious day with sleep. + Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, + [He] sleeps. + And never come mischance between us twain! +Exit. + + Ham. Madam, how like you this play? + Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. + Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. + King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't? + Ham. No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th' + world. + King. What do you call the play? + Ham. 'The Mousetrap.' Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the + image of a murther done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name; + his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of + work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free + souls, it touches us not. Let the gall'd jade winch; our withers + are unwrung. + + Enter Lucianus. + + This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King. + Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. + Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see + the puppets dallying. + Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. + Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge. + Oph. Still better, and worse. + Ham. So you must take your husbands.- Begin, murtherer. Pox, leave + thy damnable faces, and begin! Come, the croaking raven doth + bellow for revenge. + + Luc. 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 in his ears. + + Ham. He poisons him i' th' garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago. + The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You + shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. + Oph. The King rises. + Ham. What, frighted with false fire? + Queen. How fares my lord? + Pol. Give o'er the play. + King. Give me some light! Away! + All. Lights, lights, lights! + Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. + Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, + The hart ungalled play; + For some must watch, while some must sleep: + Thus 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 raz'd + shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir? + Hor. Half a share. + Ham. 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. + Hor. You might have rhym'd. + Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand + pound! Didst perceive? + Hor. Very well, my lord. + Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning? + Hor. I did very well note him. + Ham. Aha! 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! + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + + Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. + Ham. Sir, a whole history. + Guil. The King, sir- + Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? + Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd. + Ham. With drink, sir? + Guil. No, my lord; rather with choler. + Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to + the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps + plunge him into far more choler. + Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start + not so wildly from my affair. + Ham. I am tame, sir; pronounce. + Guil. The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit + hath sent me to you. + Ham. You are welcome. + Guil. 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. + Ham. Sir, I cannot. + Guil. What, my lord? + Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseas'd. But, sir, such + answer is I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, + my mother. Therefore no more, but to the matter! My mother, you + say- + Ros. Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into + amazement and admiration. + Ham. O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no + sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. + Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed. + Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any + further trade with us? + Ros. My lord, you once did love me. + Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers! + Ros. 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. + Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. + Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself + for your succession in Denmark? + Ham. Ay, sir, but 'while the grass grows'- the proverb is something + musty. + + Enter the Players with recorders. + + O, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with you- why do + you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me + into a toil? + Guil. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly. + Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe? + Guil. My lord, I cannot. + Ham. I pray you. + Guil. Believe me, I cannot. + Ham. I do beseech you. + Guil. I know, no touch of it, my lord. + Ham. It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your + fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth, and it will + discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. + Guil. But these cannot I command to any utt'rance of harmony. I + have not the skill. + Ham. 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 play'd on than a + pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, + you cannot play upon me. + + Enter Polonius. + + God bless you, sir! + Pol. My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently. + Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? + Pol. By th' mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed. + Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. + Pol. It is back'd like a weasel. + Ham. Or like a whale. + Pol. Very like a whale. + Ham. Then will I come to my mother by-and-by.- They fool me to the + top of my bent.- I will come by-and-by. + Pol. I will say so. Exit. + Ham. 'By-and-by' is easily said.- Leave me, friends. + [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] + 'Tis now the very witching time of night, + When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out + Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood + And do such bitter business as the day + Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother! + O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever + The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom. + Let me be cruel, not unnatural; + I will speak daggers to her, but use none. + My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites- + How in my words somever she be shent, + To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +A room in the Castle. + +Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. + + King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us + To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you; + I your commission will forthwith dispatch, + And he to England shall along with you. + The terms of our estate may not endure + Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow + Out of his lunacies. + Guil. 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. + Ros. 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 depends and rests + The lives of many. The cesse of majesty + Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw + What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel, + Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, + To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things + Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls, + Each small annexment, petty consequence, + Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone + Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. + King. Arm you, I pray you, to th', speedy voyage; + For we will fetters put upon this fear, + Which now goes too free-footed. + Both. We will haste us. + Exeunt Gentlemen. + + Enter Polonius. + + Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet. + Behind the arras I'll convey myself + To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home; + And, as you said, and wisely was it said, + 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, + Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear + The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege. + I'll call upon you ere you go to bed + And tell you what I know. + King. Thanks, dear my lord. + Exit [Polonius]. + O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; + It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, + A brother's murther! Pray can I not, + Though inclination be as sharp as will. + My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, + And, like a man to double business bound, + I stand in pause where I shall first begin, + And both neglect. What if this cursed hand + Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, + Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens + To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy + But to confront the visage of offence? + And what's in prayer but this twofold force, + To be forestalled ere we come to fall, + Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; + My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer + Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murther'? + That cannot be; since I am still possess'd + Of those effects for which I did the murther- + My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. + May one be pardon'd and retain th' offence? + In the corrupted currents of this world + Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, + And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself + Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above. + There is no shuffling; there the action lies + In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd, + Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, + To give in evidence. What then? What rests? + Try what repentance can. What can it not? + Yet what can it when one cannot repent? + O wretched state! O bosom black as death! + O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, + Art more engag'd! Help, angels! Make assay. + Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, + Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe! + All may be well. He kneels. + + Enter Hamlet. + + Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; + And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven, + And so am I reveng'd. That would be scann'd. + A villain kills my father; and for that, + I, his sole son, do this same villain send + To heaven. + Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge! + He took my father grossly, full of bread, + With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; + And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? + But in our circumstance and course of thought, + 'Tis heavy with him; and am I then reveng'd, + To take him in the purging of his soul, + When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? + No. + Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent. + When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage; + Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed; + At gaming, swearing, or about some act + That has no relish of salvation in't- + Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, + And that his soul may be as damn'd and black + As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. + This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. Exit. + King. [rises] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. + Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit. + + + + +Scene IV. +The Queen's closet. + +Enter Queen and Polonius. + + Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him. + Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, + And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between + Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here. + Pray you be round with him. + Ham. (within) Mother, mother, mother! + Queen. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him coming. + [Polonius hides behind the arras.] + + Enter Hamlet. + + Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? + Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. + Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. + Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. + Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. + Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? + Ham. What's the matter now? + Queen. Have you forgot me? + Ham. No, by the rood, not so! + You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife, + And (would it were not so!) you are my mother. + Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. + Ham. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge I + You go not till I set you up a glass + Where you may see the inmost part of you. + Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me? + Help, help, ho! + Pol. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help! + Ham. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead! + [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills Polonius. + Pol. [behind] O, I am slain! + Queen. O me, what hast thou done? + Ham. Nay, I know not. Is it the King? + Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! + Ham. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother, + As kill a king, and marry with his brother. + Queen. As kill a king? + Ham. Ay, lady, it was my word. + [Lifts up the arras and sees 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 hinds. Peace! sit you down + And let me wring your heart; for so I shall + If it be made of penetrable stuff; + If damned custom have not braz'd it so + That it is proof and bulwark against sense. + Queen. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue + In noise so rude against me? + Ham. Such an act + That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; + Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose + From the fair forehead of an innocent love, + And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows + As false as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed + As from the body of contraction plucks + The very soul, and sweet religion makes + A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow; + Yea, this solidity and compound mass, + With tristful visage, as against the doom, + Is thought-sick at the act. + Queen. Ay me, what act, + That roars so loud and thunders in the index? + Ham. Look here upon th's 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 heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, + And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment + Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, + Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense + Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err, + Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thrall'd + But it reserv'd some quantity of choice + To serve in such a difference. What devil was't + That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? + Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, + Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, + Or but a sickly part of one true sense + Could not so mope. + O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, + If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, + To flaming youth let virtue be as wax + And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame + When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, + Since frost itself as actively doth burn, + And reason panders will. + Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more! + Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, + And there I see such black and grained spots + As will not leave their tinct. + Ham. Nay, but to live + In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, + Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love + Over the nasty sty! + Queen. O, speak to me no more! + These words like daggers enter in mine ears. + No more, sweet Hamlet! + Ham. A murtherer and a villain! + A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe + Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; + A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, + That from a shelf the precious diadem stole + And put it in his pocket! + Queen. No more! + + Enter the Ghost in his nightgown. + + Ham. A king of shreds and patches!- + Save me and hover o'er me with your wings, + You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure? + Queen. Alas, he's mad! + Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, + That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by + Th' 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. + Ham. How is it with you, lady? + Queen. Alas, how is't with you, + That you do bend your eye on vacancy, + And with th' encorporal air do hold discourse? + Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; + And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm, + Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, + Start up and stand an end. O gentle son, + Upon the beat and flame of thy distemper + Sprinkle cool patience! Whereon do you look? + Ham. On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares! + His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, + Would make them capable.- Do not look upon me, + Lest with this piteous action you convert + My stern effects. Then what I have to do + Will want true colour- tears perchance for blood. + Queen. To whom do you speak this? + Ham. Do you see nothing there? + Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. + Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? + Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. + Ham. Why, look you there! Look how it steals away! + My father, in his habit as he liv'd! + Look where he goes even now out at the portal! + Exit Ghost. + Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain. + This bodiless creation ecstasy + Is very cunning in. + Ham. Ecstasy? + My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time + And makes as healthful music. It is not madness + That I have utt'red. Bring me to the test, + And I the matter will reword; which madness + Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, + Lay not that flattering unction to your soul + That not your trespass but my madness speaks. + It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, + Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, + Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; + Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; + And do not spread the compost on the weeds + To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; + For in the fatness of these pursy times + Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg- + Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. + Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. + Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, + And live the purer with the other half, + Good night- but go not to my uncle's bed. + Assume a virtue, if you have it not. + That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat + Of habits evil, is angel yet in this, + That to the use of actions fair and good + He likewise gives a frock or livery, + That aptly is put on. Refrain 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 [master] the devil, or throw him out + With wondrous potency. Once more, good night; + And when you are desirous to be blest, + I'll blessing beg of you.- For this same lord, + I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so, + To punish me with this, and this with me, + That I must be their scourge and minister. + I will bestow him, and will answer well + The death I gave him. So again, good night. + I must be cruel, only to be kind; + Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. + One word more, good lady. + Queen. What shall I do? + Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: + Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed; + Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; + And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, + Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, + Make you to ravel all this matter out, + That I essentially am not in madness, + But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know; + For who that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, + Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib + Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? + No, in despite of sense and secrecy, + Unpeg the basket on the house's top, + Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, + To try conclusions, in the basket creep + And break your own neck down. + Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, + And breath of life, I have no life to breathe + What thou hast said to me. + Ham. I must to England; you know that? + Queen. Alack, + I had forgot! 'Tis so concluded on. + Ham. There's letters seal'd; and my two schoolfellows, + Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd, + They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way + And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; + For 'tis the sport to have the enginer + Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard + But I will delve one yard below their mines + And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet + When in one line two crafts directly meet. + This man shall set me packing. + I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.- + Mother, good night.- Indeed, this counsellor + Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, + Who was in life a foolish peating knave. + Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. + Good night, mother. + [Exit the Queen. Then] Exit Hamlet, tugging in + Polonius. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. Scene I. +Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Enter King and Queen, with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + + King. There's matter in these sighs. These profound heaves + You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them. + Where is your son? + Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. + [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] + Ah, mine own lord, what have I seen to-night! + King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? + Queen. Mad as the sea and wind when both contend + Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit + Behind the arras hearing something stir, + Whips out his rapier, cries 'A rat, a rat!' + And in this brainish apprehension kills + The unseen good old man. + King. O heavy deed! + It had been so with us, had we been there. + His liberty is full of threats to all- + To you yourself, to us, to 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. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd; + O'er whom his very madness, like some ore + Among a mineral of metals base, + Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done. + King. O Gertrude, come away! + The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch + But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed + We must with all our majesty and skill + Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern! + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + + Friends both, go join you with some further aid. + Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, + And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him. + Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body + Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. + Exeunt [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern]. + Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends + And let them know both what we mean to do + And what's untimely done. [So haply slander-] + Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, + As level as the cannon to his blank, + Transports his poisoned shot- may miss our name + And hit the woundless air.- O, come away! + My soul is full of discord and dismay. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Elsinore. A passage in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet. + + Ham. Safely stow'd. + Gentlemen. (within) Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! + Ham. But soft! What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + + Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? + Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. + Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence + And bear it to the chapel. + Ham. Do not believe it. + Ros. Believe what? + Ham. 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? + Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? + Ham. 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 mouth'd, to be last Swallowed. When he needs what you have + glean'd, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry + again. + Ros. I understand you not, my lord. + Ham. I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. + Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to + the King. + Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. + The King is a thing- + Guil. A thing, my lord? + Ham. Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Enter King. + + King. I have sent to seek him and to find the body. + How dangerous is it that this man goes loose! + Yet must not we put the strong law on him. + He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, + Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; + And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd, + But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, + This sudden sending him away must seem + Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown + By desperate appliance are reliev'd, + Or not at all. + + Enter Rosencrantz. + + How now O What hath befall'n? + Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, + We cannot get from him. + King. But where is he? + Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. + King. Bring him before us. + Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord. + + Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern [with Attendants]. + + King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? + Ham. At supper. + King. At supper? Where? + Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain + convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your + only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and + we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar + is but variable service- two dishes, but to one table. That's the + end. + King. Alas, alas! + Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat + of the fish that hath fed of that worm. + King. What dost thou mean by this? + Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through + the guts of a beggar. + King. Where is Polonius? + Ham. In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not + there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But indeed, if you + find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up + the stair, into the lobby. + King. Go seek him there. [To Attendants.] + Ham. He will stay till you come. + [Exeunt Attendants.] + King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,- + Which we do tender as we dearly grieve + For that which thou hast done,- must send thee hence + With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself. + The bark is ready and the wind at help, + Th' associates tend, and everything is bent + For England. + Ham. For England? + King. Ay, Hamlet. + Ham. Good. + King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. + Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But come, for England! + Farewell, dear mother. + King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. + Ham. My mother! Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is + one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England! +Exit. + King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard. + Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night. + Away! for everything is seal'd and done + That else leans on th' affair. Pray you make haste. + Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] + And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,- + As my great power thereof may give thee sense, + Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red + After the Danish sword, and thy free awe + Pays homage to us,- thou mayst not coldly set + Our sovereign process, which imports at full, + By letters 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Scene IV. +Near Elsinore. + +Enter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage. + + For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king. + Tell him that by his license Fortinbras + Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march + Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. + if that his Majesty would aught with us, + We shall express our duty in his eye; + And let him know so. + Capt. I will do't, my lord. + For. Go softly on. + Exeunt [all but the Captain]. + + Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others. + + Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? + Capt. They are of Norway, sir. + Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? + Capt. Against some part of Poland. + Ham. Who commands them, sir? + Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. + Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, + Or for some frontier? + Capt. 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. + Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. + Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd. + Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats + Will not debate the question of this straw. + This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace, + That inward breaks, and shows no cause without + Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir. + Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.] + Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? + Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before. + [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] + How all occasions do inform against me + And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, + If his chief good and market of his time + Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. + Sure he that made us with such large discourse, + Looking before and after, gave us not + That capability and godlike reason + To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be + Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple + Of thinking too precisely on th' event,- + A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom + And ever three parts coward,- I do not know + Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do,' + Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means + To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me. + Witness this army of such mass and charge, + Led by a delicate and tender prince, + Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, + Makes mouths at the invisible event, + Exposing what is mortal and unsure + To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, + Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great + Is not to stir without great argument, + But greatly to find quarrel in a straw + When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, + That have a father klll'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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Scene V. +Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Enter Horatio, Queen, and a Gentleman. + + Queen. I will not speak with her. + Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract. + Her mood will needs be pitied. + Queen. What would she have? + Gent. She speaks much of her father; says she hears + There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart; + Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, + That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing, + Yet the unshaped use of it doth move + The hearers to collection; they aim at it, + And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; + Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them, + Indeed would make one think there might be thought, + Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. + Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew + Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. + Queen. Let her come in. + [Exit Gentleman.] + [Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is) + Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss. + So full of artless jealousy is guilt + It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. + + Enter Ophelia distracted. + + Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark? + Queen. How now, Ophelia? + Oph. (sings) + How should I your true-love know + From another one? + By his cockle bat and' staff + And his sandal shoon. + + Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? + Oph. 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. + + O, ho! + Queen. Nay, but Ophelia- + Oph. Pray you mark. + + (Sings) White his shroud as the mountain snow- + + Enter King. + + Queen. Alas, look here, my lord! + Oph. (Sings) + Larded all with sweet flowers; + Which bewept to the grave did not go + With true-love showers. + + King. How do you, pretty lady? + Oph. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. + Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at + your table! + King. Conceit upon her father. + Oph. Pray 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 bedtime, + And I a maid at your window, + To be your Valentine. + + Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es + And dupp'd the chamber door, + Let in the maid, that out a maid + Never departed more. + + King. Pretty Ophelia! + Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't! + + [Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity, + Alack, and fie for shame! + Young men will do't if they come to't + By Cock, they are to blame. + + Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me, + You promis'd me to wed.' + + He answers: + + 'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun, + An thou hadst not come to my bed.' + + King. How long hath she been thus? + Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot + choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground. + My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good + counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet + ladies. Good night, good night. Exit + King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. + [Exit Horatio.] + O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs + All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, + When sorrows come, they come not single spies. + But in battalions! First, her father slain; + Next, Your son gone, and he most violent author + Of his own just remove; the people muddied, + Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers + For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly + In hugger-mugger to inter him; Poor Ophelia + Divided from herself and her fair-judgment, + Without the which we are Pictures or mere beasts; + Last, and as such containing as all these, + Her brother is in secret come from France; + And wants not buzzers to infect his ear + Feeds on his wonder, keep, himself in clouds, + 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 murd'ring piece, in many places + Give, me superfluous death. A noise within. + Queen. Alack, what noise is this? + King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. + + Enter a Messenger. + + What is the matter? + Mess. Save Yourself, my lord: + The ocean, overpeering of his list, + Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste + Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head, + O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord; + And, as the world were now but to begin, + Antiquity forgot, custom not known, + The ratifiers and props of every word, + They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!' + Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds, + 'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!' + A noise within. + Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! + O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! + King. The doors are broke. + + Enter Laertes with others. + + Laer. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without. + All. No, let's come in! + Laer. I pray you give me leave. + All. We will, we will! + Laer. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.] + O thou vile king, + Give me my father! + Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. + Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard; + Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot + Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows + Of my true mother. + King. What is the cause, Laertes, + That thy rebellion looks so giantlike? + Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person. + There's such divinity doth hedge a king + That treason can but peep to what it would, + Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, + Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude. + Speak, man. + Laer. Where is my father? + King. Dead. + Queen. But not by him! + King. Let him demand his fill. + Laer. 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 world, I give to negligence, + Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd + Most throughly for my father. + King. Who shall stay you? + Laer. My will, not all the world! + And for my means, I'll husband them so well + They shall go far with little. + King. Good Laertes, + If you desire to know the certainty + Of your dear father's death, is't writ in Your revenge + That swoopstake you will draw both friend and foe, + Winner and loser? + Laer. None but his enemies. + King. Will you know them then? + Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms + And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, + Repast them with my blood. + King. Why, now You speak + Like a good child and a true gentleman. + That I am guiltless of your father's death, + And am most sensibly in grief for it, + It shall as level to your judgment pierce + As day does to your eye. + A noise within: 'Let her come in.' + Laer. How now? What noise is that? + + 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 mortal as an old man's life? + Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, + It sends some precious instance of itself + After the thing it loves. + + Oph. (sings) + They bore him barefac'd on the bier + (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony) + And in his grave rain'd many a tear. + + Fare you well, my dove! + Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, + It could not move thus. + Oph. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O, + how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his + master's daughter. + Laer. This nothing's more than matter. + Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, + remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts. + Laer. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted. + Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, + and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. + O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I + would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father + died. They say he made a good end. + + [Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. + + Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, + She turns to favour and to prettiness. + Oph. (sings) + And will he not come again? + And will he not come again? + No, no, he is dead; + Go to thy deathbed; + 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 'a'mercy on his soul! + + And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi', you. +Exit. + Laer. Do you see this, O God? + King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, + Or you deny me right. Go but apart, + Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, + And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me. + If by direct or by collateral hand + They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, + Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, + To you in satisfaction; but if not, + Be you content to lend your patience to us, + And we shall jointly labour with your soul + To give it due content. + Laer. 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. So you shall; + And where th' offence is let the great axe fall. + I pray you go with me. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Scene VI. +Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter Horatio with an Attendant. + + Hor. What are they that would speak with me? + Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters for you. + Hor. Let them come in. + [Exit Attendant.] + I do not know from what part of the world + I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. + + Enter Sailors. + + Sailor. God bless you, sir. + Hor. Let him bless thee too. + Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, + sir,- it comes from th' ambassador that was bound for England- if + your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. + Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd + 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 give you way for these your letters, + And do't the speedier that you may direct me + To him from whom you brought them. Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Scene VII. +Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter King and Laertes. + + King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, + And You must put me in your heart for friend, + Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, + That he which hath your noble father slain + Pursued my life. + Laer. It well appears. But tell me + Why you proceeded not against these feats + So crimeful and so capital in nature, + As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, + You mainly were stirr'd up. + King. O, for two special reasons, + Which may to you, perhaps, seein 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 gives 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. + Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; + A sister driven into desp'rate terms, + Whose worth, if praises may go back again, + Stood challenger on mount of all the age + For her perfections. But my revenge will come. + King. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think + That we are made of stuff so flat and dull + That we can let our beard be shook with danger, + And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more. + I lov'd your father, and we love ourself, + And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine- + + Enter a Messenger with letters. + + How now? What news? + Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: + This to your Majesty; this to the Queen. + King. From Hamlet? Who brought them? + Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not. + They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them + Of him that brought them. + King. Laertes, you shall hear them. + Leave us. + Exit Messenger. + [Reads]'High and Mighty,-You shall know I am set naked on your + kingdom. 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? + Laer. Know you the hand? + King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!' + And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.' + Can you advise me? + Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come! + It warms the very sickness in my heart + That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, + 'Thus didest thou.' + King. If it be so, Laertes + (As how should it be so? how otherwise?), + Will you be rul'd by me? + Laer. Ay my lord, + So you will not o'errule me to a peace. + King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd + As checking at his voyage, and that he means + No more to undertake it, I will work him + To exploit now ripe in my device, + Under the which he shall not choose but fall; + And for his death no wind + But even his mother shall uncharge the practice + And call it accident. + Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd; + The rather, if you could devise it so + That I might be the organ. + King. It falls right. + You have been talk'd of since your travel much, + And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality + Wherein they say you shine, Your sun of parts + Did not together pluck such envy from him + As did that one; and that, in my regard, + Of the unworthiest siege. + Laer. What part is that, my lord? + King. A very riband in the cap of youth- + Yet needfull too; for youth no less becomes + The light and careless livery that it wears + Thin settled age his sables and his weeds, + Importing health and graveness. Two months since + Here was a gentleman of Normandy. + I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, + And they can well on horseback; but this gallant + Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat, + And to such wondrous doing brought his horse + As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd + With the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought + That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, + Come short of what he did. + Laer. A Norman was't? + King. A Norman. + Laer. Upon my life, Lamound. + King. The very same. + Laer. I know him well. He is the broach indeed + And gem of all the nation. + King. He made confession of you; + And gave you such a masterly report + For art and exercise in your defence, + And for your rapier most especially, + That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed + If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation + He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye, + If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his + Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy + That he could nothing do but wish and beg + Your sudden coming o'er to play with you. + Now, out of this- + Laer. What out of this, my lord? + King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? + Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, + A face without a heart,' + Laer. Why ask you this? + King. Not that I think you did not love your father; + But that I know love is begun by time, + And that I see, in passages of proof, + Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. + There lives within the very flame of love + A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it; + And nothing is at a like goodness still; + For goodness, growing to a 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' th' ulcer! + Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake + To show yourself your father's son in deed + More than in words? + Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church! + King. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize; + Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, + Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber. + Will return'd shall know you are come home. + We'll put on those shall praise your excellence + And set a double varnish on the fame + The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together + And wager on your heads. He, being remiss, + Most generous, and free from all contriving, + Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease, + Or with a little shuffling, you may choose + A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice, + Requite him for your father. + Laer. I will do't! + And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword. + I bought an unction of a mountebank, + So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, + Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, + Collected from all simples that have virtue + Under the moon, can save the thing from death + This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point + With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, + It may be death. + King. Let's further think of this, + Weigh what convenience both of time and means + May fit us to our shape. If this should fall, + And that our drift look through our bad performance. + 'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project + Should have a back or second, that might hold + If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see. + We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings- + I ha't! + When in your motion you are hot and dry- + As make your bouts more violent to that end- + And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him + A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, + If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, + Our purpose may hold there.- But stay, what noise, + + Enter Queen. + + How now, sweet queen? + Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, + So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. + Laer. Drown'd! O, where? + Queen. 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 crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, + That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, + But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. + There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds + Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, + When down her weedy trophies and herself + Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide + And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; + Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, + As one incapable of her own distress, + Or like a creature native and indued + Unto that element; but long it could not be + Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, + Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay + To muddy death. + Laer. Alas, then she is drown'd? + Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. + Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, + And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet + It is our trick; nature her custom holds, + Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, + The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord. + I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze + But that this folly douts it. Exit. + King. Let's follow, Gertrude. + How much I had to do to calm his rage I + Now fear I this will give it start again; + Therefore let's follow. + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. Scene I. +Elsinore. A churchyard. + +Enter two Clowns, [with spades and pickaxes]. + + Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully + seeks her own salvation? + Other. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight. + The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial. + Clown. How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own + defence? + Other. Why, 'tis found so. + Clown. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies + the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an + act hath three branches-it is to act, to do, and to perform; + argal, she drown'd herself wittingly. + Other. Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver! + 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. + Other. But is this law? + Clown. Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law. + Other. Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a + gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial. + Clown. Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that great folk + should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves + more than their even-Christen. Come, my spade! There is no + ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They + hold up Adam's profession. + Other. Was he a gentleman? + Clown. 'A was the first that ever bore arms. + Other. Why, he had none. + Clown. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? + The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms? I'll + put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the + purpose, confess thyself- + Other. Go to! + Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the + shipwright, or the carpenter? + Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand + tenants. + Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well. + But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now, + thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the + church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come! + Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a + carpenter? + Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. + Other. Marry, now I can tell! + Clown. To't. + Other. Mass, I cannot tell. + + Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off. + + Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will + not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this + question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts + till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of + liquor. + [Exit Second Clown.] + + [Clown digs and] sings. + + In youth when I did love, did love, + Methought it was very sweet; + To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove, + O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet. + + Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at + grave-making? + Hor. Custom hath made it in him a Property of easiness. + Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier + sense. + Clown. (sings) + But age with his stealing steps + Hath clawed me in his clutch, + And hath shipped me intil the land, + As if I had never been such. + [Throws up a skull.] + + Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the + knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that + did the first murther! This might be the pate of a Politician, + which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, + might it not? + Hor. It might, my lord. + Ham. 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 + prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it- might + it not? + Hor. Ay, my lord. + Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd + about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution, + and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the + breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think + on't. + Clown. (Sings) + A pickaxe and a spade, a spade, + For and a shrouding sheet; + O, a Pit of clay for to be made + For such a guest is meet. + Throws up [another skull]. + + Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? + Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, + and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock + him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him + of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a + great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his + fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of + his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine + pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of + his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth + of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will + scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no + more, ha? + Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. + Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins? + Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too. + Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I + will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah? + Clown. Mine, sir. + + [Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made + For such a guest is meet. + + Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't. + Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours. + For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. + Ham. 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. + Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you. + Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? + Clown. For no man, sir. + Ham. What woman then? + Clown. For none neither. + Ham. Who is to be buried in't? + Clown. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. + Ham. How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or + equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years + I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe + of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls + his kibe.- How long hast thou been a grave-maker? + Clown. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day that our + last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. + Ham. How long is that since? + 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. + Ham. Ay, marry, why was be sent into England? + Clown. Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there; + or, if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there. + Ham. Why? + Clown. 'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are as mad as + he. + Ham. How came he mad? + Clown. Very strangely, they say. + Ham. How strangely? + Clown. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. + Ham. Upon what ground? + Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy + thirty years. + Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot? + Clown. Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we have many + pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, I + will last you some eight year or nine year. A tanner will last + you nine year. + Ham. Why he more than another? + Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'a will + keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of + your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now. This skull hath lien + you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years. + Ham. Whose was it? + Clown. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was? + Ham. Nay, I know not. + Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagon of + Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's + skull, the King's jester. + Ham. This? + Clown. E'en that. + Ham. 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 tunes. And now how abhorred + in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those + lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes + now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that + were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your + own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? 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. + Hor. What's that, my lord? + Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth? + Hor. E'en so. + Ham. And smelt so? Pah! + [Puts down the skull.] + Hor. E'en so, my lord. + Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not + imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it + stopping a bunghole? + Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. + Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty + enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, + Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is + earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (whereto he + was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel? + Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, + Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. + O, that that earth which kept the world in awe + Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw! + But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King- + + Enter [priests with] a coffin [in funeral procession], King, + Queen, Laertes, with Lords attendant.] + + The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow? + And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken + The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand + Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate. + Couch we awhile, and mark. + [Retires with Horatio.] + Laer. What ceremony else? + Ham. That is Laertes, + A very noble youth. Mark. + Laer. What ceremony else? + Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd + As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful; + And, but that great command o'ersways the order, + She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd + Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, + Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. + Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, + Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home + Of bell and burial. + Laer. Must there no more be done? + 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. + Laer. Lay her i' th' earth; + And from her fair and unpolluted flesh + May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, + A minist'ring angel shall my sister be + When thou liest howling. + Ham. What, the fair Ophelia? + Queen. Sweets to the sweet! Farewell. + [Scatters flowers.] + I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; + I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, + And not have strew'd thy grave. + Laer. O, treble woe + Fall ten times treble on that cursed head + Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense + Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, + Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. + Leaps in the grave. + Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead + Till of this flat a mountain you have made + T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head + Of blue Olympus. + Ham. [comes forward] What is he whose grief + Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow + Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand + Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, + Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps in after Laertes. + Laer. The devil take thy soul! + [Grapples with him]. + Ham. Thou pray'st not well. + I prithee take thy fingers from my throat; + For, though I am not splenitive and rash, + Yet have I in me something dangerous, + Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand! + King. Pluck thein asunder. + Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet! + All. Gentlemen! + Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. + [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the + grave.] + Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme + Until my eyelids will no longer wag. + Queen. O my son, what theme? + Ham. I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers + Could not (with all their quantity of love) + Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? + King. O, he is mad, Laertes. + Queen. For love of God, forbear him! + Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou't do. + Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? + Woo't drink up esill? eat a crocodile? + I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? + To outface me with leaping in her grave? + Be buried quick with her, and so will I. + And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw + Millions of acres on us, till our ground, + Singeing his pate against the burning zone, + Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, + I'll rant as well as thou. + Queen. This is mere madness; + And thus a while the fit will work on him. + Anon, as patient as the female dove + When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, + His silence will sit drooping. + Ham. Hear you, sir! + What is the reason that you use me thus? + I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter. + Let Hercules himself do what he may, + The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. +Exit. + King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. + Exit Horatio. + [To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech. + We'll put the matter to the present push.- + Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.- + This grave shall have a living monument. + An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; + Till then in patience our proceeding be. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Elsinore. A hall in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet and Horatio. + + Ham. So much for this, sir; now shall you see the other. + You do remember all the circumstance? + Hor. Remember it, my lord! + Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting + That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay + Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly- + And prais'd be rashness for it; let us know, + Our indiscretion sometime serves us well + When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us + There's a divinity that shapes our ends, + Rough-hew them how we will- + Hor. That is most certain. + Ham. Up from my cabin, + My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark + Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire, + Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew + To mine own room again; making so bold + (My fears forgetting manners) to unseal + Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio + (O royal knavery!), an exact command, + Larded with many several sorts of reasons, + Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, + With, hoo! such bugs and goblins in my life- + That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, + No, not to stay the finding of the axe, + My head should be struck off. + Hor. Is't possible? + Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure. + But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed? + Hor. I beseech you. + Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, + Or I could make a prologue to my brains, + They had begun the play. I sat me down; + Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair. + I once did hold it, as our statists do, + A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much + How to forget that learning; but, sir, now + It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know + Th' effect of what I wrote? + Hor. Ay, good my lord. + Ham. An earnest conjuration from the King, + As England was his faithful tributary, + As love between them like the palm might flourish, + As peace should still her wheaten garland wear + And stand a comma 'tween their amities, + And many such-like as's 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. + Hor. How was this seal'd? + Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. + I had my father's signet in my purse, + which was the model of that Danish seal; + Folded the writ up in the form of th' other, + Subscrib'd it, gave't th' impression, plac'd it safely, + The changeling never known. Now, the next day + Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent + Thou know'st already. + Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. + Ham. 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. + Hor. Why, what a king is this! + Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now upon- + He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; + Popp'd in between th' election and my hopes; + Thrown out his angle for my Proper life, + And with such coz'nage- 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? + Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England + What is the issue of the business there. + Ham. It will be short; the interim is mine, + And a man's life is no more than to say 'one.' + But I am very sorry, good Horatio, + That to Laertes I forgot myself, + For by the image of my cause I see + The portraiture of his. I'll court his favours. + But sure the bravery of his grief did put me + Into a tow'ring passion. + Hor. Peace! Who comes here? + + Enter young Osric, a courtier. + + Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. + Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. [Aside to Horatio] Dost know this + waterfly? + Hor. [aside to Hamlet] No, my good lord. + Ham. [aside to Horatio] 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. + Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart + a thing to you from his Majesty. + Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Put your + bonnet to his right use. 'Tis for the head. + Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot. + Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly. + Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. + Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. + Osr. 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- + Ham. I beseech you remember. + [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.] + Osr. 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. + Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I + know, to divide him inventorially would dozy th' arithmetic of + memory, and yet but yaw neither in respect of his quick sail. + But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great + article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make + true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else + would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more. + Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. + Ham. The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more + rawer breath + Osr. Sir? + Hor [aside to Hamlet] Is't not possible to understand in another + tongue? You will do't, sir, really. + Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentleman + Osr. Of Laertes? + Hor. [aside] His purse is empty already. All's golden words are + spent. + Ham. Of him, sir. + Osr. I know you are not ignorant- + Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not + much approve me. Well, sir? + Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is- + Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in + excellence; but to know a man well were to know himself. + Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him + by them, in his meed he's unfellowed. + Ham. What's his weapon? + Osr. Rapier and dagger. + Ham. That's two of his weapons- but well. + Osr. The King, sir, hath wager'd with him six Barbary horses; + against the which he has impon'd, 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. + Ham. What call you the carriages? + Hor. [aside to Hamlet] I knew you must be edified by the margent + ere you had done. + Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. + Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the matter if we could + carry cannon by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then. + But on! Six Barbary horses against six French swords, their + assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages: that's the French + bet against the Danish. Why is this all impon'd, as you call it? + Osr. 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. + Ham. How if I answer no? + Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial. + Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty, + it is the breathing time of day with me. Let the foils be + brought, the gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose, + I will win for him if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my + shame and the odd hits. + Osr. Shall I redeliver you e'en so? + Ham. To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will. + Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. + Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric.] He does well to commend it + himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. + Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head. + Ham. He did comply with his dug before he suck'd it. Thus has he, + and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes + on, only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter- + a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and + through the most fann'd 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. + Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they follow the King's pleasure. + If his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now or whensoever, provided + I be so able as now. + Lord. The King and Queen and all are coming down. + Ham. In happy time. + Lord. The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to + Laertes before you fall to play. + Ham. She well instructs me. + [Exit Lord.] + Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. + Ham. I do not think so. Since he went into France I have been in + continual practice. I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not + think how ill all's here about my heart. But it is no matter. + Hor. Nay, good my lord - + Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gaingiving as + would perhaps trouble a woman. + Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their + repair hither and say you are not fit. + Ham. 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 knows aught of what he leaves, + what is't to leave betimes? Let be. + + Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Osric, and Lords, with other + Attendants with foils and gauntlets. + A table and flagons of wine on it. + + King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. + [The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.] + Ham. Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong; + But pardon't, as you are a gentleman. + This presence knows, + And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd + With sore distraction. What I have done + That might your nature, honour, and exception + Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. + Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet. + If Hamlet from himself be taken away, + And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes, + Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. + Who does it, then? His madness. If't be so, + Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; + His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. + Sir, in this audience, + Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil + Free me so far in your most generous thoughts + That I have shot my arrow o'er the house + And hurt my brother. + Laer. I am satisfied in nature, + Whose motive in this case should stir me most + To my revenge. But in my terms of honour + I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement + Till by some elder masters of known honour + I have a voice and precedent of peace + To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time + I do receive your offer'd love like love, + And will not wrong it. + Ham. I embrace it freely, + And will this brother's wager frankly play. + Give us the foils. Come on. + Laer. Come, one for me. + Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes. In mine ignorance + Your skill shall, like a star i' th' darkest night, + Stick fiery off indeed. + Laer. You mock me, sir. + Ham. No, by this bad. + King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, + You know the wager? + Ham. Very well, my lord. + Your Grace has laid the odds o' th' weaker side. + King. I do not fear it, I have seen you both; + But since he is better'd, we have therefore odds. + Laer. This is too heavy; let me see another. + Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all a length? + Prepare to play. + Osr. Ay, my good lord. + King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. + If Hamlet give the first or second hit, + Or quit in answer of the third exchange, + Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; + The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath, + And in the cup an union shall he throw + Richer than that which four successive kings + In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups; + And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, + The trumpet to the cannoneer without, + The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, + 'Now the King drinks to Hamlet.' Come, begin. + And you the judges, bear a wary eye. + Ham. Come on, sir. + Laer. Come, my lord. They play. + Ham. One. + Laer. No. + Ham. Judgment! + Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. + Laer. Well, again! + King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; + Here's to thy health. + [Drum; trumpets sound; a piece goes off [within]. + Give him the cup. + Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile. + Come. (They play.) Another hit. What say you? + Laer. A touch, a touch; I do confess't. + King. Our son shall win. + Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. + Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. + The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. + Ham. Good madam! + King. Gertrude, do not drink. + Queen. I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me. Drinks. + King. [aside] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late. + Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by-and-by. + Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. + Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. + King. I do not think't. + Laer. [aside] And yet it is almost against my conscience. + Ham. Come for the third, Laertes! You but dally. + pray You Pass with your best violence; + I am afeard You make a wanton of me. + Laer. Say you so? Come on. Play. + Osr. Nothing neither way. + Laer. Have at you now! + [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then] in scuffling, they + change rapiers, [and Hamlet wounds Laertes]. + King. Part them! They are incens'd. + Ham. Nay come! again! The Queen falls. + Osr. Look to the Queen there, ho! + Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord? + Osr. How is't, Laertes? + Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric. + I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. + Ham. How does the Queen? + King. She sounds to see them bleed. + Queen. No, no! the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! + The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. [Dies.] + Ham. O villany! Ho! let the door be lock'd. + Treachery! Seek it out. + [Laertes falls.] + Laer. It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain; + No medicine in the world can do thee good. + In thee there is not half an hour of life. + The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, + Unbated and envenom'd. The foul practice + Hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lie, + Never to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd. + I can no more. The King, the King's to blame. + Ham. The point envenom'd too? + Then, venom, to thy work. Hurts the King. + All. Treason! treason! + King. O, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt. + Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane, + Drink off this potion! Is thy union here? + Follow my mother. King dies. + Laer. He is justly serv'd. + It is a poison temper'd by himself. + Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. + Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, + Nor thine on me! Dies. + Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. + I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu! + You that look pale and tremble at this chance, + That are but mutes or audience to this act, + Had I but time (as this fell sergeant, Death, + Is strict in his arrest) O, I could tell you- + But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; + Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright + To the unsatisfied. + Hor. Never believe it. + I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. + Here's yet some liquor left. + Ham. As th'art a man, + Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven, I'll ha'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? + Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, + To the ambassadors of England gives + This warlike volley. + Ham. O, I die, Horatio! + The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit. + I cannot live to hear the news from England, + But I do prophesy th' election lights + On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. + So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less, + Which have solicited- the rest is silence. Dies. + Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, + And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! + [March within.] + Why does the drum come hither? + + Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassadors, with Drum, + Colours, and Attendants. + + Fort. Where is this sight? + Hor. What is it you will see? + If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. + Fort. 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. + Ambassador. The sight is dismal; + And our affairs from England come too late. + The ears are senseless that should give us bearing + To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd + That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. + Where should We have our thanks? + Hor. Not from his mouth, + Had it th' ability of life to thank you. + He never gave commandment for their death. + But since, so jump upon this bloody question, + You from the Polack wars, and you from England, + Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies + High on a stage be placed to the view; + And let me speak to 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 forc'd cause; + And, in this upshot, purposes mistook + Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I + Truly deliver. + Fort. 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. + Hor. 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. + Fort. Let four captains + Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage; + For he was likely, had he been put on, + To have prov'd most royally; and for his passage + The soldiers' music and the rites of war + Speak loudly for him. + Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this + Becomes the field but here shows much amiss. + Go, bid the soldiers shoot. + Exeunt marching; after the which a peal of ordnance + are shot off. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1598 + +THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + King Henry the Fourth. + Henry, Prince of Wales, son to the King. + Prince John of Lancaster, son to the King. + Earl of Westmoreland. + Sir Walter Blunt. + Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. + Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. + Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. + Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. + Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. + Archibald, Earl of Douglas. + Owen Glendower. + Sir Richard Vernon. + Sir John Falstaff. + Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York. + Poins. + Gadshill + Peto. + Bardolph. + + Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. + Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer. + Mistress Quickly, hostess of the Boar's Head in Eastcheap. + + Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two + Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE.--England and Wales. + + +ACT I. Scene I. +London. The Palace. + +Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, +[Sir Walter Blunt,] with others. + + King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, + Find we a time for frighted peace to pant + And breathe short-winded accents of new broils + To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. + No more the thirsty entrance of this soil + Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood. + No more shall trenching war channel her fields, + Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs + Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes + Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, + All of one nature, of one substance bred, + Did lately meet in the intestine shock + And furious close of civil butchery, + Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks + March all one way and be no more oppos'd + 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 engag'd to fight- + Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, + Whose arms were moulded in their mother's 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 twelvemonth old, + And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go. + Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear + Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, + What yesternight our Council did decree + In forwarding this dear expedience. + West. My liege, this haste was hot in question + And many limits of the charge set down + But yesternight; when all athwart there came + A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news; + Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer, + Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight + Against the irregular and wild Glendower, + Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, + A thousand of his people butchered; + Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, + Such beastly shameless transformation, + By those Welshwomen done as may not be + Without much shame retold or spoken of. + King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil + Brake off our business for the Holy Land. + West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord; + For more uneven and unwelcome news + Came from the North, and thus it did import: + On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there, + Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, + That ever-valiant and approved Scot, + At Holmedon met, + Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; + As by discharge of their artillery + And shape of likelihood the news was told; + For he that brought them, in the very heat + And pride of their contention did take horse, + Uncertain of the issue any way. + King. Here is a dear, 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 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? + West. In faith, + It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. + King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin + In envy that my Lord Northumberland + Should be the father to so blest a son- + A son who is the theme of honour's tongue, + Amongst a grove the very straightest plant; + Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride; + Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, + See riot and dishonour stain the brow + Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd + That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd + 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 surpris'd + To his own use he keeps, and sends me word + I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. + West. This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, + Malevolent to you In all aspects, + Which makes him prune himself and bristle up + The crest of youth against your dignity. + King. But I have sent for him to answer this; + And for this cause awhile we must neglect + Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. + Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we + Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords; + But come yourself with speed to us again; + For more is to be said and to be done + Than out of anger can be uttered. + West. I will my liege. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +London. An apartment of the Prince's. + +Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff. + + Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? + Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and + unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after + noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou + wouldest 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. + Fal. 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 + wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art + king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou + wilt have none- + Prince. What, none? + Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to + an egg and butter. + Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly. + Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that + are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's + beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade, + Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good + government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste + mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. + Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of + us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being + governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a purse + of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most + dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by,' + and spent with crying 'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as the + foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the ridge + of the gallows. + Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess of + the tavern a most sweet wench? + Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is not + a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? + Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy + quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? + Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? + Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft. + Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? + Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. + Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and + where it would not, I have used my credit. + Fal. Yea, and so us'd 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 fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the + law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. + Prince. No; thou shalt. + Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. + Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the + hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman. + Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour as + well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. + Prince. For obtaining of suits? + Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean + wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg'd + bear. + Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. + Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. + Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor + Ditch? + Fal. 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 mark'd him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I + regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street + too. + Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and + no man regards it. + Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to + corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal- God + forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and + now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of + the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over! + By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain! I'll be damn'd for + never a king's son in Christendom. + Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? + Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not, call + me villain and baffle me. + Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to + purse-taking. + Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to + labour in his vocation. + + Enter Poins. + + Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men + were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for + him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand!' + to a true man. + Prince. Good morrow, Ned. + Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What + says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee + about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a + cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? + Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his + bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give + the devil his due. + Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil. + Prince. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil. + Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock + early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong 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 hang'd! + Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you + for going. + Poins. You will, chops? + Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? + Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith. + Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, + nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal if thou darest not stand + for ten shillings. + Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. + Fal. Why, that's well said. + Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. + Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. + Prince. I care not. + Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will + lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go. + Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears + of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he hears + may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) + prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want + countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap. + Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! + Exit Falstaff. + Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow. I + have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, + Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have + already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they + have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off + from my shoulders. + Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth? + Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them + a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and + then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they + shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. + Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by + our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. + Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the + wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and, + sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our + noted outward garments. + Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. + Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred + cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight + longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of + this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat + rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, + he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he + endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. + Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary + and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell. + Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit. + Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold + The unyok'd humour of your idleness. + Yet herein will I imitate the sun, + Who doth permit the base contagious clouds + To smother up his beauty from the world, + That, when he please again to lie himself, + Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at + By breaking through the foul and ugly mists + Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. + If all the year were playing holidays, + To sport would be as tedious as to work; + But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, + And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. + So, when this loose behaviour I throw off + And pay the debt I never promised, + By how much better than my word I am, + By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; + And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, + My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault, + Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes + Than that which hath no foil to set it off. + I'll so offend to make offence a skill, + Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +London. The Palace. + +Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, +with others. + + King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, + Unapt to stir at these indignities, + And you have found me, for accordingly + You tread upon my patience; but be sure + I will from henceforth rather be myself, + Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition, + Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, + And therefore lost that title of respect + Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. + Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves + The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it- + And that same greatness too which our own hands + Have holp to make so portly. + North. My lord- + King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see + Danger and disobedience in thine eye. + O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, + And majesty might never yet endure + The moody frontier of a servant brow. + Tou 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. + North. 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 delivered to your Majesty. + Either envy, therefore, or misprision + Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. + Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. + But I remember, when the fight was done, + When I was dry with rage and extreme toll, + 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 smil'd 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 questioned me, amongst the rest demanded + My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf. + I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, + To be so pest'red with a popingay, + 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 sovereignest thing on earth + Was parmacity for an inward bruise; + And that it was great pity, so it was, + This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd + Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, + Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd + So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns, + He would himself have been a soldier. + This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, + I answered indirectly, as I said, + And I beseech you, let not his report + Come current for an accusation + Betwixt my love and your high majesty. + Blunt. The circumstance considered, 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. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, + But with proviso and exception, + That we at our own charge shall ransom straight + His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; + Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd + The lives of those that he did lead to fight + Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower, + Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March + Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, + Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? + Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears + When they have lost and forfeited themselves? + No, on the barren mountains let him starve! + For I shall never hold that man my friend + Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost + To ransom home revolted Mortimer. + Hot. 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 breath'd, 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 cohabitants. + Never did base and rotten policy + Colour her working with such deadly wounds; + Nor never could the noble Mortimer + Receive so many, and all willingly. + Then let not him be slandered with revolt. + King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him! + He never did encounter with Glendower. + I tell thee + He durst as well have met the devil alone + As Owen Glendower for an enemy. + Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth + Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. + Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, + Or you shall hear in such a kind from me + As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland, + We license your departure with your son.- + Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. + Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train] + Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them, + I will not send them. I will after straight + And tell him so; for I will else my heart, + Albeit I make a hazard of my head. + North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile. + Here comes your uncle. + + Enter Worcester. + + Hot. 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 downtrod Mortimer + As high in the air as this unthankful king, + As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke. + North. Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. + Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone? + Hot. He will (forsooth) have all my prisoners; + And when I urg'd the ransom once again + Of my wive'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. + Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd + By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? + North. 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 depos'd, and shortly murdered. + Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth + Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of. + Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then + Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer + Heir to the crown? + North. He did; myself did hear it. + Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, + That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. + But shall it be that you, that set the crown + Upon the head of this forgetful man, + And for his sake wear the detested blot + Of murtherous 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 subtile king! + Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, + Or fill up chronicles in time to come, + That men of your nobility and power + Did gage them both in an unjust behalf + (As both of you, God pardon it! have done) + To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, + And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? + And shall it in more shame be further spoken + That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off + By him for whom these shames ye underwent? + No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem + Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves + Into the good thoughts of the world again; + Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt + Of this proud king, who studies day and night + To answer all the debt he owes to you + Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. + Therefore I say- + Wor. 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'erwalk a current roaring loud + On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. + Hot. 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! + North. Imagination of some great exploit + Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. + Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap + To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon, + Or dive into the bottom of the deep, + Where fadom 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-fac'd fellowship! + Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, + But not the form of what he should attend. + Good cousin, give me audience for a while. + Hot. I cry you mercy. + Wor. Those same noble Scots + That are your prisoners- + Hot. 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! + Wor. You start away. + And lend no ear unto my purposes. + Those prisoners you shall keep. + Hot. Nay, I will! That is flat! + He said he would not ransom Mortimer, + Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer, + But I will find him when he lies asleep, + And in his ear I'll holloa '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. + Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word. + Hot. 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 poisoned with a pot of ale. + Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you + When you are better temper'd to attend. + North. 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! + Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd 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 GIoucestershire- + 'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept- + His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee + Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke- + 'S blood! + When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh- + North. At Berkeley Castle. + Hot. You say true. + Why, what a candy deal of courtesy + This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! + Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,' + And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'- + O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me! + Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. + Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again. + We will stay your leisure. + Hot. I have done, i' faith. + Wor. 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 assur'd + Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord, + Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, + Shall secretly into the bosom creep + Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd, + The Archbishop. + Hot. Of York, is it not? + Wor. True; who bears hard + His brother's death at Bristow, 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. + Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well. + North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip. + Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot. + And then the power of Scotland and of York + To join with Mortimer, ha? + Wor. And so they shall. + Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. + Wor. 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. + Hot. He does, he does! We'll be reveng'd on him. + Wor. 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 pow'rs 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. + North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust. + Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short + Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. Scene I. +Rochester. An inn yard. + +Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. + + 1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd. + Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not + pack'd.- What, ostler! + Ost. [within] Anon, anon. + 1. Car. 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. + + 2. Car. 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. + 1. Car. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose. It + was the death of him. + 2. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road + for fleas. I am stung like a tench. + 1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king christen + could be better bit than I have been since the first cock. + 2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in + your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach. + 1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away! + 2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be + delivered as far as Charing Cross. + 1. Car. 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 hang'd! + Hast no faith in thee? + + Enter Gadshill. + + Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? + 1. Car. I think it be two o'clock. + Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the + stable. + 1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that, + i' faith. + Gads. I pray thee lend me thine. + 2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he? Marry, + I'll see thee hang'd first! + Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London? + 2. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. + Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will + along with company, for they have great charge. + Exeunt [Carriers]. + Gads. What, ho! chamberlain! + + Enter Chamberlain. + + Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse. + Gads. 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. + Cham. 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. + Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll + give thee this neck. + Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the hangman; + for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of + falsehood may. + Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make + a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, + and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other + Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake are + content to do the profession some grace; that would (if matters + should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all whole. + I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny + strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; 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. + Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water + in foul way? + Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in + a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk + invisible. + Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night + than to fernseed for your walking invisible. + Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as + I and a true man. + Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief. + Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler + bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +The highway near Gadshill. + +Enter Prince and Poins. + + Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse, and + he frets like a gumm'd velvet. + Prince. Stand close. [They step aside.] + + Enter Falstaff. + + Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins! + Prince. I comes forward I Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What a + brawling dost thou keep! + Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? + Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek him. + [Steps aside.] + Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal hath + removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but + four foot by the squire further 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 bewitch'd + with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me + medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not be + else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both! + Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An + 'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to leave + these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a + tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles + 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 hang'd! + Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine ear + close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of + travellers. + Fal. 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. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. + Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's + son. + Prince. Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler? + Fal. 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 with him]. + + Gads. Stand! + Fal. So I do, against my will. + Poins. [comes fortward] O, 'tis our setter. I know his voice. + Bardolph, what news? + Bar. 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. + Fal. You lie, ye rogue! 'Tis going to the King's tavern. + Gads. There's enough to make us all. + Fal. To be hang'd. + Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned + Poins and I will walk lower. If they scape from your encounter, + then they light on us. + Peto. How many be there of them? + Gads. Some eight or ten. + Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us? + Prince. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? + Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no + coward, Hal. + Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof. + Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When thou + need'st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell and stand fast. + Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd. + Prince. [aside to Poins] Ned, where are our disguises? + Poins. [aside to Prince] Here, hard by. Stand close. + [Exeunt Prince and Poins.] + Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man to + his business. + + Enter the Travellers. + + Traveller. Come, neighbour. + The boy shall lead our horses down the hill; + We'll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs. + Thieves. Stand! + Traveller. Jesus bless us! + Fal. Strike! down with them! cut the villains' throats! Ah, + whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth. Down + with them! fleece them! + Traveller. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever! + Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; + I would your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves! + young men must live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We'll jure ye, + faith! + Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt. + + Enter the Prince and Poins [in buckram suits]. + + Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I + rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument + for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. + Poins. Stand close! I hear them coming. + [They stand aside.] + + Enter the Thieves again. + + Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. + An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no + equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins than in a + wild duck. + + [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon + them. THey all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or + two, runs awasy too, leaving the booty behind them.] + + Prince. Your money! + Poins. Villains! + + Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. + The thieves are scattered, 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. + + + + +Scene III. +Warkworth Castle. + +Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter. + + Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to + be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could be + contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears + our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he + loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake + is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a + cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of + this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose + you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, + the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the + counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? + I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you + lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good + plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good + plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, + very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my + Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the + action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him + with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and + myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen + Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all + their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, + and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan + rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very + sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open + all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets + for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action! + Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set + forward to-night. + + Enter his Lady. + + How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours. + Lady. 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-ey'd musing and curs'd 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, tent, + 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 ill 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. + Hot. What, ho! + + [Enter a Servant.] + + Is Gilliams with the packet gone? + Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. + Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? + Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. + Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not? + Serv. It is, my lord. + Hot. That roan shall be my throne. + Well, I will back him straight. O esperance! + Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. + [Exit Servant.] + Lady. But hear you, my lord. + Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? + Lady. What is it carries you away? + Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse! + Lady. 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- + Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. + Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me + Directly unto this question that I ask. + I'll break thy little finger, Harry, + An if thou wilt not tell my all things true. + Hot. Away. + Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not; + I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world + To play with mammets and to tilt with lips. + We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, + And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse! + What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me? + Lady. 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. + Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? + And when I am a-horseback, I will swear + I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate: + I must not have you henceforth question me + Whither I go, nor reason whereabout. + Whither I must, I must; and to conclude, + This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. + I know you wise; but yet no farther wise + Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are, + But yet a woman; and for secrecy, + No lady closer, for I well believe + Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, + And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. + Lady. How? so far? + Hot. 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. It must of force. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern. + +Enter Prince and Poins. + + Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy hand + to laugh a little. + Poins. Where hast been, Hal? + Prince,. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or + fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-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 Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell + me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a + lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!), and + when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads + Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when + you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you play it + off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an + hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during + my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou + wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten which + name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd even + now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other + English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and 'You + are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score + a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to drive + away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some + by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end be 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. Thou art perfect. + Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins.] + + Enter [Francis, a] Drawer. + + Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. + Prince. Come hither, Francis. + Fran. My lord? + Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? + Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to- + Poins. [within] Francis! + Fran. Anon, anon, sir. + Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of + Pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the + coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and + run from it? + Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England I + could find in my heart- + Poins. [within] Francis! + Fran. Anon, sir. + Prince. How old art thou, Francis? + Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be- + Poins. [within] Francis! + Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord. + Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest me- + 'twas a pennyworth, wast not? + Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two! + Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou + wilt, and, thou shalt have it. + Poins. [within] Francis! + Fran. Anon, anon. + Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, + Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But + Francis- + Fran. My lord? + Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, + not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, + smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch- + Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? + Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for look + you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, + sir, it cannot come to so much. + Fran. What, sir? + Poins. [within] Francis! + Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? + Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed, + not knowing which way to go. + + Enter Vintner. + + Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look + to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, with + half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in? + Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. + [Exit Vintner.] + Poins! + Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir. + + Enter Poins. + + Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the + door. Shall we be merry? + Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning + match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what's + the issue? + Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours + since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this + present this twelve o'clock at midnight. + + [Enter Francis.] + + What's o'clock, Francis? + Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit.] + Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a + parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and + downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet + of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some + six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and + says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O my + sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou kill'd 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 damn'd brawn shall play Dame + Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call + in tallow. + + Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; + Francis follows with wine]. + + Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? + Fal. 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 drinketh. + Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? + Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! + If thou didst, then behold that compound. + Fal. 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 lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of + them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world, I + say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A + plague of all cowards I say still! + Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you? + Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a + dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock + of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince + of Wales? + Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter? + Fal. 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. + Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee + coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as + thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care + not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A + plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me + a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day. + Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st + last. + Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all cowards + still say I. + Prince. What's the matter? + Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a + thousand pound this day morning. + Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it? + Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four of + us! + Prince. What, a hundred, man? + Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them + two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight times + thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut + through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce signum! + I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A + plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or less + than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness. + Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it? + Gads. We four set upon some dozen- + Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. + Gads. And bound them. + Peto. No, no, they were not bound. + Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew + else- an Ebrew Jew. + Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us- + Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. + Prince. What, fought you with them all? + Fal. 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-legg'd + creature. + Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them. + Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them. Two + I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee + what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. + Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. + Four rogues in buckram let drive at me. + Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now. + Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four. + Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. + Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made me + no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. + Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now. + Fal. In buckram? + Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. + Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. + Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have more + anon. + Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? + Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. + Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in buckram + that I told thee of- + Prince. So, two more already. + Fal. Their points being broken- + Poins. Down fell their hose. + Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in, + foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid. + Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two! + Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in + Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so + dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. + Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them- gross as + a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou + knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch- + Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth? + Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when + it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your + reason. What sayest thou to this? + Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. + Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or + all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. + Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as + blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. + Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine + coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill + of flesh- + Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried + neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath to + utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you + bowcase, you vile standing tuck! + Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou + hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. + Poins. Mark, Jack. + Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were + masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you + down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfac'd + 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 roar'd for mercy, and still + run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. 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? + Fal. 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. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away. + Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! + + Enter Hostess. + + Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince! + Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me? + Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door + would speak with you. He says he comes from your father. + Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him + back again to my mother. + Fal. What manner of man is he? + Host. An old man. + Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him + his answer? + Prince. Prithee do, Jack. + Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing. +Exit. + Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so + did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, + you will not touch the true prince; no- fie! + Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run. + Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so + hack'd? + Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would swear + truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in + fight, and persuaded us to do the like. + Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them + bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it + was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year + before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices. + Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago + and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd + extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou + ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it? + Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these + exhalations? + Prince. I do. + Bard. What think you they portend? + Prince. Hot livers and cold purses. + Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. + Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter. + + Enter Falstaff. + + Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet + creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest + thine own knee? + Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an + eagle's talent 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. + Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old + Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that + runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular- + Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a + sparrow flying. + Fal. You have hit it. + Prince. So did he never the sparrow. + Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run. + Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for + running! + Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot. + Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. + Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one + Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away + to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news; you + may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel. + Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this + civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy + hobnails, by the hundreds. + Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have + good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible + afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out + three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit + Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? + Doth not thy blood thrill at it? + Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct. + Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to + thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer. + Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the + particulars of my life. + Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my + sceptre, and this cushion my, crown. + Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden sceptre + for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful + bald crown. + Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt + thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, + that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, + and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein. + Prince. Well, here is my leg. + Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. + Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith! + Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. + Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance! + Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen! + For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. + Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as + ever I see! + Fal. Peace, good pintpot. 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 + ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A + question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast + often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name + of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; + so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak + to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; + not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous + man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his + name. + Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty? + Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful + look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, + his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and + now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be + lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his + looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit + by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in + that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, + thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month? + Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll + play my father. + Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, + both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a + rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare. + Prince. Well, here I am set. + Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters. + Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you? + Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. + Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. + Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for a + young prince, i' faith. + Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me. + Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil + haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is + thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, + that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of + dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag 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? + Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your + Grace? + Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, + that old white-bearded Satan. + Fal. My lord, the man I know. + Prince. I know thou dost. + Fal. 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 damn'd. If to be fat be to be hated, + then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord. + Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack + Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack + Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old Jack + Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy + Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world! + Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.] + [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.] + + Enter Bardolph, running. + + Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch + is at the door. + Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the + behalf of that Falstaff. + + Enter the Hostess. + + Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord! + Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick! + What's the matter? + Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come + to search the house. Shall I let them in? + Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a + counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so. + Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct. + Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, + let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a + plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled + with a halter as another. + Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above. + Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience. + Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore + I'll hide me. Exit. + Prince. Call in the sheriff. + [Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.] + + Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. + + Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me? + Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry + Hath followed certain men unto this house. + Prince. What men? + Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord- + A gross fat man. + Carrier. As fat as butter. + Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here, + For I myself at this time have employ'd him. + And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee + That I will by to-morrow dinner time + Send him to answer thee, or any man, + For anything he shall be charg'd withal; + And so let me entreat you leave the house. + Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen + Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. + Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men, + He shall be answerable; and so farewell. + Sher. Good night, my noble lord. + Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not? + Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. + Exit [with Carrier]. + Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call him + forth. + Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a + horse. + Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. + He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers. + What hast thou found? + Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. + Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them. + + Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii d. + Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii d. + Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii d. + Item, Anchovies and sack after supper. ii s. vi d. + Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ob.' + + Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this + intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we'll + read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll to + the court in the morning . We must all to the wars. and thy place + shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of + foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score. The + money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes + in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto. + Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. Scene I. +Bangor. The Archdeacon's house. + +Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower. + + Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, + And our induction full of prosperous hope. + Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, + Will you sit down? + And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it! + I have forgot the map. + Glend. 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. + Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears + Owen Glendower spoke of. + Glend. 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 + Shak'd like a coward. + Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your + mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been + born. + Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born. + Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, + If you suppose as fearing you it shook. + Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. + Hot. 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 beldame earth and topples down + Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth + Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature, + In passion shook. + Glend. 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. + Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to dinner. + Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. + Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. + Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man; + But will they come when you do call for them? + Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil. + Hot. 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! + Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat. + Glend. 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. + Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too? + How scapes he agues, in the devil's name + Glend. Come, here's the map. Shall we divide our right + According to our threefold order ta'en? + Mort. 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 bower, + As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. + My father Glendower is not ready yet, + Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. + [To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together + Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. + Glend. 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. + Hot. 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 ill this place damm'd up, + And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run + In a new channel fair and evenly. + It shall not wind with such a deep indent + To rob me of so rich a bottom here. + Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth. + Mort. 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. + Wor. 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. + Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it. + Glend. I will not have it alt'red. + Hot. Will not you? + Glend. No, nor you shall not. + Hot. Who shall say me nay? + Glend. No, that will I. + Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh. + Glend. 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. + Hot. Marry, + And I am glad of it with all my heart! + I had rather be a kitten and cry mew + Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers. + I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd + Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree, + And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, + Nothing so much as mincing poetry. + 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag, + Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. + Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land + To any well-deserving friend; + But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, + I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair + Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone? + Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night. + I'll 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. + Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! + Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me + With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, + Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, + And of a dragon and a finless fish, + A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, + A couching lion and a ramping cat, + And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff + As puts me from my faith. I tell you what- + He held me last night at least nine hours + In reckoning up the several devils' names + That were his lackeys. I cried 'hum,' and 'Well, go to!' + But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious + As a tired horse, a railing wife; + Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live + With cheese and garlic in a windmill far + Than feed on cates and have him talk to me + In any summer house in Christendom). + Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, + Exceedingly well read, and profited + In strange concealments, valiant as a lion, + And wondrous affable, and as bountiful + As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? + He holds your temper in a high respect + And curbs himself even of his natural scope + When you come 'cross his humour. Faith, he does. + I warrant you that man is not alive + Might so have tempted him as you have done + Without the taste of danger and reproof. + But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. + Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame, + And since your coming hither have done enough + To put him quite besides his patience. + You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault. + Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood- + And that's the dearest grace it renders you- + Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, + Defect of manners, want of government, + Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain; + The least of which haunting a nobleman + Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain + Upon the beauty of all parts besides, + Beguiling them of commendation. + Hot. Well, I am school'd. Good manners be your speed! + Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. + + Enter Glendower with the Ladies. + + Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me- + My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. + Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you; + She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. + Mort. 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. + Glend. She is desperate here. A peevish self-will'd harlotry, + One that no persuasion can do good upon. + The Lady speaks in Welsh. + Mort. I understand thy looks. That pretty Welsh + Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens + I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, + In such a Barley should I answer thee. + The Lady again in Welsh. + I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, + And that's a feeling disputation. + But I will never be a truant, love, + Till I have learnt thy language: for thy tongue + Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, + Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bow'r, + With ravishing division, to her lute. + Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. + The Lady speaks again in Welsh. + Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this! + Glend. 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. + Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing. + By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. + Glend. 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. + Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick, + quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap. + Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. + The music plays. + Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh; + And 'tis no marvel, be is so humorous. + By'r Lady, he is a good musician. + Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are + altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the + lady sing in Welsh. + Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. + Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? + Hot. No. + Lady P. Then be still. + Hot. Neither! 'Tis a woman's fault. + Lady P. Now God help thee! + Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. + Lady P. What's that? + Hot. Peace! she sings. + Here the Lady sings a Welsh song. + Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. + Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. + Hot. 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 ne'er 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 P. I will not sing. + Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor or be redbreast-teacher. An + the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so + come in when ye will. Exit. + Glend. 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. + Mort. With all my heart. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +London. The Palace. + +Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others. + + King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I + Must have some private conference; but be near at hand, + For we shall presently have need of you. + Exeunt Lords. + I know not whether God will have it so, + For some displeasing service I have done, + That, in his secret doom, out of my blood + He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me; + But thou dost in thy passages of life + Make me believe that thou art only mark'd + For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven + To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, + Could such inordinate and low desires, + Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, + Such barren pleasures, rude society, + As thou art match'd withal and grafted to, + Accompany the greatness of thy blood + And hold their level with thy princely heart? + Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could + Quit all offences with as clear excuse + As well as I am doubtless I can purge + Myself of many I am charged withal. + Yet such extenuation let me beg + As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, + Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear + By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers, + I may, for some things true wherein my youth + Hath faulty wand'red and irregular, + And pardon on lily true submission. + King. God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry, + At thy affections, which do hold a wing, + Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. + Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost, + Which by thy younger brother is supplied, + And art almost an alien to the hearts + Of all the court and princes of my blood. + The hope and expectation of thy time + Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man + Prophetically do forethink thy fall. + Had I so lavish of my presence been, + So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, + So stale and cheap to vulgar company, + Opinion, that did help me to the crown, + Had still kept loyal to possession + And left me in reputeless banishment, + A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. + By being seldom seen, I could not stir + But, like a comet, I Was wond'red 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 wond'red at; and so my state, + Seldom but sumptuous, show'd like a feast + And won by rareness such solemnity. + The skipping King, he ambled up and down + With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, + Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state; + Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools; + Had his great name profaned with their scorns + And gave his countenance, against his name, + To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push + Of every beardless vain comparative; + Grew a companion to the common streets, + Enfeoff'd himself to popularity; + That, being dally swallowed 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 unlike majesty + When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; + But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down, + Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect + As cloudy men use to their adversaries, + Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. + And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; + For thou hast lost thy princely privilege + With vile participation. Not an eye + But is aweary of thy common sight, + Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; + Which now doth that I would not have it do- + Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. + Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, + Be more myself. + King. For all the world, + As thou art to this hour, was Richard then + When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh; + And even as I was then is Percy now. + Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, + He hath more worthy interest to the state + Than thou, the shadow of succession; + For of no right, nor colour like to right, + He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, + Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, + And, Being no more in debt to years than thou, + Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on + To bloody battles and to bruising arms. + What never-dying honour hath he got + Against renowmed 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 nearest and dearest enemy' + Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, + Base inclination, and the start of spleen, + To fight against me under Percy's pay, + To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns, + To show how much thou art degenerate. + Prince. Do not think so. You shall not find it so. + And God forgive them that so much have sway'd + Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me! + I will redeem all this on Percy's head + And, in the closing of some glorious day, + Be bold to tell you that I am your son, + When I will wear a garment all of blood, + And stain my favours in a bloody mask, + Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. + And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, + That this same child of honour and renown, + This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, + And your unthought of Harry chance to meet. + For every honour sitting on his helm, + Would they were multitudes, and on my head + My shames redoubled! For the time will come + That I shall make this Northern youth exchange + His glorious deeds for my indignities. + Percy is but my factor, good my lord, + To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; + And I will call hall to so strict account + That he shall render every glory up, + Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, + Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. + This in the name of God I promise here; + The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, + I do beseech your Majesty may salve + The long-grown wounds of my intemperance. + If not, the end of life cancels all bands, + And I will die a hundred thousand deaths + Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. + King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this! + Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. + + Enter Blunt. + + How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed. + Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. + Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word + That Douglas and the English rebels met + The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. + A mighty and a fearful head they are, + If promises be kept oil every hand, + As ever off'red foul play in a state. + King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; + With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; + For this advertisement is five days old. + On Wednesday next, 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. + + + + +Scene III. +Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern. + +Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. + + Fal. Bardolph, am I not fall'n away vilely since this last action? + Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like + an old lady's loose gown! I am withered like an old apple John. + Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking. + I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no + strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a + church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse. The + inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the + spoil of me. + Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful you cannot live long. + Fal. 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, dic'd not above seven times a week, went to + a bawdy house not above once in a quarter- of an hour, paid money + that I borrowed- three or four times, lived well, and in good + compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. + Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of + all compass- out of all reasonable compass, Sir John. + Fal. 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. + Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. + Fal. 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 hellfire and Dives that lived in purple; for there he + is in his robes, burning, burning. if thou wert any way given to + virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be 'By this + fire, that's God's angel.' But thou art altogether given over, + and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter + darkness. When thou ran'st up 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! + Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! + Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd. + + Enter Hostess. + + How now, Dame Partlet the hen? Have you enquir'd yet who pick'd + my pocket? + Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I + keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquired, so + has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant. The + tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. + Fal. Ye lie, hostess. Bardolph was shav'd and lost many a hair, and + I'll be sworn my pocket was pick'd. Go to, you are a woman, go! + Host. Who, I? No; I defy thee! God's light, I was never call'd so + in mine own house before! + Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. + Host. 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. + Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas! I have given them away to bakers' + wives; they have made bolters of them. + Host. 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. + Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. + Host. He? Alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. + Fal. How? Poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Let them + coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. I'll not pay a denier. + What, will you make a younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease + in mine inn but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a + seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark. + Host. O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, + that that ring was copper! + Fal. 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 the Prince [and Poins], marching; and Falstaff meets + them, playing upon his truncheon like a fife. + + How now, lad? Is the wind in that door, i' faith? Must we all + march? + Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. + Host. My lord, I pray you hear me. + Prince. What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? + I love him well; he is an honest man. + Host. Good my lord, hear me. + Fal. Prithee let her alone and list to me. + Prince. What say'st thou, Jack? + Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and had my + pocket pick'd. This house is turn'd bawdy house; they pick + pockets. + Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack? + Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four bonds of forty pound + apiece and a seal-ring of my grandfather's. + Prince. A trifle, some eightpenny matter. + Host. So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace say so; + and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd + man as he is, and said he would cudgel you. + Prince. What! he did not? + Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. + Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor no + more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; and for woman-hood, Maid + Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you + thing, go! + Host. Say, what thing? what thing? + Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on. + Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it! + I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hood aside, + thou art a knave to call me so. + Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say + otherwise. + Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? + Fal. What beast? Why, an otter. + Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter? + Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to + have her. + Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows + where to have me, thou knave, thou! + Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most + grossly. + Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you ought + him a thousand pound. + Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? + Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth a million; + thou owest me thy love. + Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel + you. + Fal. Did I, Bardolph? + Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. + Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper. + Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now? + Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but as + thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's + whelp. + Prince. And why not as the lion? + Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think + I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my + girdle break. + Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! + But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in + this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts and midriff. + Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou + whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anything in + thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses, + and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded- + if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these, I + am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket + up wrong. Art thou not ashamed? + Fal. 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 pick'd my pocket? + Prince. It appears so by the story. + Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy + husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt + find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified. + -Still?- Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the + news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered? + Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. + The money is paid back again. + Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour. + Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything. + Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it + with unwash'd hands too. + Bard. Do, my lord. + Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. + Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can + steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty or + thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for + these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I + praise them. + Prince. Bardolph! + Bard. My lord? + Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, + To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland. + [Exit Bardolph.] + Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I + Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. + [Exit Poins.] + 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 they or we must lower lie. [Exit.] + Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come. + O, I could wish this tavern were my drum! +Exit. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. Scene I. +The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. + + Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth + In this fine age were not thought flattery, + Such attribution should the Douglas have + As not a soldier of this season's stamp + Should go so general current through the world. + By God, I cannot flatter, I defy + The tongues of soothers! but a braver place + In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. + Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. + Doug. Thou art the king of honour. + No man so potent breathes upon the ground + But I will beard him. + + Enter one with letters. + + Hot. Do so, and 'tis well.- + What letters hast thou there?- I can but thank you. + Messenger. These letters come from your father. + Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself? + Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick. + Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick + In such a justling time? Who leads his power? + Under whose government come they along? + Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord. + Wor. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed? + Mess. 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. + Wor. 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. + Hot. Sick now? droop now? This sickness doth infect + The very lifeblood of our enterprise. + 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. + He writes me here that inward sickness- + And that his friends by deputation could not + So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet + To lay so dangerous and dear a trust + On any soul remov'd but on his own. + Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, + That with our small conjunction we should on, + To see how fortune is dispos'd 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? + Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. + Hot. 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 man + 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. + Doug. 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. + Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, + If that the devil and mischance look big + Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. + Wor. But yet I would your father had been here. + The quality and hair of our attempt + Brooks no division. It will be thought + By some that know not why he is away, + That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike + Of our proceedings kept the Earl from hence. + And think how such an apprehension + May turn the tide of fearful faction + And breed a kind of question in our cause. + For well you know we of the off'ring side + Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, + And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence + The eye of reason may pry in upon us. + This absence of your father's draws a curtain + That shows the ignorant a kind of fear + Before not dreamt of. + Hot. 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. + Doug. As heart can think. There is not such a word + Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. + + Enter Sir Richard Vernon. + + Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. + Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. + The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, + Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John. + Hot. No harm. What more? + Ver. And further, I have learn'd + The King himself in person is set forth, + Or hitherwards intended speedily, + With strong and mighty preparation. + Hot. 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? + Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms; + All plum'd like estridges that with the wind + Bated like eagles having lately bath'd; + 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 cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, + Rise from the ground like feathered 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. + Hot. 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-ey'd 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. + that Glendower were come! + Ver. There is more news. + I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, + He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. + Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. + Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. + Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto? + Ver. To thirty thousand. + Hot. 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. + Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear + Of death or death's hand for this one half-year. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +A public road near Coventry. + +Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. + + Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of + sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We'll to Sutton Co'fil' + to-night. + Bard. Will you give me money, Captain? + Fal. Lay out, lay out. + Bald. This bottle makes an angel. + Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty, + take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto + meet me at town's end. + Bard. I Will, Captain. Farewell. Exit. + Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet. I + have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in exchange of + a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I + press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me + out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the + banes- 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 press'd 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-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a long + peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old fac'd + ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that have + bought out their services that you would think that I had a + hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from + swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me + on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and + press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll + not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the + villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; + for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a + shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two + napkins tack'd together and thrown over the shoulders like a + herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, + stol'n 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 the Lord of Westmoreland. + + Prince. How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt? + Fal. 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. + West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and + you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell + you, looks for us all. We must away all, to-night. + Fal. Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream. + Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already + made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that + come after? + Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. + Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals. + Fal. 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. + West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare- + too beggarly. + Fal. Faith, for their poverty, I know, not where they had that; and + for their bareness, I am surd they never learn'd that of me. + Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the + ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the + field. +Exit. + Fal. What, is the King encamp'd? + West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long. + [Exit.] + Fal. Well, + To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast + Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon. + + Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. + Wor. It may not be. + Doug. You give him then advantage. + Ver. Not a whit. + Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply? + Ver. So do we. + Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful. + Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night. + Ver. Do not, my lord. + Doug. You do not counsel well. + You speak it out of fear and cold heart. + Ver. 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. + Doug. Yea, or to-night. + Ver. Content. + Hot. To-night, say I. + Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, + Being men of such great leading as you are, + That you foresee not what impediments + Drag back our expedition. Certain horse + Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up. + Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; + And now their pride and mettle is asleep, + Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, + That not a horse is half the half of himself. + Hot. So are the horses of the enemy, + In general journey-bated and brought low. + The better part of ours are full of rest. + Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours. + For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. + + The trumpet sounds a parley. + + Enter Sir Walter Blunt. + + Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King, + If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. + Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God + You were of our determination! + Some of us love you well; and even those some + Envy your great deservings and good name, + Because you are not of our quality, + But stand against us like an enemy. + Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, + So long as out of limit and true rule + You stand against anointed majesty! + But to my charge. The King hath sent to know + The nature of your griefs; and whereupon + You conjure from the breast of civil peace + Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land + Audacious cruelty. If that the King + Have any way your good deserts forgot, + Which he confesseth to be manifold, + He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed + You shall have your desires with interest, + And pardon absolute for yourself and these + Herein misled by your suggestion. + Hot. 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 mov'd, + Swore him assistance, and performed it too. + Now, when the lords and barons of the realm + Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, + The more and less came in with cap and knee; + Met him on boroughs, cities, villages, + Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, + Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, + Give him their heirs as pages, followed 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. + But. Tut! I came not to hear this. + Hot. Then to the point. + In short time after lie depos'd the King; + Soon after that depriv'd him of his life; + And in the neck of that task'd the whole state; + To make that worse, suff'red his kinsman March + (Who is, if every owner were well placid, + Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales, + There without ransom to lie forfeited; + Disgrac'd 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 an 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. + Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King? + Hot. 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 mine uncle + Bring him our purposes; and so farewell. + Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love. + Hot. And may be so we shall. + Blunt. Pray God you do. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +York. The Archbishop's Palace. + +Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael. + + Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief + With winged haste to the Lord Marshal; + This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest + To whom they are directed. If you knew + How much they do import, you would make haste. + Sir M. My good lord, + I guess their tenour. + Arch. 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, overrul'd by prophecies- + I fear the power of Percy is too weak + To wage an instant trial with the King. + Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; + There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. + Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. + Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, + And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head + Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. + Arch. And so there is; but yet the King hath drawn + The special head of all the land together- + The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, + The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt, + And many moe corrivals and dear men + Of estimation and command in arms. + Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. + Arch. 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. Scene I. +The King's camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, +Falstaff. + + King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer + Above yon busky hill! The day looks pale + At his distemp'rature. + Prince. The southern wind + Doth play the trumpet to his purposes + And by his hollow whistling in the leaves + Foretells a tempest and a blust'ring day. + King. Theft 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 deceiv'd our trust + And made us doff our easy robes of peace + To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel. + This is not well, my lord; this is not well. + What say you to it? Will you again unknit + This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, + And move in that obedient orb again + Where you did give a fair and natural light, + And be no more an exhal'd meteor, + A prodigy of fear, and a portent + Of broached mischief to the unborn times? + Wor. Hear me, my liege. + For mine own part, I could be well content + To entertain the lag-end of my life + With quiet hours; for I do protest + I have not sought the day of this dislike. + King. You have not sought it! How comes it then, + Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. + Prince. Peace, chewet, peace! + Wor. It pleas'd 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 it rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head, + And such a flood of greatness fell on you- + What with our help, what with the absent King, + What with the injuries of a wanton time, + The seeming sufferances that you had borne, + And the contrarious winds that held the King + So long in his unlucky Irish wars + That all in England did repute him dead- + And from this swarm of fair advantages + You took occasion to be quickly woo'd + To gripe the general sway into your hand; + Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; + And, being fed by us, you us'd us so + As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, + Useth the sparrow- did oppress our nest; + Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk + That even our love thirst not come near your sight + For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing + We were enforc'd for safety sake to fly + Out of your sight and raise this present head; + Whereby we stand opposed by such means + As you yourself have forg'd against yourself + By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, + And violation of all faith and troth + Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise. + King. These things, indeed, you have articulate, + Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches, + To face the garment of rebellion + With some fine colour that may please the eye + Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, + Which gape and rub the elbow at the news + Of hurlyburly innovation. + And never yet did insurrection want + Such water colours to impaint his cause, + Nor moody beggars, starving for a time + Of pell-mell havoc and confusion. + Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul + Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, + If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew + The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world + In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes, + This present enterprise set off his head, + I do not think a braver gentleman, + More active-valiant or more valiant-young, + More daring or more bold, is now alive + To grace this latter age with noble deeds. + For my part, I may speak it to my shame, + I have a truant been to chivalry; + And so I hear he doth account me too. + Yet this before my father's Majesty- + I am content that he shall take the odds + Of his great name and estimation, + And will to save the blood on either side, + Try fortune with him in a single fight. + King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, + Albeit considerations infinite + Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no! + We love our people well; even those we love + That are misled upon your cousin's part; + And, will they take the offer of our grace, + Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man + Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his. + So tell your cousin, and bring me word + What he will do. But if he will not yield, + Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, + And they shall do their office. So be gone. + We will not now be troubled with reply. + We offer fair; take it advisedly. + Exit Worcester [with Vernon] + Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life. + The Douglas and the Hotspur both together + Are confident against the world in arms. + King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; + For, on their answer, will we set on them, + And God befriend us as our cause is just! + Exeunt. Manent Prince, Falstaff. + Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so! + 'Tis a point of friendship. + Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship. + Say thy prayers, and farewell. + Fal. I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well. + Prince. Why, thou owest God a death. +Exit. + Fal. '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 honor set to a leg? No. Or + an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no + skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that + word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a + Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be bear it? No. 'Tis + insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the + living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll + none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon- and so ends my catechism. +Exit. + + + + +Scene II. +The rebel camp. + +Enter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon. + + Wor. O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, + The liberal and kind offer of the King. + Ver. 'Twere best he did. + Wor. Then are we all undone. + It is not possible, it cannot be + The King should keep his word in loving us. + He will suspect us still and find a time + To punish this offence in other faults. + Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; + For treason is but trusted like the fox + Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd up, + Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. + Look how we can, or sad or merrily, + Interpretation will misquote our looks, + And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, + The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. + My nephew's trespass may be well forgot; + It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, + And an adopted name of privilege- + A hare-brained 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 taken 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. + + Enter Hotspur [and Douglas]. + + Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so. + Here comes your cousin. + Hot. My uncle is return'd. + Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland. + Uncle, what news? + Wor. The King will bid you battle presently. + Doug. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland. + Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. + Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. +Exit. + Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King. + Hot. Did you beg any, God forbid! + Wor. 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, aid will scourge + With haughty arms this hateful name in us. + + Enter Douglas. + + Doug. Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown + A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, + And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; + Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. + Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the King + And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. + Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, + And that no man might draw short breath to-day + But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, + How show'd his tasking? Seem'd it in contempt? + No, by my soul. I never in my life + Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, + Unless a brother should a brother dare + To gentle exercise and proof of arms. + He gave you all the duties of a man; + Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; + Spoke your deservings like a chronicle; + Making you ever better than his praise + By still dispraising praise valued with you; + And, which became him like a prince indeed, + He made a blushing cital of himself, + And chid his truant youth with such a grace + As if lie mast'red 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. + Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured + Upon 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. + + Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. + Hot. 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. + + Mess. My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace. + Hot. 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. + Here they embrace. The trumpets sound. + [Exeunt.] + + + + +Scene III. +Plain between the camps. + +The King enters with his Power. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas +and Sir Walter Blunt. + + Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus + Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek + Upon my head? + Doug. Know then my name is Douglas, + And I do haunt thee in the battle thus + Because some tell me that thou art a king. + Blunt. They tell thee true. + Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought + Thy likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry, + This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee, + Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. + Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; + And thou shalt find a king that will revenge + Lord Stafford's death. + + They fight. Douglas kills Blunt. Then enter Hotspur. + + Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, + I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. + Doug. All's done, all's won. Here breathless lies the King. + Hot. Where? + Doug. Here. + Hot. 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. + Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! + A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear: + Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? + Hot. The King hath many marching in his coats. + Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; + I'll murder all his wardrop, piece by piece, + Until I meet the King. + Hot. Up and away! + Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. + Exeunt. + + Alarum. Enter Falstaff solus. + + Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot + here. Here's no scoring but upon the pate. Soft! who are you? + Sir Walter Blunt. There's honour for you! Here's no vanity! I am + as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me! + I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my + rag-of-muffins where they are pepper'd. 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 the Prince. + + Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword. + Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff + Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, + Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I prithee + Rend me thy sword. + Fal. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory + never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid + Percy; I have made him sure. + Prince. He is indeed, and living to kill thee. + I prithee lend me thy sword. + Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my + sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. + Prince. Give it me. What, is it in the case? + Fal. Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot. There's that will sack a city. + + The Prince draws it out and finds it to he a bottle of sack. + + What, is it a time to jest and dally now? + He throws the bottle at him. Exit. + Fal. 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 + unlook'd for, and there's an end. Exit. + + + + +Scene IV. +Another part of the field. + +Alarum. Excursions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, +Earl of Westmoreland + + King. I prithee, + Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much. + Lord John of Lancaster, go you unto him. + John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. + Prince. I do beseech your Majesty make up, + Lest Your retirement do amaze your friends. + King. I will do so. + My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. + West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent. + Prince. Lead me, my lord, I do not need your help; + And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive + The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, + Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, + And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! + John. We breathe too long. Come, cousin Westmoreland, + Our duty this way lies. For God's sake, come. + [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland.] + Prince. By God, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster! + I did not think thee lord of such a spirit. + Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; + But now, I do respect thee as my soul. + King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point + With lustier maintenance than I did look for + Of such an ungrown warrior. + Prince. O, this boy + Lends mettle to us all! Exit. + + Enter Douglas. + + Doug. Another king? They grow like Hydra's heads. + I am the Douglas, fatal to all those + That wear those colours on them. What art thou + That counterfeit'st the person of a king? + King. The King himself, who, Douglas, grieves at heart + So many of his shadows thou hast met, + And not the very King. I have two boys + Seek Percy and thyself about the field; + But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, + I will assay thee. So defend thyself. + Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit; + And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king. + But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, + And thus I win thee. + + They fight. The King being in danger, enter Prince of Wales. + + Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like + Never to hold it up again! The spirits + Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms. + It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, + Who never promiseth but he means to pay. + They fight. Douglas flieth. + Cheerly, my lord. How fares your Grace? + Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, + And so hath Clifton. I'll to Clifton straight. + King. Stay and breathe awhile. + Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion, + And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life, + In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. + Prince. O God! they did me too much injury + That ever said I heark'ned 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 sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. + King. Make up to Clifton; I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey. +Exit. + + Enter Hotspur. + + Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. + Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. + Hot. My name is Harry Percy. + Prince. Why, then I see + A very valiant rebel of the name. + I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, + To share with me in glory any more. + Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, + Nor can one England brook a double reign + Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. + Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come + To end the one of us and would to God + Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! + Prince. I'll make it greater ere I part from thee, + And all the budding honours on thy crest + I'll crop to make a garland for my head. + Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. + They fight. + + Enter Falstaff. + + Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy's play + here, I can tell you. + + Enter Douglas. He fighteth with Falstaff, who falls down as if + he were dead. [Exit Douglas.] The Prince killeth Percy. + + Hot. O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth! + I better brook the loss of brittle life + Than those proud titles thou hast won of me. + They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh. + But thoughts the slave, of life, and life time's fool, + And time, that takes survey of all the world, + Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, + But that the earthy and cold hand of death + Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust, + And food for- [Dies.] + Prince. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart! + Ill-weav'd 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 rememb'red 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 spar'd a better man. + O, I should have a heavy miss of thee + If I were much in love with vanity! + Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, + Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. + Embowell'd will I see thee by-and-by; + Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. Exit. + + Falstaff riseth up. + + Fal. Embowell'd? If thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to + powder me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to + counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot + too. Counterfeit? I lie; I am no counterfeit. To die is to be a + counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not + the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying when a man thereby + liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image + of life indeed. The better part of valour is discretion; in the + which better part I have saved my life. 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 kill'd him. Why may not he rise as well as I? + Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, + sirrah [stabs him], with a new wound in your thigh, come you + along with me. + + He takes up Hotspur on his hack. [Enter Prince, and John of + Lancaster. + + Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh'd + Thy maiden sword. + John. But, soft! whom have we here? + Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? + Prince. I did; I saw him dead, + Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art thou alive, + Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight? + I prithee speak. We will not trust our eyes + Without our ears. Thou art not what thou seem'st. + Fal. No, that's certain! I am not a double man; but if I be not + Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There 's Percy. If your father + will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy + himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. + Prince. Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw thee dead! + Fal. 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 believ'd, 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. + John. This is the strangest tale that ever I beard. + Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. + Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back. + For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, + I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. + A retreat is sounded. + The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. + Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, + To see what friends are living, who are dead. + Exeunt [Prince Henry and Prince John]. + Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God + reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge, + and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. + Exit [bearing off the body]. + + + + +Scene V. +Another part of the field. + +The trumpets sound. [Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, +Earl of Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners. + + King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. + Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace, + Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? + And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? + Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust? + Three knights upon our party slain to-day, + A noble earl, and many a creature else + Had been alive this hour, + If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne + Betwixt our armies true intelligence. + Wor. What I have done my safety urg'd me to; + And I embrace this fortune patiently, + Since not to be avoided it fails on me. + King. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too; + Other offenders we will pause upon. + Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, [guarded]. + How goes the field? + Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw + The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, + The Noble Percy slain and all his men + Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; + And falling from a hill,he was so bruis'd + That the pursuers took him. At my tent + The Douglas is, and I beseech Your Grace + I may dispose of him. + King. With all my heart. + Prince. Then brother John of Lancaster, to you + This honourable bounty shall belong. + Go to the Douglas and deliver him + Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free. + His valour shown upon our crests today + Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, + Even in the bosom of our adversaries. + John. I thank your Grace for this high courtesy, + Which I shall give away immediately. + King. Then this remains, that we divide our power. + You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, + Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed + To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop, + Who, as we hear, are busily in arms. + Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales + To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March. + Rebellion in this laud shall lose his sway, + Meeting the check of such another day; + And since this business so fair is done, + Let us not leave till all our own be won. + Exeunt. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1598 + + +SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + RUMOUR, the Presenter + KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards HENRY + PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER + PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER + THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE + Sons of Henry IV + + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND + SCROOP, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK + LORD MOWBRAY + LORD HASTINGS + LORD BARDOLPH + SIR JOHN COLVILLE + TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland + Opposites against King Henry IV + + EARL OF WARWICK + EARL OF WESTMORELAND + EARL OF SURREY + EARL OF KENT + GOWER + HARCOURT + BLUNT + Of the King's party + + LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + SERVANT, to Lord Chief Justice + + SIR JOHN FALSTAFF + EDWARD POINS + BARDOLPH + PISTOL + PETO + Irregular humourists + + PAGE, to Falstaff + + ROBERT SHALLOW and SILENCE, country Justices + DAVY, servant to Shallow + + FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's officers + + RALPH MOULDY + SIMON SHADOW + THOMAS WART + FRANCIS FEEBLE + PETER BULLCALF + Country soldiers + + FRANCIS, a drawer + + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND + LADY PERCY, Percy's widow + HOSTESS QUICKLY, of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap + DOLL TEARSHEET + + LORDS, Attendants, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Servants, + Speaker of the Epilogue + + SCENE: England + +INDUCTION + INDUCTION. + Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle + + Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues + + RUMOUR. Open your ears; for which of you will stop + The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? + I, from the orient to the drooping west, + Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold + The acts commenced on this ball of earth. + Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, + The which in every language I pronounce, + Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. + I speak of peace while covert emnity, + Under the smile of safety, wounds the world; + And who but Rumour, who but only I, + Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence, + Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief, + Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, + And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe + Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, + And of so easy and so plain a stop + That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, + The still-discordant wav'ring multitude, + Can play upon it. But what need I thus + My well-known body to anatomize + Among my household? Why is Rumour here? + I run before King Harry's victory, + Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, + Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops, + Quenching the flame of bold rebellion + Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I + To speak so true at first? My office is + To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell + Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, + And that the King before the Douglas' rage + Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. + This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns + Between that royal field of Shrewsbury + And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, + Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, + Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on, + And not a man of them brings other news + Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour's tongues + They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. + Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle + +Enter LORD BARDOLPH + + LORD BARDOLPH. Who keeps the gate here, ho? + + The PORTER opens the gate + + Where is the Earl? + PORTER. What shall I say you are? + LORD BARDOLPH. Tell thou the Earl + That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. + PORTER. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard. + Please it your honour knock but at the gate, + And he himself will answer. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl. Exit PORTER + NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now + Should be the father of some stratagem. + The times are wild; contention, like a horse + Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose + And bears down all before him. + LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl, + I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will! + LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish. + The King is almost wounded to the death; + And, in the fortune of my lord your son, + Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts + Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John, + And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; + And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, + Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day, + So fought, so followed, and so fairly won, + Came not till now to dignify the times, + Since Cxsar's fortunes! + NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv'd? + Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury? + LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; + A gentleman well bred and of good name, + That freely rend'red me these news for true. + + Enter TRAVERS + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent + On Tuesday last to listen after news. + LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; + And he is furnish'd with no certainties + More than he haply may retail from me. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? + TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back + With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, + Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard + A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, + That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. + He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him + I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. + He told me that rebellion had bad luck, + And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. + With that he gave his able horse the head + And, bending forward, struck his armed heels + Against the panting sides of his poor jade + Up to the rowel-head; and starting so, + He seem'd in running to devour the way, + Staying no longer question. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again: + Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? + Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion + Had met ill luck? + LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I'll tell you what: + If my young lord your son have not the day, + Upon mine honour, for a silken point + I'll give my barony. Never talk of it. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers + Give then such instances of loss? + LORD BARDOLPH. Who- he? + He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n + The horse he rode on and, upon my life, + Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. + + Enter Morton + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, + Foretells the nature of a tragic volume. + So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood + Hath left a witness'd usurpation. + Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? + MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; + Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask + To fright our party. + NORTHUMBERLAND. How doth my son and brother? + Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek + Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. + Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, + So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone, + Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night + And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; + But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, + And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. + This thou wouldst say: 'Your son did thus and thus; + Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas'- + Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; + But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, + Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, + Ending with 'Brother, son, and all, are dead.' + MORTON. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; + But for my lord your son- + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, he is dead. + See what a ready tongue suspicion hath! + He that but fears the thing he would not know + Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes + That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; + Tell thou an earl his divination lies, + And I will take it as a sweet disgrace + And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. + MORTON. You are too great to be by me gainsaid; + Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. + I see a strange confession in thine eye; + Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin + To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: + The tongue offends not that reports his death; + And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, + Not he which says the dead is not alive. + Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news + Hath but a losing office, and his tongue + Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, + Rememb'red tolling a departing friend. + LORD BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. + MORTON. I am sorry I should force you to believe + That which I would to God I had not seen; + But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, + Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, + To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down + The never-daunted Percy to the earth, + From whence with life he never more sprung up. + In few, his death- whose spirit lent a fire + Even to the dullest peasant in his camp- + Being bruited once, took fire and heat away + From the best-temper'd courage in his troops; + For from his metal was his party steeled; + Which once in him abated, an the rest + Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. + And as the thing that's heavy in itself + Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, + So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, + Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear + That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim + Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, + Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester + Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, + The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword + Had three times slain th' appearance of the King, + Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame + Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight, + Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all + Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out + A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, + Under the conduct of young Lancaster + And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. + NORTHUMBERLAND. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. + In poison there is physic; and these news, + Having been well, that would have made me sick, + Being sick, have in some measure made me well; + And as the wretch whose fever-weak'ned joints, + Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, + Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire + Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, + Weak'ned with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, + Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! + A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel + Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif! + Thou art a guard too wanton for the head + Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. + Now bind my brows with iron; and approach + The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring + To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland! + Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand + Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die! + And let this world no longer be a stage + To feed contention in a ling'ring act; + But let one spirit of the first-born Cain + Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set + On bloody courses, the rude scene may end + And darkness be the burier of the dead! + LORD BARDOLPH. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. + MORTON. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. + The lives of all your loving complices + Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er + To stormy passion, must perforce decay. + You cast th' event of war, my noble lord, + And summ'd the account of chance before you said + 'Let us make head.' It was your pre-surmise + That in the dole of blows your son might drop. + You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge, + More likely to fall in than to get o'er; + You were advis'd his flesh was capable + Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit + Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; + Yet did you say 'Go forth'; and none of this, + Though strongly apprehended, could restrain + The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n, + Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth + More than that being which was like to be? + LORD BARDOLPH. We all that are engaged to this loss + Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas + That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one; + And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd + Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; + And since we are o'erset, venture again. + Come, we will put forth, body and goods. + MORTON. 'Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord, + I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth: + The gentle Archbishop of York is up + With well-appointed pow'rs. He is a man + Who with a double surety binds his followers. + My lord your son had only but the corpse, + But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; + For that same word 'rebellion' did divide + The action of their bodies from their souls; + And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd, + As men drink potions; that their weapons only + Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls + This word 'rebellion'- it had froze them up, + As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop + Turns insurrection to religion. + Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, + He's follow'd both with body and with mind; + And doth enlarge his rising with the blood + Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones; + Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause; + Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, + Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; + And more and less do flock to follow him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, + This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. + Go in with me; and counsel every man + The aptest way for safety and revenge. + Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed- + Never so few, and never yet more need. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +London. A street + +Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler + + FALSTAFF. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? + PAGE. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but + for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he + knew for. + FALSTAFF. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of + this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything + that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on + me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in + other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath + overwhelm'd all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into + my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I + have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be + worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with + an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in gold nor + silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your + master, for a jewel- the juvenal, the Prince your master, whose + chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in the + palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he + will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may finish it + when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still at + a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; + and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his + father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost + out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton about + the satin for my short cloak and my slops? + PAGE. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than + Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours; he liked not the + security. + FALSTAFF. Let him be damn'd, like the Glutton; pray God his tongue + be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth knave, to + bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The + whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and + bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with + them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security. I + had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop + it with security. I look'd 'a should have sent me two and twenty + yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. + Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of + abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it; and + yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. + Where's Bardolph? + PAGE. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship horse. + FALSTAFF. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in + Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were + mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd. + + Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT + + PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the + Prince for striking him about Bardolph. + FALSTAFF. Wait close; I will not see him. + CHIEF JUSTICE. What's he that goes there? + SERVANT. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. + CHIEF JUSTICE. He that was in question for the robb'ry? + SERVANT. He, my lord; but he hath since done good service at + Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the + Lord John of Lancaster. + CHIEF JUSTICE. What, to York? Call him back again. + SERVANT. Sir John Falstaff! + FALSTAFF. Boy, tell him I am deaf. + PAGE. You must speak louder; my master is deaf. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good. + Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. + SERVANT. Sir John! + FALSTAFF. What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? Is + there not employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the + rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but + one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were + it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. + SERVANT. You mistake me, sir. + FALSTAFF. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting my + knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I + had said so. + SERVANT. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your + soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you you in your + throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. + FALSTAFF. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which + grows to me! If thou get'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou + tak'st leave, thou wert better be hang'd. You hunt counter. + Hence! Avaunt! + SERVANT. Sir, my lord would speak with you. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. + FALSTAFF. My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I + am glad to see your lordship abroad. I heard say your lordship + was sick; I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your + lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack + of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most + humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverend care of your + health. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to + Shrewsbury. + FALSTAFF. An't please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd + with some discomfort from Wales. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I talk not of his Majesty. You would not come when I + sent for you. + FALSTAFF. And I hear, moreover, his Highness is fall'n into this + same whoreson apoplexy. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well God mend him! I pray you let me speak with you. + FALSTAFF. This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an't + please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson + tingling. + CHIEF JUSTICE. What tell you me of it? Be it as it is. + FALSTAFF. It hath it original from much grief, from study, and + perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects + in Galen; it is a kind of deafness. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I think you are fall'n into the disease, for you + hear not what I say to you. + FALSTAFF. Very well, my lord, very well. Rather an't please you, it + is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that + I am troubled withal. + CHIEF JUSTICE. To punish you by the heels would amend the attention + of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. + FALSTAFF. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient. Your + lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect + of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your + prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or + indeed a scruple itself. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I sent for you, when there were matters against you + for your life, to come speak with me. + FALSTAFF. As I was then advis'd by my learned counsel in the laws + of this land-service, I did not come. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great + infamy. + FALSTAFF. He that buckles himself in my belt cannot live in less. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Your means are very slender, and your waste is + great. + FALSTAFF. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater + and my waist slenderer. + CHIEF JUSTICE. You have misled the youthful Prince. + FALSTAFF. The young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the + great belly, and he my dog. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, I am loath to gall a new-heal'd wound. Your + day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your + night's exploit on Gadshill. You may thank th' unquiet time for + your quiet o'erposting that action. + FALSTAFF. My lord- + CHIEF JUSTICE. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a + sleeping wolf. + FALSTAFF. To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox. + CHIEF JUSTICE. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt + out. + FALSTAFF. A wassail candle, my lord- all tallow; if I did say of + wax, my growth would approve the truth. + CHIEF JUSTICE. There is not a white hair in your face but should + have his effect of gravity. + FALSTAFF. His effect of gravy, gravy, + CHIEF JUSTICE. You follow the young Prince up and down, like his + ill angel. + FALSTAFF. Not so, my lord. Your ill angel is light; but hope he + that looks upon me will take me without weighing. And yet in some + respects, I grant, I cannot go- I cannot tell. Virtue is of so + little regard in these costermongers' times that true valour is + turn'd berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and his quick wit + wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts appertinent to + man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a + gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us + that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the + bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of our + youth, must confess, are wags too. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, + that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have + you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a + decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, + your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every + part about you blasted with antiquity? And will you yet call + yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! + FALSTAFF. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the + afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my + voice- I have lost it with hallooing and singing of anthems. To + approve my youth further, I will not. The truth is, I am only old + in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for + a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him. For + the box of the ear that the Prince gave you- he gave it like a + rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have check'd + him for it; and the young lion repents- marry, not in ashes and + sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, God send the Prince a better companion! + FALSTAFF. God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my + hands of him. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the King hath sever'd you. I hear you are + going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the + Earl of Northumberland. + FALSTAFF. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you + pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our armies + join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts + out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily. If it be a + hot day, and I brandish anything but a bottle, I would I might + never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep + out his head but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever; + but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they + have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I + am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name + were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to be + eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with + perpetual motion. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your + expedition! + FALSTAFF. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me + forth? + CHIEF JUSTICE. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to + bear crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my cousin + Westmoreland. + Exeunt CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT + FALSTAFF. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no + more separate age and covetousness than 'a can part young limbs + and lechery; but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the + other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! + PAGE. Sir? + FALSTAFF. What money is in my purse? + PAGE. Seven groats and two pence. + FALSTAFF. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the + purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease + is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this + to the Prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old + Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I + perceiv'd the first white hair of my chin. About it; you know + where to find me. [Exit PAGE] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of + this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great + toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, + and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will + make use of anything. I will turn diseases to commodity. + Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP, THOMAS MOWBRAY the EARL MARSHAL, LORD HASTINGS, +and LORD BARDOLPH + + ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; + And, my most noble friends, I pray you all + Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes- + And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it? + MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis; + But gladly would be better satisfied + How, in our means, we should advance ourselves + To look with forehead bold and big enough + Upon the power and puissance of the King. + HASTINGS. Our present musters grow upon the file + To five and twenty thousand men of choice; + And our supplies live largely in the hope + Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns + With an incensed fire of injuries. + LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus: + Whether our present five and twenty thousand + May hold up head without Northumberland? + HASTINGS. With him, we may. + LORD BARDOLPH. Yea, marry, there's the point; + But if without him we be thought too feeble, + My judgment is we should not step too far + Till we had his assistance by the hand; + For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, + Conjecture, expectation, and surmise + Of aids incertain, should not be admitted. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed + It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. + LORD BARDOLPH. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, + Eating the air and promise of supply, + Flatt'ring himself in project of a power + Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts; + And so, with great imagination + Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, + And, winking, leapt into destruction. + HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt + To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. + LORD BARDOLPH. Yes, if this present quality of war- + Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot- + Lives so in hope, as in an early spring + We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit + Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair + That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, + We first survey the plot, then draw the model; + And when we see the figure of the house, + Then we must rate the cost of the erection; + Which if we find outweighs ability, + What do we then but draw anew the model + In fewer offices, or at least desist + To build at all? Much more, in this great work- + Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down + And set another up- should we survey + The plot of situation and the model, + Consent upon a sure foundation, + Question surveyors, know our own estate + How able such a work to undergo- + To weigh against his opposite; or else + We fortify in paper and in figures, + Using the names of men instead of men; + Like one that draws the model of a house + Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, + Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost + A naked subject to the weeping clouds + And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. + HASTINGS. Grant that our hopes- yet likely of fair birth- + Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd + The utmost man of expectation, + I think we are so a body strong enough, + Even as we are, to equal with the King. + LORD BARDOLPH. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand? + HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph; + For his divisions, as the times do brawl, + Are in three heads: one power against the French, + And one against Glendower; perforce a third + Must take up us. So is the unfirm King + In three divided; and his coffers sound + With hollow poverty and emptiness. + ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together + And come against us in full puissance + Need not be dreaded. + HASTINGS. If he should do so, + He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh + Baying at his heels. Never fear that. + LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither? + HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; + Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth; + But who is substituted against the French + I have no certain notice. + ARCHBISHOP. Let us on, + And publish the occasion of our arms. + The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; + Their over-greedy love hath surfeited. + An habitation giddy and unsure + Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. + O thou fond many, with what loud applause + Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke + Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! + And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, + Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him + That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. + So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge + Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; + And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, + And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? + They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die + Are now become enamour'd on his grave. + Thou that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, + When through proud London he came sighing on + After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke, + Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, + And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurs'd! + Past and to come seems best; things present, worst. + MOWBRAY. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? + HASTINGS. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +London. A street + +Enter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE + + HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent'red the action? + FANG. It is ent'red. + HOSTESS. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? Will 'a stand + to't? + FANG. Sirrah, where's Snare? + HOSTESS. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. + SNARE. Here, here. + FANG. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. + HOSTESS. Yea, good Master Snare; I have ent'red him and all. + SNARE. It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab. + HOSTESS. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine own + house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not what + mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any + devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. + FANG. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. + HOSTESS. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow. + FANG. An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice! + HOSTESS. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an + infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure. + Good Master Snare, let him not scape. 'A comes continuantly to + Pie-corner- saving your manhoods- to buy a saddle; and he is + indited to dinner to the Lubber's Head in Lumbert Street, to + Master Smooth's the silkman. I pray you, since my exion is + ent'red, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be + brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor + lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and + have been fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, from this + day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no + honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and + a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. + + Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH + + Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, + with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang and + Master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices. + FALSTAFF. How now! whose mare's dead? What's the matter? + FANG. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. + FALSTAFF. Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph. Cut me off the villian's + head. Throw the quean in the channel. + HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. + Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, + thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the + King's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a + man-queller and a woman-queller. + FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph. + FANG. A rescue! a rescue! + HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot thou! + thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! + PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian! + I'll tickle your catastrophe. + + Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men + + CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho! + HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. + CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here? + Doth this become your place, your time, and business? + You should have been well on your way to York. + Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou upon him? + HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an't please your Grace, I am a + poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. + CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum? + HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all- all I + have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my + substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of it + out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare. + FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any + vantage of ground to get up. + CHIEF JUSTICE. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! What man of good + temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not + ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by + her own? + FALSTAFF. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? + HOSTESS. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money + too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in + my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon + Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for + liking his father to singing-man of Windsor- thou didst swear to + me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my + lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the + butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? Coming + in to borrow a mess of vinegar, telling us she had a good dish of + prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told + thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when she + was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with + such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam? + And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch the thirty + shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou + canst. + FALSTAFF. My lord, this is a poor mad soul, and she says up and + down the town that her eldest son is like you. She hath been in + good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But + for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress + against them. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your + manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a + confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more + than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level + consideration. You have, as it appears to me, practis'd upon the + easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses + both in purse and in person. + HOSTESS. Yea, in truth, my lord. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and + unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do + with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. + FALSTAFF. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You + call honourable boldness impudent sauciness; if a man will make + curtsy and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble + duty rememb'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to you I do + desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty + employment in the King's affairs. + CHIEF JUSTICE. You speak as having power to do wrong; but answer in + th' effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman. + FALSTAFF. Come hither, hostess. + + Enter GOWER + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, Master Gower, what news? + GOWER. The King, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales + Are near at hand. The rest the paper tells. [Gives a letter] + FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! + HOSTESS. Faith, you said so before. + FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! Come, no more words of it. + HOSTESS. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn + both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. + FALSTAFF. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy + walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or + the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand of these + bed-hangers and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, + if thou canst. Come, and 'twere not for thy humours, there's not + a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the + action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not + know me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. + HOSTESS. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles; + i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! + FALSTAFF. Let it alone; I'll make other shift. You'll be a fool + still. + HOSTESS. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. + I hope you'll come to supper. you'll pay me all together? + FALSTAFF. Will I live? [To BARDOLPH] Go, with her, with her; hook + on, hook on. + HOSTESS. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? + FALSTAFF. No more words; let's have her. + Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, and OFFICERS + CHIEF JUSTICE. I have heard better news. + FALSTAFF. What's the news, my lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. Where lay the King to-night? + GOWER. At Basingstoke, my lord. + FALSTAFF. I hope, my lord, all's well. What is the news, my lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. Come all his forces back? + GOWER. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, + Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster, + Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. + FALSTAFF. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. You shall have letters of me presently. + Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. + FALSTAFF. My lord! + CHIEF JUSTICE. What's the matter? + FALSTAFF. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? + GOWER. I must wait upon my good lord here, I thank you, good Sir + John. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to + take soldiers up in counties as you go. + FALSTAFF. Will you sup with me, Master Gower? + CHIEF JUSTICE. What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir + John? + FALSTAFF. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that + taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for + tap, and so part fair. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, the Lord lighten thee! Thou art a great fool. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +London. Another street + +Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS + + PRINCE. Before God, I am exceeding weary. + POINS. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have + attach'd one of so high blood. + PRINCE. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of + my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to + desire small beer? + POINS. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to + remember so weak a composition. + PRINCE. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by my + troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But + indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my + greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name, or + to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of silk + stockings thou hast- viz., these, and those that were thy + peach-colour'd ones- or to bear the inventory of thy shirts- as, + one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the + tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of + linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast + not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries + have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows whether + those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his + kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; + whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily + strengthened. + POINS. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you + should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would + do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? + PRINCE. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? + POINS. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. + PRINCE. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. + POINS. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will + tell. + PRINCE. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now + my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee- as to one it + pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend- I could be + sad and sad indeed too. + POINS. Very hardly upon such a subject. + PRINCE. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book + as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end + try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my + father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath + in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. + POINS. The reason? + PRINCE. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep? + POINS. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. + PRINCE. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed + fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's thought in the + world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would think + me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful + thought to think so? + POINS. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to + Falstaff. + PRINCE. And to thee. + POINS. By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with mine + own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a second + brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two + things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes + Bardolph. + + Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE + + PRINCE. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me + Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd him + ape. + BARDOLPH. God save your Grace! + PRINCE. And yours, most noble Bardolph! + POINS. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be + blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms + are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's + maidenhead? + PAGE. 'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I + could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I + spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the + alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through. + PRINCE. Has not the boy profited? + BARDOLPH. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! + PAGE. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! + PRINCE. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? + PAGE. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a + firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream. + PRINCE. A crown's worth of good interpretation. There 'tis, boy. + [Giving a crown] + POINS. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers! + Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. + BARDOLPH. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallows + shall have wrong. + PRINCE. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? + BARDOLPH. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to town. + There's a letter for you. + POINS. Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, + your master? + BARDOLPH. In bodily health, sir. + POINS. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves + not him. Though that be sick, it dies not. + PRINCE. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my dog; + and he holds his place, for look you how he writes. + POINS. [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight'- Every man must know that + as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those that + are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but they + say 'There's some of the King's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' + says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as + ready as a borrower's cap: 'I am the King's poor cousin, sir.' + PRINCE. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from + Japhet. But the letter: [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to + the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, + greeting.' + POINS. Why, this is a certificate. + PRINCE. Peace! [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in + brevity.'- + POINS. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. + PRINCE. [Reads] 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I + leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy + favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. + Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell. + Thine, by yea and no- which is as much as to say as + thou usest him- JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, + JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with + all Europe.' + POINS. My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. + PRINCE. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use + me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister? + POINS. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. + PRINCE. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits + of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in + London? + BARDOLPH. Yea, my lord. + PRINCE. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank? + BARDOLPH. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. + PRINCE. What company? + PAGE. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. + PRINCE. Sup any women with him? + PAGE. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll + Tearsheet. + PRINCE. What pagan may that be? + PAGE. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. + PRINCE. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. + Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? + POINS. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. + PRINCE. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that + I am yet come to town. There's for your silence. + BARDOLPH. I have no tongue, sir. + PAGE. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. + PRINCE. Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE + This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. + POINS. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans and + London. + PRINCE. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his + true colours, and not ourselves be seen? + POINS. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at + his table as drawers. + PRINCE. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove's + case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That + shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with the + folly. Follow me, Ned. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Warkworth. Before the castle + +Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, + Give even way unto my rough affairs; + Put not you on the visage of the times + And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more. + Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; + And but my going nothing can redeem it. + LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! + The time was, father, that you broke your word, + When you were more endear'd to it than now; + When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, + Threw many a northward look to see his father + Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. + Who then persuaded you to stay at home? + There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. + For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! + For his, it stuck upon him as the sun + In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light + Did all the chivalry of England move + To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass + Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. + He had no legs that practis'd not his gait; + And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, + Became the accents of the valiant; + For those who could speak low and tardily + Would turn their own perfection to abuse + To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, + In diet, in affections of delight, + In military rules, humours of blood, + He was the mark and glass, copy and book, + That fashion'd others. And him- O wondrous him! + O miracle of men!- him did you leave- + Second to none, unseconded by you- + To look upon the hideous god of war + In disadvantage, to abide a field + Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name + Did seem defensible. So you left him. + Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong + To hold your honour more precise and nice + With others than with him! Let them alone. + The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong. + Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, + To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, + Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart, + Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me + With new lamenting ancient oversights. + But I must go and meet with danger there, + Or it will seek me in another place, + And find me worse provided. + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland + Till that the nobles and the armed commons + Have of their puissance made a little taste. + LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King, + Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, + To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, + First let them try themselves. So did your son; + He was so suff'red; so came I a widow; + And never shall have length of life enough + To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, + That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, + For recordation to my noble husband. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind + As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, + That makes a still-stand, running neither way. + Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop, + But many thousand reasons hold me back. + I will resolve for Scotland. There am I, + Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap + +Enter FRANCIS and another DRAWER + + FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns? Thou + knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. + SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say'st true. The Prince once set a dish + of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir + Johns; and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave + of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It ang'red him + to the heart; but he hath forgot that. + FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou canst + find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some + music. + + Enter third DRAWER + + THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp'd is too hot; + they'll come in straight. + FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon; and + they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must + not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word. + THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an + excellent stratagem. + SECOND DRAWER. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. + Exeunt second and third DRAWERS + + Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET + + HOSTESS. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent + good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart + would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any + rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much + canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes + the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? + DOLL. Better than I was- hem. + HOSTESS. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold. + Lo, here comes Sir John. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. [Singing] 'When Arthur first in court'- Empty the + jordan. [Exit FRANCIS]- [Singing] 'And was a worthy king'- How + now, Mistress Doll! + HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith. + FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they are + sick. + DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort you + give me? + FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. + DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them + not. + FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make + the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant + that, my poor virtue, grant that. + DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. + FALSTAFF. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve bravely + is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with his + pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the + charg'd chambers bravely- + DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself! + HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet + but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as + rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's + confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be + you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier + vessel. + DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head? + There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you + have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll be + friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and whether + I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares. + + Re-enter FRANCIS + + FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you. + DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it is + the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England. + HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith! I + must live among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in good + name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes no + swaggerers here; I have not liv'd all this while to have + swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you. + FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess? + HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no + swaggerers here. + FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient. + HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me; and your ancient + swagg'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the + debuty, t' other day; and, as he said to me- 'twas no longer ago + than Wednesday last, i' good faith!- 'Neighbour Quickly,' says + he- Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then- 'Neighbour Quickly,' + says he 'receive those that are civil, for' said he 'you are in + an ill name.' Now 'a said so, I can tell whereupon. 'For' says he + 'you are an honest woman and well thought on, therefore take heed + what guests you receive. Receive' says he 'no swaggering + companions.' There comes none here. You would bless you to hear + what he said. No, I'll no swagg'rers. + FALSTAFF. He's no swagg'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith; you + may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He'll not swagger + with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of + resistance. Call him up, drawer. + Exit FRANCIS + HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, + nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I am + the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I shake; + look you, I warrant you. + DOLL. So you do, hostess. + HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf. I + cannot abide swagg'rers. + + Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE + + PISTOL. God save you, Sir John! + FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with + a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess. + PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets. + FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend + her. + HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink no + more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. + PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you. + DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, + base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy + rogue, away! I am meat for your master. + PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. + DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this + wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the + saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you + basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? + God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much! + PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for this. + FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here. + Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. + HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain. + DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not ashamed + to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would + truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you + have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For tearing + a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him, + rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A + captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as odious + as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before it + was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't. + BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient. + FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll. + PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear + her; I'll be reveng'd of her. + PAGE. Pray thee go down. + PISTOL. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd lake, by this + hand, to th' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. + Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have + we not Hiren here? + HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i' faith; I + beseek you now, aggravate your choler. + PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses, + And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, + Which cannot go but thirty mile a day, + Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, + And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with + King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. + Shall we fall foul for toys? + HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words. + BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl anon. + PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren + here? + HOSTESS. O' my word, Captain, there's none such here. What the + good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be + quiet. + PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis. + Come, give's some sack. + 'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.' + Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire. + Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. + [Laying down his sword] + Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings? + FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet. + PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the seven + stars. + DOLL. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a + fustian rascal. + PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags? + FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling. + Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing + here. + BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs. + PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue? + [Snatching up his sword] + Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! + Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds + Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say! + HOSTESS. Here's goodly stuff toward! + FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy. + DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. + FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs. + [Drawing and driving PISTOL out] + HOSTESS. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house afore + I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. + Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. + Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH + DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you + whoreson little valiant villain, you! + HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? Methought 'a made a shrewd + thrust at your belly. + + Re-enter BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Have you turn'd him out a doors? + BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir, i' + th' shoulder. + FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me! + DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou + sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson + chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as + Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better + than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain! + FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket. + DOLL. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll canvass + thee between a pair of sheets. + + Enter musicians + + PAGE. The music is come, sir. + FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A rascal + bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver. + DOLL. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou + whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave + fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up thine + old body for heaven? + + Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers + + FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head; do + not bid me remember mine end. + DOLL. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of? + FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a good + pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well. + DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit. + FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick as + Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in a + mallet. + DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then? + FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a plays at + quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' + ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and + jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears + his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds + no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol + faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the + which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such + another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their + avoirdupois. + PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off? + POINS. Let's beat him before his whore. + PRINCE. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd + like a parrot. + POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive + performance? + FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll. + PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says th' + almanac to that? + POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping + to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper. + FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses. + DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart. + FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old. + DOLL. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of + them all. + FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money a + Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A + grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone. + DOLL. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so. + Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, + hearken a' th' end. + FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis. + PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing] + FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not Poins + his brother? + PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou + lead! + FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a drawer. + PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears. + HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome to + London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu, are + you come from Wales? + FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light + flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. + [Leaning his band upon DOLL] + DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you. + POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all + to a merriment, if you take not the heat. + PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of + me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman! + HOSTESS. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by my + troth. + FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me? + PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by + Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to + try my patience. + FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within + hearing. + PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and + then I know how to handle you. + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse. + PRINCE. Not- to dispraise me, and call me pander, and + bread-chipper, and I know not what! + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal. + POINS. No abuse! + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I + disprais'd him before the wicked- that the wicked might not fall + in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a + careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give me + thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith, boys, + none. + PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not + make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is + she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy + boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his + nose, of the wicked? + POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. + FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable; and + his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but + roast malt-worms. For the boy- there is a good angel about him; + but the devil outbids him too. + PRINCE. For the women? + FALSTAFF. For one of them- she's in hell already, and burns poor + souls. For th' other- I owe her money; and whether she be damn'd + for that, I know not. + HOSTESS. No, I warrant you. + FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for that. + Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering flesh + to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which I + think thou wilt howl. + HOSTESS. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two in a + whole Lent? + PRINCE. You, gentlewoman- + DOLL. What says your Grace? + FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against. + [Knocking within] + HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th' door there, + Francis. + + Enter PETO + + PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news? + PETO. The King your father is at Westminster; + And there are twenty weak and wearied posts + Come from the north; and as I came along + I met and overtook a dozen captains, + Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, + And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. + PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame + So idly to profane the precious time, + When tempest of commotion, like the south, + Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt + And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. + Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. + + Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we + must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking within] More + knocking at the door! + + Re-enter BARDOLPH + + How now! What's the matter? + BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently; + A dozen captains stay at door for you. + FALSTAFF. [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.- Farewell, + hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of + merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of + action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent + away post, I will see you again ere I go. + DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst! + Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. + FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH + HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these twenty-nine + years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man + -well fare thee well. + BARDOLPH. [ Within] Mistress Tearsheet! + HOSTESS. What's the matter? + BARDOLPH. [ Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master. + HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come. [To BARDOLPH] She + comes blubber'd.- Yea, will you come, Doll? Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Westminster. The palace + +Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page + + KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick; + But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters + And well consider of them. Make good speed. Exit page + How many thousands of my poorest subjects + Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, + Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, + That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, + And steep my senses in forgetfulness? + Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, + Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, + And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, + Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, + Under the canopies of costly state, + And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? + O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile + In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch + A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? + Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast + Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains + In cradle of the rude imperious surge, + And in the visitation of the winds, + Who take the ruffian billows by the top, + Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them + With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds, + That with the hurly death itself awakes? + Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose + To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; + And in the calmest and most stillest night, + With all appliances and means to boot, + Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! + Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. + + Enter WARWICK and Surrey + + WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty! + KING. Is it good morrow, lords? + WARWICK. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. + KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords. + Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? + WARWICK. We have, my liege. + KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom + How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, + And with what danger, near the heart of it. + WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered; + Which to his former strength may be restored + With good advice and little medicine. + My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. + KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate, + And see the revolution of the times + Make mountains level, and the continent, + Weary of solid firmness, melt itself + Into the sea; and other times to see + The beachy girdle of the ocean + Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, + And changes fill the cup of alteration + With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, + The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, + What perils past, what crosses to ensue, + Would shut the book and sit him down and die. + 'Tis not ten years gone + Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, + Did feast together, and in two years after + Were they at wars. It is but eight years since + This Percy was the man nearest my soul; + Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs + And laid his love and life under my foot; + Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard + Gave him defiance. But which of you was by- + [To WARWICK] You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember- + When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears, + Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, + Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? + 'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which + My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'- + Though then, God knows, I had no such intent + But that necessity so bow'd the state + That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss- + 'The time shall come'- thus did he follow it- + 'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head, + Shall break into corruption' so went on, + Foretelling this same time's condition + And the division of our amity. + WARWICK. There is a history in all men's lives, + Figuring the natures of the times deceas'd; + The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, + With a near aim, of the main chance of things + As yet not come to life, who in their seeds + And weak beginning lie intreasured. + Such things become the hatch and brood of time; + And, by the necessary form of this, + King Richard might create a perfect guess + That great Northumberland, then false to him, + Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; + Which should not find a ground to root upon + Unless on you. + KING. Are these things then necessities? + Then let us meet them like necessities; + And that same word even now cries out on us. + They say the Bishop and Northumberland + Are fifty thousand strong. + WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord. + Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, + The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace + To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord, + The powers that you already have sent forth + Shall bring this prize in very easily. + To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd + A certain instance that Glendower is dead. + Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill; + And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad + Unto your sickness. + KING. I will take your counsel. + And, were these inward wars once out of hand, + We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW'S house + +Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULLCALF, +and servants behind + + SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir; give me + your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my + good cousin Silence? + SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. + SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest + daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? + SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! + SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is become + a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not? + SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost. + SHALLOW. 'A must, then, to the Inns o' Court shortly. I was once of + Clement's Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet. + SILENCE. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin. + SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call'd anything; and I would have done + anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little + John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis + Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man- you had not four such + swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say to + you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of them + all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, boy, + and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. + SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about + soldiers? + SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break + Scoggin's head at the court gate, when 'a was a crack not thus + high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson + Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad + days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old + acquaintance are dead! + SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin. + SHALLOW. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as the + Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke + of bullocks at Stamford fair? + SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there. + SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet? + SILENCE. Dead, sir. + SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! 'A shot a + fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on + his head. Dead! 'A would have clapp'd i' th' clout at twelve + score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen + and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see. + How a score of ewes now? + SILENCE. Thereafter as they be- a score of good ewes may be worth + ten pounds. + SHALLOW. And is old Double dead? + + Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him + + SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think. + SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. + BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? + SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county, + and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good + pleasure with me? + BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir + John Falstaff- a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant + leader. + SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword man. + How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth? + BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a + wife. + SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed + too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it. Good + phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. + 'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good phrase. + BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you it? + By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word + with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding + good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man is, as + they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a may be + thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me + your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth, + you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir + John. + FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. + Master Surecard, as I think? + SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with + me. + FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the + peace. + SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome. + FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you provided me + here half a dozen sufficient men? + SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? + FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you. + SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let + me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,- so, so- yea, + marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do + so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? + MOULDY. Here, an't please you. + SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young, + strong, and of good friends. + FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy? + MOULDY. Yea, an't please you. + FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd. + SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are + mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir + John; very well said. + FALSTAFF. Prick him. + MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let me + alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry + and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are + other men fitter to go out than I. + FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time + you were spent. + MOULDY. Spent! + SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you are? + For th' other, Sir John- let me see. Simon Shadow! + FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be + a cold soldier. + SHALLOW. Where's Shadow? + SHADOW. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou? + SHADOW. My mother's son, sir. + FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's shadow. + So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often + so indeed; but much of the father's substance! + SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have a + number of shadows fill up the muster-book. + SHALLOW. Thomas Wart! + FALSTAFF. Where's he? + WART. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart? + WART. Yea, sir. + FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart. + SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his + back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more. + SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I commend + you well. Francis Feeble! + FEEBLE. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble? + FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir. + SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir? + FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha' + prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as + thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? + FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. + FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous + Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most + magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor- well, Master + Shallow, deep, Master Shallow. + FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir. + FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend + him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private + soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that + suffice, most forcible Feeble. + FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir. + FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? + SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green! + FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. + BULLCALF. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till + he roar again. + BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain- + FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd? + BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man. + FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou? + BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with + ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir. + FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have + away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends shall + ring for thee. Is here all? + SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must have + but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. + FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry + dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the + windmill in Saint George's Field? + FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that. + SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive? + FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. She never could away with me. + FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide + Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was then + a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well? + FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; + certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork, + before I came to Clement's Inn. + SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago. + SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this + knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well? + FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir + John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to + dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen! + Come, come. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES + BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and + here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very + truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for + mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am + unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my + friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much. + BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. + MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's sake, + stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I + am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have + forty, sir. + BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. + FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God + a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so; + an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and, let + it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the + next. + BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow. + FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. + + Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES + + FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have? + SHALLOW. Four of which you please. + BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy + and Bullcalf. + FALSTAFF. Go to; well. + SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have? + FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me. + SHALLOW. Marry, then- Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow. + FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till + you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you come + unto it. I will none of you. + SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your + likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best. + FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? + Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big + assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's + Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge you + and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer, come + off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. + And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow- give me this man. He + presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim + level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat- how swiftly + will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the + spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into + Wart's hand, Bardolph. + BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse- thus, thus, thus. + FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So- very well. Go to; very + good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, + chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good scab. + Hold, there's a tester for thee. + SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right. I + remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn- I was + then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show- there was a little quiver + fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would + about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah, + tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again would + 'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a fellow. + FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you! + Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you + well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile to-night. + Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. + SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your affairs; + God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our old + acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the + court. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would. + SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you. + FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt JUSTICES] On, + Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF] As I + return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of + justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this + vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing but + prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he hath + done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid + to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at + Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring. + When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd radish, + with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was so + forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible. 'A + was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the + whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of the + fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes that + he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or + his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire, + and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn + brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once in + the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among the + marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own + name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into an + eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a + court- and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be acquainted + with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him a + philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for + the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap + at him. Let time shape, and there an end. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others + + ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd + HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace. + ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth + To know the numbers of our enemies. + HASTINGS. We have sent forth already. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done. + My friends and brethren in these great affairs, + I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd + New-dated letters from Northumberland; + Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus: + Here doth he wish his person, with such powers + As might hold sortance with his quality, + The which he could not levy; whereupon + He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, + To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers + That your attempts may overlive the hazard + And fearful meeting of their opposite. + MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground + And dash themselves to pieces. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + HASTINGS. Now, what news? + MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, + In goodly form comes on the enemy; + And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number + Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. + MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out. + Let us sway on and face them in the field. + + Enter WESTMORELAND + + ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? + MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. + WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general, + The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. + ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace, + What doth concern your coming. + WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord, + Unto your Grace do I in chief address + The substance of my speech. If that rebellion + Came like itself, in base and abject routs, + Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, + And countenanc'd by boys and beggary- + I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd + In his true, native, and most proper shape, + You, reverend father, and these noble lords, + Had not been here to dress the ugly form + Of base and bloody insurrection + With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop, + Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, + Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd, + Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd, + Whose white investments figure innocence, + The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace- + Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself + Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, + Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war; + Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, + Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine + To a loud trumpet and a point of war? + ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands. + Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd + And with our surfeiting and wanton hours + Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, + And we must bleed for it; of which disease + Our late King, Richard, being infected, died. + But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, + I take not on me here as a physician; + Nor do I as an enemy to peace + Troop in the throngs of military men; + But rather show awhile like fearful war + To diet rank minds sick of happiness, + And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop + Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. + I have in equal balance justly weigh'd + What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, + And find our griefs heavier than our offences. + We see which way the stream of time doth run + And are enforc'd from our most quiet there + By the rough torrent of occasion; + And have the summary of all our griefs, + When time shall serve, to show in articles; + Which long ere this we offer'd to the King, + And might by no suit gain our audience: + When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, + We are denied access unto his person, + Even by those men that most have done us wrong. + The dangers of the days but newly gone, + Whose memory is written on the earth + With yet appearing blood, and the examples + Of every minute's instance, present now, + Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms; + Not to break peace, or any branch of it, + But to establish here a peace indeed, + Concurring both in name and quality. + WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied; + Wherein have you been galled by the King; + What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you + That you should seal this lawless bloody book + Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, + And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? + ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth, + To brother horn an household cruelty, + I make my quarrel in particular. + WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress; + Or if there were, it not belongs to you. + MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all + That feel the bruises of the days before, + And suffer the condition of these times + To lay a heavy and unequal hand + Upon our honours? + WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray, + Construe the times to their necessities, + And you shall say, indeed, it is the time, + And not the King, that doth you injuries. + Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, + Either from the King or in the present time, + That you should have an inch of any ground + To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd + To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories, + Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's? + MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost + That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? + The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then, + Was force perforce compell'd to banish him, + And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, + Being mounted and both roused in their seats, + Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, + Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, + Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, + And the loud trumpet blowing them together- + Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd + My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, + O, when the King did throw his warder down- + His own life hung upon the staff he threw- + Then threw he down himself, and all their lives + That by indictment and by dint of sword + Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. + WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what. + The Earl of Hereford was reputed then + In England the most valiant gentleman. + Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd? + But if your father had been victor there, + He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry; + For all the country, in a general voice, + Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love + Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, + And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King. + But this is mere digression from my purpose. + Here come I from our princely general + To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace + That he will give you audience; and wherein + It shall appear that your demands are just, + You shall enjoy them, everything set off + That might so much as think you enemies. + MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer; + And it proceeds from policy, not love. + WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so. + This offer comes from mercy, not from fear; + For, lo! within a ken our army lies- + Upon mine honour, all too confident + To give admittance to a thought of fear. + Our battle is more full of names than yours, + Our men more perfect in the use of arms, + Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; + Then reason will our hearts should be as good. + Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd. + MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley. + WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence: + A rotten case abides no handling. + HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission, + In very ample virtue of his father, + To hear and absolutely to determine + Of what conditions we shall stand upon? + WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name. + I muse you make so slight a question. + ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule, + For this contains our general grievances. + Each several article herein redress'd, + All members of our cause, both here and hence, + That are insinewed to this action, + Acquitted by a true substantial form, + And present execution of our wills + To us and to our purposes confin'd- + We come within our awful banks again, + And knit our powers to the arm of peace. + WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords, + In sight of both our battles we may meet; + And either end in peace- which God so frame!- + Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords + Which must decide it. + ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND + MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me + That no conditions of our peace can stand. + HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace + Upon such large terms and so absolute + As our conditions shall consist upon, + Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. + MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such + That every slight and false-derived cause, + Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, + Shall to the King taste of this action; + That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, + We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind + That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, + And good from bad find no partition. + ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary + Of dainty and such picking grievances; + For he hath found to end one doubt by death + Revives two greater in the heirs of life; + And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, + And keep no tell-tale to his memory + That may repeat and history his los + To new remembrance. For full well he knows + He cannot so precisely weed this land + As his misdoubts present occasion: + His foes are so enrooted with his friends + That, plucking to unfix an enemy, + He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. + So that this land, like an offensive wife + That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes, + As he is striking, holds his infant up, + And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm + That was uprear'd to execution. + HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods + On late offenders, that he now doth lack + The very instruments of chastisement; + So that his power, like to a fangless lion, + May offer, but not hold. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true; + And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal, + If we do now make our atonement well, + Our peace will, like a broken limb united, + Grow stronger for the breaking. + MOWBRAY. Be it so. + Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship + To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies? + MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward. + ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Another part of the forest + +Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP, +HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER, +WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others + + PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray. + Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop; + And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. + My Lord of York, it better show'd with you + When that your flock, assembled by the bell, + Encircled you to hear with reverence + Your exposition on the holy text + Than now to see you here an iron man, + Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, + Turning the word to sword, and life to death. + That man that sits within a monarch's heart + And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, + Would he abuse the countenance of the king, + Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach + In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop, + It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken + How deep you were within the books of God? + To us the speaker in His parliament, + To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself, + The very opener and intelligencer + Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, + And our dull workings. O, who shall believe + But you misuse the reverence of your place, + Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n + As a false favourite doth his prince's name, + In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up, + Under the counterfeited zeal of God, + The subjects of His substitute, my father, + And both against the peace of heaven and him + Have here up-swarm'd them. + ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster, + I am not here against your father's peace; + But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, + The time misord'red doth, in common sense, + Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form + To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace + The parcels and particulars of our grief, + The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court, + Whereon this hydra son of war is born; + Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep + With grant of our most just and right desires; + And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, + Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. + MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes + To the last man. + HASTINGS. And though we here fall down, + We have supplies to second our attempt. + If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; + And so success of mischief shall be born, + And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up + Whiles England shall have generation. + PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow, + To sound the bottom of the after-times. + WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly + How far forth you do like their articles. + PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well; + And swear here, by the honour of my blood, + My father's purposes have been mistook; + And some about him have too lavishly + Wrested his meaning and authority. + My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; + Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, + Discharge your powers unto their several counties, + As we will ours; and here, between the armies, + Let's drink together friendly and embrace, + That all their eyes may bear those tokens home + Of our restored love and amity. + ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses. + PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word; + And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. + HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army + This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part. + I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain. + Exit Officer + ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. + WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains + I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, + You would drink freely; but my love to ye + Shall show itself more openly hereafter. + ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you. + WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it. + Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. + MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season, + For I am on the sudden something ill. + ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry; + But heaviness foreruns the good event. + WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow + Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.' + ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. + MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. + [Shouts within] + PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they shout! + MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory. + ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; + For then both parties nobly are subdu'd, + And neither party loser. + PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord, + And let our army be discharged too. + Exit WESTMORELAND + And, good my lord, so please you let our trains + March by us, that we may peruse the men + We should have cop'd withal. + ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings, + And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. + Exit HASTINGS + PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? + WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, + Will not go off until they hear you speak. + PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties. + + Re-enter HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already. + Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses + East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up, + Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place. + WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which + I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason; + And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray, + Of capital treason I attach you both. + MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable? + WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so? + ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith? + PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none: + I promis'd you redress of these same grievances + Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, + I will perform with a most Christian care. + But for you, rebels- look to taste the due + Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. + Most shallowly did you these arms commence, + Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. + Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray. + God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. + Some guard these traitors to the block of death, + Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Another part of the forest + +Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting + + FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of + what place, I pray? + COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale. + FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your + degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your + name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place- a place + deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale. + COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? + FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield, + sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops + of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up + fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. + COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought + yield me. + FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; + and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. + An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most + active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. + Here comes our general. + + Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, + BLUNT, and others + + PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now. + Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. + Exit WESTMORELAND + Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? + When everything is ended, then you come. + These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, + One time or other break some gallows' back. + FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never + knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you + think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and + old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with + the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine + score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in + my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the + Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? + He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd + fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame. + PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. + FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I + beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's + deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad + else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing my + foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all + show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, + o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the + element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the word + of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. + PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount. + FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then. + PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine. + FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, + and call it what you will. + PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville? + COLVILLE. It is, my lord. + PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville. + FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him. + COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are + That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me, + You should have won them dearer than you have. + FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a + kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for + thee. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit? + WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. + PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates, + To York, to present execution. + Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. + Exeunt BLUNT and others + And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords. + I hear the King my father is sore sick. + Our news shall go before us to his Majesty, + Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him + And we with sober speed will follow you. + FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through + Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, + pray, in your good report. + PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition, + Shall better speak of you than you deserve. + Exeunt all but FALSTAFF + FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your + dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not + love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh- but that's no marvel; + he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come + to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and + making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male + green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They + are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too, + but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold + operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all + the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it + apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and + delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, + which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of + your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before, + cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the + badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, + and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It + illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the + rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital + commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their + captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, + doth any deed of courage- and this valour comes of sherris. So + that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets + it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil + till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes + it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did + naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and + bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent + endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, + that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, + the first humane principle I would teach them should be to + forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + How now, Bardolph! + BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone. + FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there will + I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already + temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal + with him. Come away. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber + +Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER, +WARWICK, and others + + KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end + To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, + We will our youth lead on to higher fields, + And draw no swords but what are sanctified. + Our navy is address'd, our power connected, + Our substitutes in absence well invested, + And everything lies level to our wish. + Only we want a little personal strength; + And pause us till these rebels, now afoot, + Come underneath the yoke of government. + WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty + Shall soon enjoy. + KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, + Where is the Prince your brother? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. + KING. And how accompanied? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord. + KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here. + CLARENCE. What would my lord and father? + KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. + How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother? + He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. + Thou hast a better place in his affection + Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy, + And noble offices thou mayst effect + Of mediation, after I am dead, + Between his greatness and thy other brethren. + Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, + Nor lose the good advantage of his grace + By seeming cold or careless of his will; + For he is gracious if he be observ'd. + He hath a tear for pity and a hand + Open as day for melting charity; + Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint; + As humorous as winter, and as sudden + As flaws congealed in the spring of day. + His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd. + Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, + When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth; + But, being moody, give him line and scope + Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, + Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, + And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, + A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, + That the united vessel of their blood, + Mingled with venom of suggestion- + As, force perforce, the age will pour it in- + Shall never leak, though it do work as strong + As aconitum or rash gunpowder. + CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love. + KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? + CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. + KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that? + CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers. + KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; + And he, the noble image of my youth, + Is overspread with them; therefore my grief + Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. + The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, + In forms imaginary, th'unguided days + And rotten times that you shall look upon + When I am sleeping with my ancestors. + For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, + When rage and hot blood are his counsellors + When means and lavish manners meet together, + O, with what wings shall his affections fly + Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! + WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. + The Prince but studies his companions + Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, + 'Tis needful that the most immodest word + Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd, + Your Highness knows, comes to no further use + But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, + The Prince will, in the perfectness of time, + Cast off his followers; and their memory + Shall as a pattern or a measure live + By which his Grace must mete the lives of other, + Turning past evils to advantages. + KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb + In the dead carrion. + + Enter WESTMORELAND + + Who's here? Westmoreland? + WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness + Added to that that am to deliver! + Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand. + Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, + Are brought to the correction of your law. + There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, + But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. + The manner how this action hath been borne + Here at more leisure may your Highness read, + With every course in his particular. + KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, + Which ever in the haunch of winter sings + The lifting up of day. + + Enter HARCOURT + + Look here's more news. + HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty; + And, when they stand against you, may they fall + As those that I am come to tell you of! + The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, + With a great power of English and of Scots, + Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown. + The manner and true order of the fight + This packet, please it you, contains at large. + KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? + Will Fortune never come with both hands full, + But write her fair words still in foulest letters? + She either gives a stomach and no food- + Such are the poor, in health- or else a feast, + And takes away the stomach- such are the rich + That have abundance and enjoy it not. + I should rejoice now at this happy news; + And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy. + O me! come near me now I am much ill. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty! + CLARENCE. O my royal father! + WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up. + WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits + Are with his Highness very ordinary. + Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. + CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs. + Th' incessant care and labour of his mind + Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in + So thin that life looks through, and will break out. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe + Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature. + The seasons change their manners, as the year + Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over. + CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; + And the old folk, Time's doting chronicles, + Say it did so a little time before + That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. + WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end. + KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence + Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Westminster. Another chamber + +The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, +and others in attendance + + KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; + Unless some dull and favourable hand + Will whisper music to my weary spirit. + WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room. + KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. + CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. + WARWICK. Less noise! less noise! + + Enter PRINCE HENRY + + PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? + CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. + PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad! + How doth the King? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill. + PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt'red much upon the hearing it. + PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic. + WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low; + The King your father is dispos'd to sleep. + CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room. + WARWICK. Will't please your Grace to go along with us? + PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King. + Exeunt all but the PRINCE + Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, + Being so troublesome a bedfellow? + O polish'd perturbation! golden care! + That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide + To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! + Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet + As he whose brow with homely biggen bound + Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! + When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit + Like a rich armour worn in heat of day + That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath + There lies a downy feather which stirs not. + Did he suspire, that light and weightless down + Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! + This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep + That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd + So many English kings. Thy due from me + Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood + Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, + Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. + My due from thee is this imperial crown, + Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, + Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it sits- + Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength + Into one giant arm, it shall not force + This lineal honour from me. This from thee + Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. Exit + KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! + + Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE + + CLARENCE. Doth the King call? + WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace? + KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? + CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, + Who undertook to sit and watch by you. + KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him. + He is not here. + WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. + KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow? + WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. + KING. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out. + Is he so hasty that he doth suppose + My sleep my death? + Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. + Exit WARWICK + This part of his conjoins with my disease + And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! + How quickly nature falls into revolt + When gold becomes her object! + For this the foolish over-careful fathers + Have broke their sleep with thoughts, + Their brains with care, their bones with industry; + For this they have engrossed and pil'd up + The cank'red heaps of strange-achieved gold; + For this they have been thoughtful to invest + Their sons with arts and martial exercises; + When, like the bee, tolling from every flower + The virtuous sweets, + Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd, + We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, + Are murd'red for our pains. This bitter taste + Yields his engrossments to the ending father. + + Re-enter WARWICK + + Now where is he that will not stay so long + Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? + WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room, + Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, + With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, + That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, + Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife + With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. + KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown? + + Re-enter PRINCE HENRY + + Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. + Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. + Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE + PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again. + KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. + I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. + Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair + That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours + Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! + Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. + Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity + Is held from falling with so weak a wind + That it will quickly drop; my day is dim. + Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours, + Were thine without offense; and at my death + Thou hast seal'd up my expectation. + Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, + And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. + Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, + Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, + To stab at half an hour of my life. + What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour? + Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; + And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear + That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. + Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse + Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head; + Only compound me with forgotten dust; + Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. + Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; + For now a time is come to mock at form- + Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity: + Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence. + And to the English court assemble now, + From every region, apes of idleness. + Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum. + Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, + Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit + The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? + Be happy, he will trouble you no more. + England shall double gild his treble guilt; + England shall give him office, honour, might; + For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks + The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog + Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. + O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! + When that my care could not withhold thy riots, + What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? + O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. + Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! + PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, + The moist impediments unto my speech, + I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke + Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard + The course of it so far. There is your crown, + And he that wears the crown immortally + Long guard it yours! [Kneeling] If I affect it more + Than as your honour and as your renown, + Let me no more from this obedience rise, + Which my most inward true and duteous spirit + Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending! + God witness with me, when I here came in + And found no course of breath within your Majesty, + How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, + O, let me in my present wildness die, + And never live to show th' incredulous world + The noble change that I have purposed! + Coming to look on you, thinking you dead- + And dead almost, my liege, to think you were- + I spake unto this crown as having sense, + And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending + Hath fed upon the body of my father; + Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold. + Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, + Preserving life in med'cine potable; + But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, + Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege, + Accusing it, I put it on my head, + To try with it- as with an enemy + That had before my face murd'red my father- + The quarrel of a true inheritor. + But if it did infect my blood with joy, + Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; + If any rebel or vain spirit of mine + Did with the least affection of a welcome + Give entertainment to the might of it, + Let God for ever keep it from my head, + And make me as the poorest vassal is, + That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! + KING. O my son, + God put it in thy mind to take it hence, + That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, + Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! + Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, + And hear, I think, the very latest counsel + That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, + By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways + I met this crown; and I myself know well + How troublesome it sat upon my head: + To thee it shall descend with better quiet, + Better opinion, better confirmation; + For all the soil of the achievement goes + With me into the earth. It seem'd in me + But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand; + And I had many living to upbraid + My gain of it by their assistances; + Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, + Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears + Thou seest with peril I have answered; + For all my reign hath been but as a scene + Acting that argument. And now my death + Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd + Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; + So thou the garland wear'st successively. + Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, + Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; + And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, + Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; + By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, + And by whose power I well might lodge a fear + To be again displac'd; which to avoid, + I cut them off; and had a purpose now + To lead out many to the Holy Land, + Lest rest and lying still might make them look + Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, + Be it thy course to busy giddy minds + With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out, + May waste the memory of the former days. + More would I, but my lungs are wasted so + That strength of speech is utterly denied me. + How I came by the crown, O God, forgive; + And grant it may with thee in true peace live! + PRINCE. My gracious liege, + You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; + Then plain and right must my possession be; + Which I with more than with a common pain + 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. + + Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others + + KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. + PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father! + KING. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John; + But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown + From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight + My worldly business makes a period. + Where is my Lord of Warwick? + PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick! + KING. Doth any name particular belong + Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? + WARWICK. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. + KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end. + It hath been prophesied to me many years, + I should not die but in Jerusalem; + Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land. + But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; + In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house + +Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE + + SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night. + What, Davy, I say! + FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. + SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd; excuses + shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall + not be excus'd. Why, Davy! + + Enter DAVY + + DAVY. Here, sir. + SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see, + Davy; let me see- yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. + Sir John, you shall not be excus'd. + DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and, + again, sir- shall we sow the headland with wheat? + SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook- are there no + young pigeons? + DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and + plough-irons. + SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be + excused. + DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had; and, + sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages about the sack he + lost the other day at Hinckley fair? + SHALLOW. 'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of + short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny + kickshaws, tell William cook. + DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? + SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i' th' court is + better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they + are arrant knaves and will backbite. + DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have + marvellous foul linen. + SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy- about thy business, Davy. + DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot + against Clement Perkes o' th' hill. + SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That + Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. + DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God + forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his + friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for + himself, when a knave is not. I have serv'd your worship truly, + sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter + bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little + credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir; + therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc'd. + SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about, + DAVY. [Exit DAVY] Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off + with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph. + BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship. + SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph. + [To the PAGE] And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John. + FALSTAFF. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow. + [Exit SHALLOW] Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH + and PAGE] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four + dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master Shallow. It is a + wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's + spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear themselves + like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned + into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married in + conjunction with the participation of society that they flock + together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to + Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of + being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with Master + Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is + certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, + as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take heed + of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow + to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of six + fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and 'a shall laugh + without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight + oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never + had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh till + his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up! + SHALLOW. [Within] Sir John! + FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow. + Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Westminster. The palace + +Enter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + + WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away? + CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King? + WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead. + WARWICK. He's walk'd the way of nature; + And to our purposes he lives no more. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call'd me with him. + The service that I truly did his life + Hath left me open to all injuries. + WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself + To welcome the condition of the time, + Which cannot look more hideously upon me + Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. + + Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, + WESTMORELAND, and others + + WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry. + O that the living Harry had the temper + Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen! + How many nobles then should hold their places + That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! + CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd. + PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow. + GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin. + PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. + WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument + Is all too heavy to admit much talk. + PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! + CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! + PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed; + And I dare swear you borrow not that face + Of seeming sorrow- it is sure your own. + PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find, + You stand in coldest expectation. + I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise. + CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair; + Which swims against your stream of quality. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour, + Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; + And never shall you see that I will beg + A ragged and forestall'd remission. + If truth and upright innocency fail me, + I'll to the King my master that is dead, + And tell him who hath sent me after him. + WARWICK. Here comes the Prince. + + Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty! + KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, + Sits not so easy on me as you think. + Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear. + This is the English, not the Turkish court; + Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, + But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, + For, by my faith, it very well becomes you. + Sorrow so royally in you appears + That I will deeply put the fashion on, + And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad; + But entertain no more of it, good brothers, + Than a joint burden laid upon us all. + For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, + I'll be your father and your brother too; + Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. + Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I; + But Harry lives that shall convert those tears + By number into hours of happiness. + BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty. + KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most. + You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, + Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me. + KING. No? + How might a prince of my great hopes forget + So great indignities you laid upon me? + What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison, + Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy? + May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten? + CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father; + The image of his power lay then in me; + And in th' administration of his law, + Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, + Your Highness pleased to forget my place, + The majesty and power of law and justice, + The image of the King whom I presented, + And struck me in my very seat of judgment; + Whereon, as an offender to your father, + I gave bold way to my authority + And did commit you. If the deed were ill, + Be you contented, wearing now the garland, + To have a son set your decrees at nought, + To pluck down justice from your awful bench, + To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword + That guards the peace and safety of your person; + Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image, + And mock your workings in a second body. + Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; + Be now the father, and propose a son; + Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, + See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, + Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; + And then imagine me taking your part + And, in your power, soft silencing your son. + After this cold considerance, sentence me; + And, as you are a king, speak in your state + What I have done that misbecame my place, + My person, or my liege's sovereignty. + KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well; + Therefore still bear the balance and the sword; + And I do wish your honours may increase + Till you do live to see a son of mine + Offend you, and obey you, as I did. + So shall I live to speak my father's words: + 'Happy am I that have a man so bold + That dares do justice on my proper son; + And not less happy, having such a son + That would deliver up his greatness so + Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me; + For which I do commit into your hand + Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear; + With this remembrance- that you use the same + With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit + As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. + You shall be as a father to my youth; + My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; + And I will stoop and humble my intents + To your well-practis'd wise directions. + And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you, + My father is gone wild into his grave, + For in his tomb lie my affections; + And with his spirits sadly I survive, + To mock the expectation of the world, + To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out + Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down + After my seeming. The tide of blood in me + Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now. + Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, + Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, + And flow henceforth in formal majesty. + Now call we our high court of parliament; + And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, + That the great body of our state may go + In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; + That war, or peace, or both at once, may be + As things acquainted and familiar to us; + In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. + Our coronation done, we will accite, + As I before rememb'red, all our state; + And- God consigning to my good intents- + No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, + God shorten Harry's happy life one day. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard + +Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY + + SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we + will eat a last year's pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish + of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich. + SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John + -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said, Davy. + FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your + serving-man and your husband. + SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir + John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good + varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin. + SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a- we shall [Singing] + + Do nothing but eat and make good cheer, + And praise God for the merry year; + When flesh is cheap and females dear, + And lusty lads roam here and there, + So merrily, + And ever among so merrily. + + FALSTAFF. There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll give you + a health for that anon. + SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy. + DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet sir, sit. + Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in + meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's all. + Exit + SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier there, + be merry. + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; + For women are shrews, both short and tall; + 'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an; + And welcome merry Shrove-tide. + Be merry, be merry. + + FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this + mettle. + SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now. + + Re-enter DAVY + + DAVY. [To BARDOLPH] There's a dish of leather-coats for you. + SHALLOW. Davy! + DAVY. Your worship! I'll be with you straight. [To BARDOLPH] + A cup of wine, sir? + SILENCE. [Singing] + + A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, + And drink unto the leman mine; + And a merry heart lives long-a. + + FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence. + SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' th' night. + FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence! + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Fill the cup, and let it come, + I'll pledge you a mile to th' bottom. + + SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st anything and + wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief + and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all + the cabileros about London. + DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die. + BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy! + SHALLOW. By the mass, you'R crack a quart together- ha! will you + not, Master Bardolph? + BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. + SHALLOW. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by + thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true + bred. + BARDOLPH. And I'll stick by him, sir. + SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry. + [One knocks at door] Look who's at door there, ho! Who knocks? + Exit DAVY + FALSTAFF. [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper] Why, now you have + done me right. + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Do me right, + And dub me knight. + Samingo. + + Is't not so? + FALSTAFF. 'Tis so. + SILENCE. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat. + + Re-enter DAVY + + DAVY. An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the + court with news. + FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in. + + Enter PISTOL + + How now, Pistol? + PISTOL. Sir John, God save you! + FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? + PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, + thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm. + SILENCE. By'r lady, I think 'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson. + PISTOL. Puff! + Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base! + Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, + And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; + And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, + And golden times, and happy news of price. + FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world. + PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base! + I speak of Africa and golden joys. + FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? + Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. + SILENCE. [Singing] And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. + PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? + And shall good news be baffled? + Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. + SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. + PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore. + SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the + court, I take it there's but two ways- either to utter them or + conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority. + PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die. + SHALLOW. Under King Harry. + PISTOL. Harry the Fourth- or Fifth? + SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth. + PISTOL. A foutra for thine office! + Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King; + Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth. + When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like + The bragging Spaniard. + FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead? + PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just. + FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, + choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I + will double-charge thee with dignities. + BARDOLPH. O joyful day! + I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. + PISTOL. What, I do bring good news? + FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord + Shallow, be what thou wilt- I am Fortune's steward. Get on thy + boots; we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph! + [Exit BARDOLPH] Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal + devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow! + I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man's + horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are + they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief Justice! + PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! + 'Where is the life that late I led?' say they. + Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. A street + +Enter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET + + HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die, + that I might have thee hang'd. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of + joint. + FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she + shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been + a man or two lately kill'd about her. + DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what, + thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with do + miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou + paper-fac'd villain. + HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a + bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb + miscarry! + FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; + you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for + the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you. + DOLL. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you + as soundly swing'd for this- you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy + famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear + half-kirtles. + FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. + HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might! + Well, of sufferance comes ease. + DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice. + HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound. + DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones! + HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou! + DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal! + FIRST BEADLE. Very well. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Westminster. Near the Abbey + +Enter GROOMS, strewing rushes + + FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes! + SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice. + THIRD GROOM. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the + coronation. Dispatch, dispatch. Exeunt + + Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass + over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, + PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page + + FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make the + King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do + but mark the countenance that he will give me. + PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight! + FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. [To SHALLOW] O, if + I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the + thousand pound I borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter; this poor + show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. + SHALLOW. It doth so. + FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection- + SHALLOW. It doth so. + FALSTAFF. My devotion- + SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth. + FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate, + not to remember, not to have patience to shift me- + SHALLOW. It is best, certain. + FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with + desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs + else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done but to + see him. + PISTOL. 'Tis 'semper idem' for 'obsque hoc nihil est.' 'Tis all in + every part. + SHALLOW. 'Tis so, indeed. + PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver + And make thee rage. + Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, + Is in base durance and contagious prison; + Hal'd thither + By most mechanical and dirty hand. + Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake, + For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth. + FALSTAFF. I will deliver her. + [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound] + PISTOL. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. + + Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + among them + + FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal! + PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! + FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy! + KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you speak? + FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! + KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. + How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! + I have long dreamt of such a kind of man, + So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; + But being awak'd, I do despise my dream. + Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace; + Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape + For thee thrice wider than for other men- + Reply not to me with a fool-born jest; + Presume not that I am the thing I was, + For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, + That I have turn'd away my former self; + So will I those that kept me company. + When thou dost hear I am as I have been, + Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, + The tutor and the feeder of my riots. + Till then I banish thee, on pain of death, + As I have done the rest of my misleaders, + Not to come near our person by ten mile. + For competence of life I will allow you, + That lack of means enforce you not to evils; + And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, + We will, according to your strengths and qualities, + Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord, + To see perform'd the tenour of our word. + Set on. Exeunt the KING and his train + FALSTAFF. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds. + SHALLOW. Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me have + home with me. + FALSTAFF. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve at + this; I shall be sent for in private to him. Look you, he must + seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancements; I will be the + man yet that shall make you great. + SHALLOW. I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your doublet, + and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me + have five hundred of my thousand. + FALSTAFF. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard + was but a colour. + SHALLOW. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John. + FALSTAFF. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, Lieutenant + Pistol; come, Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night. + + Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, + with officers + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet; + Take all his company along with him. + FALSTAFF. My lord, my lord- + CHIEF JUSTICE. I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon. + Take them away. + PISTOL. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. + Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + PRINCE JOHN. I like this fair proceeding of the King's. + He hath intent his wonted followers + Shall all be very well provided for; + But all are banish'd till their conversations + Appear more wise and modest to the world. + CHIEF JUSTICE. And so they are. + PRINCE JOHN. The King hath call'd his parliament, my lord. + CHIEF JUSTICE. He hath. + PRINCE JOHN. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire, + We bear our civil swords and native fire + As far as France. I heard a bird so sing, + Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the King. + Come, will you hence? Exeunt + +EPILOGUE + EPILOGUE. + + First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your +displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. +If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have to say +is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I doubt, +prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture. +Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the end +of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to promise you +a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if like an +ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle +creditors, lose. Here I promis'd you I would be, and here I commit +my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some, and, +as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel down before +you- but, indeed, to pray for the Queen. + If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to +use my legs? And yet that were but light payment-to dance out of +your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible +satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven +me. If the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with +the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly. + One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloy'd with fat +meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in +it, and make you merry with fair Katherine of France; where, for +anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already 'a be +killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr and this +is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid +you good night. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1599 + +THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + CHORUS + KING HENRY THE FIFTH + DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, brother to the King + DUKE OF BEDFORD, " " " " + DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the King + DUKE OF YORK, cousin to the King + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL OF WESTMORELAND + EARL OF WARWICK + ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + BISHOP OF ELY + + EARL OF CAMBRIDGE, conspirator against the King + LORD SCROOP, " " " " + SIR THOMAS GREY, " " " " + SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, officer in the King's army + GOWER, " " " " " + FLUELLEN, " " " " " + MACMORRIS, " " " " " + JAMY, " " " " " + + BATES, soldier in the King's army + COURT, " " " " " + WILLIAMS, " " " " " + NYM, " " " " " + BARDOLPH, " " " " " + PISTOL, " " " " " + + BOY A HERALD + + CHARLES THE SIXTH, King of France + LEWIS, the Dauphin DUKE OF BURGUNDY + DUKE OF ORLEANS DUKE OF BRITAINE + DUKE OF BOURBON THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE + RAMBURES, French Lord + GRANDPRE, " " + GOVERNOR OF HARFLEUR MONTJOY, a French herald + AMBASSADORS to the King of England + + ISABEL, Queen of France + KATHERINE, daughter to Charles and Isabel + ALICE, a lady attending her + HOSTESS of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap; formerly Mrs. Quickly, now + married to Pistol + + Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Attendants + + + SCENE: + England and France + +PROLOGUE + PROLOGUE. + + Enter CHORUS + + CHORUS. O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend + The brightest heaven of invention, + A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, + And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! + Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, + Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, + Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, + Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, + The flat unraised spirits that hath dar'd + On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth + So great an object. Can this cockpit hold + The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram + Within this wooden O the very casques + That did affright the air at Agincourt? + O, pardon! since a crooked figure may + Attest in little place a million; + And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, + On your imaginary forces work. + Suppose within the girdle of these walls + Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, + Whose high upreared and abutting fronts + The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder. + Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: + Into a thousand parts divide one man, + And make imaginary puissance; + Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them + Printing their proud hoofs i' th' receiving earth; + For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, + Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times, + Turning th' 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and the BISHOP OF ELY + + CANTERBURY. My lord, I'll tell you: that self bill is urg'd + Which in th' 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 valu'd thus- + As much as would maintain, to the King's honour, + Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, + Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; + And, to relief of lazars and weak age, + Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, + A hundred alms-houses right well supplied; + And to the coffers of the King, beside, + A thousand pounds by th' year: thus runs the bill. + ELY. This would drink deep. + CANTERBURY. 'T would drink the cup and all. + ELY. But what prevention? + CANTERBURY. The King is full of grace and fair regard. + ELY. And a true lover of the holy Church. + CANTERBURY. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. + The breath no sooner left his father's body + But that his wildness, mortified in him, + Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment, + Consideration like an angel came + And whipp'd th' offending Adam out of him, + Leaving his body as a paradise + T'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 wilfulnes + 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 rend'red 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 obscur'd 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 ceas'd; + And therefore we must needs admit the means + How things are perfected. + ELY. But, my good lord, + How now for mitigation of this bill + Urg'd by the Commons? Doth his Majesty + Incline to it, or no? + CANTERBURY. He seems indifferent + Or rather swaying more upon our part + Than cherishing th' 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 receiv'd, my lord? + CANTERBURY. With good acceptance of his Majesty; + Save that there was not time enough to hear, + As I perceiv'd his Grace would fain have done, + The severals and unhidden passages + Of his true tides to some certain dukedoms, + And generally to the crown and seat of France, + Deriv'd from Edward, his great-grandfather. + ELY. What was th' impediment that broke this off? + CANTERBURY. The French ambassador upon that instant + Crav'd audience; and the hour, I think, is come + To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? + ELY. It is. + CANTERBURY. Then go we in, to know his embassy; + Which I could with a ready guess declare, + Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. + ELY. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +London. The Presence Chamber in the KING'S palace + +Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, +and attendants + + KING HENRY. Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? + EXETER. Not here in presence. + KING HENRY. Send for him, good uncle. + WESTMORELAND. Shall we call in th' ambassador, my liege? + KING HENRY. Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv'd, + Before we hear him, of some things of weight + That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. + + Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and + the BISHOP OF ELY + + CANTERBURY. God and his angels guard your sacred throne, + And make you long become it! + KING HENRY. Sure, we thank you. + My learned lord, we pray you to proceed, + And justly and religiously unfold + Why the law 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 wrongs gives edge unto the swords + That makes such waste in brief mortality. + Under this conjuration speak, my lord; + For we will hear, note, and believe in heart, + That what you speak is in your conscience 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 subdu'd the Saxons, + There left behind and settled certain French; + Who, holding in disdain the German women + For some dishonest manners of their life, + Establish'd then this law: to wit, no female + Should be inheritrix in 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 the 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 suppos'd the founder of this law; + Who died within the year of our redemption + Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great + Subdu'd the Saxons, and did seat the French + Beyond the river Sala, in the year + Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, + King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, + Did, as heir general, being descended + Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, + Make claim and title to the crown of France. + Hugh Capet also, who usurp'd the crown + Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male + Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, + To find his title with some shows of truth- + Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught- + Convey'd himself as th' heir to th' 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 tide 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 tides + Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. + KING HENRY. May I with right and conscience make this claim? + CANTERBURY. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! + For in the book of Numbers is it writ, + When the man dies, let the inheritance + Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, + Stand for your own, unwind your bloody flag, + Look back into your mighty ancestors. + Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, + From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, + And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, + Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, + Making defeat on the fun 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. We must not only arm t' invade the French, + But lay down our proportions to defend + Against the Scot, who will make road upon us + With all advantages. + CANTERBURY. They of those marches, gracious sovereign, + Shall be a wall sufficient to defend + Our inland from the pilfering borderers. + KING HENRY. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, + But fear the main intendment of the Scot, + Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; + For you shall read that my great-grandfather + Never went with his forces into France + But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom + Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, + With ample and brim fulness of his force, + Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, + Girdling with grievous siege castles and towns; + That England, being empty of defence, + Hath shook and trembled at th' 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 sumless 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, + Th' 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 but + 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-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, + Delivering o'er to executors pale + The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, + That many things, having full reference + To one consent, may work contrariously; + As many arrows loosed several ways + Come to one mark, as many ways meet in one town, + As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea, + As many lines close in the dial's centre; + So many a thousand actions, once afoot, + End in one purpose, and be all well home + Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. + Divide your happy England into four; + Whereof take you one quarter into France, + And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. + If we, with thrice such powers left at home, + Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, + Let us be worried, and our nation lose + The name of hardiness and policy. + KING HENRY. Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. + Exeunt some attendants + Now are we well resolv'd; and, by God's help + And yours, the noble sinews of our power, + France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, + Or break it all to pieces; or there we'll sit, + Ruling in large and ample empery + O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, + Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, + Tombless, with no remembrance over them. + Either our history shall with full mouth + Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, + Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, + Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. + + Enter AMBASSADORS of France + + Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure + Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear + Your greeting is from him, not from the King. + 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 of + The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? + KING HENRY. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, + Unto whose grace our passion is as subject + As are our wretches fett'red in our prisons; + Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness + Tell us the Dauphin's mind. + AMBASSADOR. Thus then, in few. + Your Highness, lately sending into France, + Did claim some certain dukedoms in the right + Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. + In answer of which claim, the Prince our master + Says that you savour too much of your youth, + And bids you be advis'd there's nought in France + That can be with a nimble galliard won; + You cannot revel into dukedoms there. + He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, + This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, + Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim + Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. + KING HENRY. What treasure, uncle? + EXETER. Tennis-balls, my liege. + KING HENRY. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; + His present and your pains we thank you for. + When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, + We will in France, by God's grace, play a set + Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. + Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler + That all the courts of France will be disturb'd + With chaces. And we understand him well, + How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, + Not measuring what use we made of them. + We never valu'd this poor seat of England; + And therefore, living hence, did give ourself + To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common + That men are merriest when they are from home. + But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, + Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, + When I do rouse me in my throne of France; + For that I have laid by my majesty + And plodded like a man for working-days; + But I will rise there with so full a glory + That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, + Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. + And tell the pleasant Prince this mock of his + Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones, and his soul + Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance + That shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows + Shall this his mock mock of their dear husbands; + Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; + And some are yet ungotten and unborn + That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. + But this lies all within the will of God, + To whom I do appeal; and in whose name, + Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, + To venge me as I may and to put forth + My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. + So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin + His jest will savour but of shallow wit, + When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. + Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. + Exeunt AMBASSADORS + EXETER. This was a merry message. + KING HENRY. We hope to make the sender blush at it. + Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour + That may give furth'rance 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 ad + 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. PROLOGUE. + +Flourish. Enter CHORUS + + CHORUS. Now all the youth of England are on fire, + And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; + Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought + Reigns solely in the breast of every man; + They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, + Following the mirror of all Christian kings + With winged heels, as English Mercuries. + For now sits Expectation in the air, + And hides a sword from hilts unto the point + With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, + Promis'd to Harry and his followers. + The French, advis'd by good intelligence + Of this most dreadful preparation, + Shake in their fear and with pale policy + Seek to divert the English purposes. + O England! model to thy inward greatness, + Like little body with a mighty heart, + What mightst thou do that honour would thee do, + Were all thy children kind and natural! + But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out + A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills + With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men- + One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, + Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, + Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, + Have, for the gilt of France- O guilt indeed!- + Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; + And by their hands this grace of kings must die- + If hell and treason hold their promises, + Ere he take ship for France- and in Southampton. + Linger your patience on, and we'll digest + Th' 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 play-house now, there must you sit, + And thence to France shall we convey you safe + And bring you back, charming the narrow seas + To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, + We'll not offend one stomach with our play. + But, till the King come forth, and not till then, + Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit + + + + +SCENE I. +London. Before the Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap + +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't 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. + NYM. 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 draws] 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 thaes the humour of it. + PISTOL. O braggart vile and damned furious wight! + The grave doth gape and doting death is near; + Therefore exhale. [PISTOL draws] + 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. + [PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords] + 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 powd'ring 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 your + hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put + thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. + Faith, he's very ill. + BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue. + HOSTESS. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these + days: the King has kill'd his heart. Good husband, come home + presently. Exeunt HOSTESS and BOY + BARDOLPH. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France + together; why the devil should we keep knives to cut one + another's throats? + PISTOL. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! + NYM. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? + PISTOL. Base is the slave that pays. + NYM. That now I will have; that's the humour of it. + PISTOL. As manhood shall compound: push home. + [PISTOL and Nym 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. + [Sheathes his sword] + 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. [Sheathing his sword] I shall have my noble? + PISTOL. In cash most justly paid. + NYM. [Shaking hands] Well, then, that's the humour of't. + + Re-enter HOSTESS + + HOSTESS. As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John. + Ah, poor heart! he is so shak'd of a burning quotidian tertian + that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. + NYM. The King hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even + of it. + PISTOL. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; + His heart is fracted and corroborate. + NYM. The King is a good king, but it must be as it may; he passes + some humours and careers. + PISTOL. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Southampton. A council-chamber + +Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and 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 the KING, SCROOP, + CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and attendants + + KING HENRY. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. + My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, + And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts. + Think you not that the pow'rs we bear with us + Will cut their passage through the force of France, + Doing the execution and the act + For which we have in head assembled them? + SCROOP. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. + KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded + We carry not a heart with us from hence + That grows not in a fair consent with ours; + Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish + Success and conquest to attend on us. + CAMBRIDGE. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd + Than is your Majesty. There's not, I think, a subject + That sits in heart-grief and uneasines + Under the sweet shade of your government. + GREY. True: those that were your father's enemies + Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you + With hearts create of duty and of zeal. + KING HENRY. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, + And shall forget the office of our hand + Sooner than quittance of desert and merit + According to the weight and worthiness. + SCROOP. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, + And labour shall refresh itself with hope, + To do your Grace incessant services. + KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, + Enlarge the man committed yesterday + That rail'd against our person. We consider + It was excess of wine that set him on; + And on his more advice we pardon him. + SCROOP. That's mercy, but too much security. + Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example + Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. + KING HENRY. O, let us yet be merciful! + CAMBRIDGE. So may your Highness, and yet punish too. + GREY. Sir, + You show great mercy if you give him life, + After the taste of much correction. + KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me + Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! + If little faults proceeding on distemper + Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye + When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested, + Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, + Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care + And tender preservation of our person, + Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes: + Who are the late commissioners? + CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord. + Your Highness bade me ask for it to-day. + SCROOP. So did you me, my liege. + GREY. And I, my royal sovereign. + KING HENRY. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; + There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, Sir Knight, + Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours. + Read them, and know I know your worthiness. + My Lord of 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 have so cowarded and chas'd your blood + Out of appearance? + CAMBRIDGE. I do confess my fault, + And do submit me to your Highness' mercy. + GREY, SCROOP. To which we all appeal. + KING HENRY. The mercy that was quick in us but late + By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd. + You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; + For your own reasons turn into your bosoms + As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. + See you, my princes and my noble peers, + These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here- + You know how apt our love was to accord + To furnish him with an appertinents + Belonging to his honour; and this man + Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, + And sworn unto the practices of France + To kill us here in Hampton; to the which + This knight, no less for bounty bound to us + Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, + What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel, + Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature? + Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, + That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, + That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, + Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use- + May it be possible that foreign hire + Could out of thee extract one spark of evil + That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange + That, though the truth of it stands off as gross + As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. + Treason and murder ever kept together, + As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, + Working so grossly in a natural cause + That admiration did not whoop at them; + But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in + Wonder to wait on treason and on murder; + And whatsoever cunning fiend it was + That wrought upon thee so preposterously + Hath got the voice in hell for excellence; + And other devils that suggest by treasons + Do botch and bungle up damnation + With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd + From glist'ring semblances of piety; + But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, + Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, + Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. + If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus + Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, + He might return to vasty Tartar back, + And tell the legions 'I can never win + A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' + O, how hast thou with jealousy infected + The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? + Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned? + Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family? + Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious? + Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet, + Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, + Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, + Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, + Not working with the eye without the ear, + And but in purged 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 practices! + EXETER. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl + of Cambridge. + I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop + of Masham. + I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, + knight, of Northumberland. + SCROOP. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd, + And I repent my fault more than my death; + Which I beseech your Highness to forgive, + Although my body pay the price of it. + CAMBRIDGE. For me, the gold of France did not seduce, + Although I did admit it as a motive + The sooner to effect what I intended; + But God be thanked for prevention, + Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, + Beseeching God and you to pardon me. + GREY. Never did faithful subject more rejoice + At the discovery of most dangerous treason + Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, + Prevented from a damned enterprise. + My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. + KING HENRY. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. + You have conspir'd against our royal person, + Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers + Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; + Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, + His princes and his peers to servitude, + His subjects to oppression and contempt, + And his whole kingdom into desolation. + Touching our person seek we no revenge; + But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, + Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws + We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, + Poor miserable wretches, to your death; + The taste whereof God of his mercy give + You patience to endure, and true repentance + Of all your dear offences. Bear them hence. + Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP, and GREY, guarded + Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof + Shall be to you as us like glorious. + We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, + Since God so graciously hath brought to light + This dangerous treason, lurking in our way + To hinder our beginnings; we doubt not now + But every rub is smoothed on our way. + Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver + Our puissance into the hand of God, + Putting it straight in expedition. + Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance; + No king of England, if not king of France! + Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Eastcheap. Before the Boar's Head 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 earn. + Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; + Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead, + And we must earn 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 ev'n just + between twelve and one, ev'n at the turning o' th' tide; for + after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, + and smile upon his fingers' end, I knew there was but one way; + for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbl'd of green + fields. 'How now, Sir John!' quoth I 'What, man, be o' good + cheer.' So 'a cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now + I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of God; I hop'd + there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. + So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet; I put my hand into + the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I + felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold + as any stone. + NYM. They say he cried out of sack. + HOSTESS. Ay, that 'a did. + BARDOLPH. And of women. + HOSTESS. Nay, that 'a did not. + BOY. Yes, that 'a did, and said they were devils incarnate. + HOSTESS. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never + liked. + BOY. 'A said once the devil would have him about women. + HOSTESS. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was + rheumatic, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon. + BOY. Do you not remember 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, + and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell? + BARDOLPH. Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's + all the riches I got in his service. + NYM. Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton. + PISTOL. Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. + Look to my chattles and my moveables; + Let senses rule. The word is 'Pitch and Pay.' + Trust none; + For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, + And Holdfast is the only dog, my duck. + Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. + Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, + Let us to France, like horse-leeches, my boys, + To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck. + BOY. And that's but unwholesome food, they say. + PISTOL. Touch her soft mouth and march. + BARDOLPH. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her] + NYM. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu. + PISTOL. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command. + HOSTESS. Farewell; adieu. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +France. The KING'S palace + +Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES OF BERRI +and BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE, and others + + FRENCH KING. Thus comes the English with full power upon us; + And more than carefully it us concerns + To answer royally in our defences. + Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Britaine, + 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 and niggardly projection + Doth like a miser spoil his coat with scanting + A little cloth. + FRENCH KING. Think we King Harry strong; + And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. + The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; + And he is bred out of that bloody strain + That haunted us in our familiar paths. + Witness our too much memorable shame + When Cressy battle fatally was struck, + And all our princes capdv'd by the hand + Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; + Whiles that his mountain sire- on mountain standing, + Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun- + Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him, + Mangle the work of nature, and deface + The patterns that by God and by French fathers + Had twenty years been made. This is a stern + Of that victorious stock; and let us fear + The native mightiness and fate of him. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Ambassadors from Harry King of England + Do crave admittance to your Majesty. + FRENCH KING. We'll give them present audience. Go and bring them. + Exeunt MESSENGER and certain LORDS + You see this chase is hotly followed, 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 + + FRENCH KING. From our brother of England? + EXETER. From him, and thus he greets your Majesty: + He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, + That you divest yourself, and lay apart + The borrowed glories that by gift of heaven, + By law of nature and of nations, 'longs + To him and to his heirs- namely, the crown, + And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, + By custom and the ordinance of times, + Unto the crown of France. That you may know + 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, + Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, + Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, + He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper] + In every branch truly demonstrative; + Willing you overlook this pedigree. + And when you find him evenly deriv'd + From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, + Edward the Third, he bids you then resign + Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held + From him, the native and true challenger. + FRENCH KING. Or else what follows? + EXETER. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown + Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it. + Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, + In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, + That if requiring fail, he will compel; + And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, + Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy + On the poor souls for whom this hungry war + Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head + Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, + The dead men's blood, the privy maidens' groans, + For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, + That shall be swallowed in this controversy. + This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message; + Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, + To whom expressly I bring greeting too. + FRENCH KING. For us, we will consider of this further; + To-morrow shall you bear our full intent + Back to our brother of England. + DAUPHIN. For the Dauphin: + I stand here for him. What to him from England? + EXETER. Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt, + And anything that may not misbecome + The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. + Thus says my king: an if your father's Highness + Do not, in grant of all demands at large, + Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty, + He'll call you to so hot an answer of it + That caves and womby vaultages of France + Shall chide your trespass and return your mock + In second accent of his ordinance. + DAUPHIN. Say, if my father render fair return, + It is against my will; for I desire + Nothing but odds with England. To that end, + As matching to his youth and vanity, + I did present him with the Paris balls. + EXETER. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, + Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe; + And be assur'd you'll find a difference, + As we his subjects have in wonder found, + Between the promise of his greener days + And these he masters now. Now he weighs time + Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read + In your own losses, if he stay in France. + FRENCH KING. 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. + FRENCH KING. You shall be soon dispatch'd with fair conditions. + A night is but small breath and little pause + To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. PROLOGUE. + +Flourish. Enter CHORUS + + CHORUS. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, + In motion of no less celerity + Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen + The well-appointed King at Hampton pier + Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet + With silken streamers the young Phorbus fanning. + Play with your fancies; and in them behold + Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; + Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give + To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails, + Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind, + Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea, + Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think + You stand upon the rivage and behold + A city on th' inconstant billows dancing; + For so appears this fleet majestical, + Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! + Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy + And leave your England as dead midnight still, + Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, + Either past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance; + For who is he whose chin is but enrich'd + With one appearing hair that will not follow + These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? + Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; + Behold the ordnance on their carriages, + With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. + Suppose th' ambassador from the French comes back; + Tells Harry that the King doth offer him + Katherine 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 an before them. Still be kind, + And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE I. +France. Before Harfleur + +Alarum. Enter the KING, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, +and soldiers with scaling-ladders + + KING. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; + Or close the wall up with our English dead. + In peace there's nothing so becomes a man + As modest stillness and humility; + But when the blast of war blows in our ears, + Then imitate the action of the tiger: + Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, + Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; + Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; + Let it pry through the portage of the head + Like the brass cannon: let the brow o'erwhelm it + As fearfully as 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 sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. + Dishonour not your mothers; now attest + That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. + Be copy now to men of grosser blood, + And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, + Whose limbs were made in England, show us here + The mettle of your pasture; let us swear + That you are worth your breeding- which I doubt not; + For there is none of you so mean and base + That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. + I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, + Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: + Follow your spirit; and upon this charge + Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' + [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off] + + + + +SCENE II. +Before Harfleur + +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 wouid give all my + fame for a pot of ale and safety. + PISTOL. And I: + + If wishes would prevail with me, + My purpose should not fail with me, + But thither would I hie. + + BOY. As duly, but not as truly, + As bird doth sing on bough. + + Enter FLUELLEN + + FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs! + Avaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward] + PISTOL. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. + Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage; + Abate thy rage, great duke. + Good bawcock, bate thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck. + NYM. These be good humours. Your honour wins bad humours. + Exeunt all but BOY + BOY. As young as I am, I have observ'd these three swashers. I am + boy to them all three; but all they three, though they would + serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do + not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver'd and + red-fac'd; by the means whereof 'a faces it out, but fights not. + For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the + means whereof 'a breaks words and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, + he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and + therefore he scorns to say his prayers lest 'a should be thought + a coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good + deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that + was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, + and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve + leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are + sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a + fire-shovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry + coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their + gloves or their handkerchers; which makes much against my + manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; + for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them and + seek some better service; their villainy goes against my weak + stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit + + 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, th' athversary- you may discuss unto the Duke, + look you- is digt himself four yard under the countermines; by + Cheshu, I think 'a will plow up all, if there is not better + directions. + GOWER. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is + given, is altogether directed by an Irishman- a very vallant + gentleman, i' faith. + FLUELLEN. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? + GOWER. I think it be. + FLUELLEN. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify + as much in his beard; he has no more directions in the true + disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than + is a puppy-dog. + + Enter MACMORRIS and CAPTAIN JAMY + + GOWER. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with + him. + FLUELLEN. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is + certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in 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 beseech'd, and the + trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk and, be Chrish, do + nothing. 'Tis shame for us all, so God sa' me, 'tis shame to + stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be + cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish + sa' me, la. + JAMY. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to + slomber, ay'll de gud service, or I'll lig i' th' grund for it; + ay, or go to death. And I'll pay't as valorously as I may, that + sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad + full fain heard some question 'tween you tway. + FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your + correction, there is not many of your nation- + MACMORRIS. Of my nation? What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a + bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks + of my nation? + FLUELLEN. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, + Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me + with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look + you; being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of + war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other + particularities. + MACMORRIS. I do not know you so good a man as myself; so + Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. + GOWER. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. + JAMY. Ah! that's a foul fault. [A parley sounded] + GOWER. The town sounds a parley. + FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity + to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know + the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Before the gates of Harfleur + +Enter the GOVERNOR and some citizens on the walls. Enter the KING +and all his train before the gates + + KING HENRY. How yet resolves the Governor of the town? + This is the latest parle we will admit; + Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves + Or, like to men proud of destruction, + Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier, + A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, + If I begin the batt'ry once again, + I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur + Till in her ashes she lie buried. + The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, + And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, + In liberty of bloody hand shall range + With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass + Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants. + What is it then to me if impious war, + Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, + Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats + Enlink'd to waste and desolation? + What is't to me when you yourselves are cause, + If your pure maidens fall into the hand + Of hot and forcing violation? + What rein can hold licentious wickednes + When down the hill he holds his fierce career? + We may as bootless spend our vain command + Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil, + As send precepts to the Leviathan + To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, + Take pity of your town and of your people + Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; + Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace + O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds + Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy. + If not- why, in a moment look to see + The blind and bloody with foul hand + Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; + Your fathers taken by the silver beards, + And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; + Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, + Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd + Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry + At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. + What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid? + Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? + GOVERNOR. Our expectation hath this day an end: + The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, + Returns us that his powers are yet not ready + To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King, + We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. + Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; + For we no longer are defensible. + KING HENRY. Open your gates. [Exit GOVERNOR] 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 will we be your guest; + To-morrow for the march are we addrest. + [Flourish. The KING and his train enter the town] + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rouen. The FRENCH KING'S palace + +Enter KATHERINE and ALICE + + KATHERINE. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le + langage. + ALICE. Un peu, madame. + KATHERINE. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'apprenne a + parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglais? + ALICE. La main? Elle est appelee de hand. + KATHERINE. 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. + KATHERINE. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que + je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglais vitement. + Comment appelez-vous les ongles? + ALICE. Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails. + KATHERINE. 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 Anglais. + KATHERINE. Dites-moi l'Anglais pour le bras. + ALICE. De arm, madame. + KATHERINE. Et le coude? + ALICE. D'elbow. + KATHERINE. D'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. + KATHERINE. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: d'hand, de fingre, de + nails, d'arma, de bilbow. + ALICE. D'elbow, madame. + KATHERINE. O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! D'elbow. + Comment appelez-vous le col? + ALICE. De nick, madame. + KATHERINE. De nick. Et le menton? + ALICE. De chin. + KATHERINE. De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin. + ALICE. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots + aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. + KATHERINE. 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? + KATHERINE. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: d'hand, de fingre, + de mails- + ALICE. De nails, madame. + KATHERINE. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. + ALICE. Sauf votre honneur, d'elbow. + KATHERINE. Ainsi dis-je; d'elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment + appelez-vous le pied et la robe? + ALICE. Le foot, madame; et le count. + KATHERINE. Le foot et le count. O Seigneur Dieu! ils 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 + count! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: + d'hand, de fingre, de nails, d'arm, d'elbow, de nick, de sin, de + foot, le count. + ALICE. Excellent, madame! + KATHERINE. C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +The FRENCH KING'S palace + +Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BRITAINE, +the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, and others + + FRENCH KING. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. + CONSTABLE. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, + Let us not live in France; let us quit an, + 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? + BRITAINE. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! + Mort Dieu, ma vie! if they march along + Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom + To buy a slobb'ry 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 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. + BRITAINE. They bid us to the English dancing-schools + And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos, + Saying our grace is only in our heels + And that we are most lofty runaways. + FRENCH KING. Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence; + Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. + Up, Princes, and, with spirit of honour edged + More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: + Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; + You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, + Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; + Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, + Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconbridge, + Foix, Lestrake, 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. + FRENCH KING. Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy, + And let him say to England that we send + To know what willing ransom he will give. + Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. + DAUPHIN. Not so, I do beseech your Majesty. + FRENCH KING. Be patient, for you shall remain with us. + Now forth, Lord Constable and Princes all, + And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +The English camp in Picardy + +Enter CAPTAINS, English and Welsh, GOWER and FLUELLEN + + 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 live, 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 bridge- I think in my + very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is + man of no estimation in the world; but I did see him do as + gallant service. + GOWER. What do you call him? + FLUELLEN. He is call'd 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 stol'n a pax, and hanged must 'a be- + A damned death! + Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free, + And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate. + But Exeter hath given the doom of death + For pax of little price. + Therefore, go speak- the Duke will hear thy voice; + And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut + With edge of penny cord and vile reproach. + Speak, Captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. + FLUELLEN. 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 utt'red as prave words at the pridge + as you shall see in a summer's day. But it is very well; what he + has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. + GOWER. Why, '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 disgrac'd, what + terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in the + phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths; and what + a beard of the General's cut and a horrid suit of the camp will + do among foaming bottles and ale-wash'd wits is wonderful to be + thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, + or else you may be marvellously mistook. + FLUELLEN. I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do perceive he is not + the man that he would gladly make show to the world he is; if I + find a hole in his coat I will tell him my mind. [Drum within] + Hark you, the King is coming; and I must speak with him from the + pridge. + + Drum and colours. Enter the KING and his poor soldiers, + and GLOUCESTER + + God pless your Majesty! + KING HENRY. How now, Fluellen! Cam'st thou from the bridge? + FLUELLEN. Ay, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very + gallantly maintain'd the pridge; the French is gone off, look + you, and there is gallant and most prave passages. Marry, th' + athversary was have possession of the pridge; but he is enforced + to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge; I can + tell your Majesty the Duke is a prave man. + KING HENRY. What men have you lost, Fluellen! + FLUELLEN. The perdition of 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. We would have all such offenders so cut off. And we + give express charge that in our marches through the country there + be nothing compell'd from the villages, nothing taken but paid + for, none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful + language; for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom the + gentler gamester is the soonest winner. + + Tucket. Enter MONTJOY + + MONTJOY. You know me by my habit. + KING HENRY. Well then, I know thee; what shall I know of thee? + MONTJOY. My master's mind. + KING HENRY. Unfold it. + MONTJOY. Thus says my king. Say thou to Harry of England: Though we + seem'd dead we did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than + rashness. Tell him we could have rebuk'd him at Harfleur, but + that we thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full + ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial: + England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our + sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his ransom, which must + proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, + the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his + pettiness would bow under. For our losses his exchequer is too + poor; for th' effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom + too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person kneeling + at our feet but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add + defiance; and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his + followers, whose condemnation is pronounc'd. So far my king and + master; so much my office. + KING HENRY. What is thy name? I know thy quality. + MONTJOY. Montjoy. + KING HENRY. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, + And tell thy king I do not seek him now, + But could be willing to march on to Calais + Without impeachment; for, to say the sooth- + Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much + Unto an enemy of craft and vantage- + My people are with sickness much enfeebled; + My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have + Almost no better than so many French; + Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, + I thought upon one pair of English legs + Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God, + That I do brag thus; this your air of France + Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. + Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am; + My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk; + My army but a weak and sickly guard; + Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, + Though France himself and such another neighbour + Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. + Go, bid thy master well advise himself. + If we may pass, we will; if we be hind'red, + We shall your tawny ground with your red blood + Discolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well. + The sum of all our answer is but this: + We would not seek a battle as we are; + Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it. + So tell your master. + MONTJOY. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness. Exit + GLOUCESTER. I hope they will not come upon us now. + KING HENRY. We are in God's 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 + + + + +SCENE VII. +The French camp near Agincourt + +Enter the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, the LORD RAMBURES, the DUKE OF ORLEANS, +the 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 compos'd to my courser; + for my horse is my mistress. + ORLEANS. Your mistress bears well. + DAUPHIN. Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a + good and particular mistress. + CONSTABLE. Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly + shook your back. + DAUPHIN. So perhaps did yours. + CONSTABLE. Mine was not bridled. + DAUPHIN. O, then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode like a + kern of Ireland, your French hose off and in your strait + strossers. + CONSTABLE. You have good judgment in horsemanship. + DAUPHIN. Be warn'd by me, then: they that ride so, and ride not + warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my + mistress. + CONSTABLE. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. + DAUPHIN. I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair. + CONSTABLE. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to + my mistress. + DAUPHIN. 'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et la + truie lavee au bourbier.' Thou mak'st use of anything. + CONSTABLE. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such + proverb so little kin to the purpose. + RAMBURES. My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent + 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. Ev'n 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 fac'd out of my + way; but I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the + ears of the English. + RAMBURES. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners? + CONSTABLE. You must first go yourself to hazard ere you have them. + DAUPHIN. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself. Exit + ORLEANS. The Dauphin longs for morning. + RAMBURES. He longs to eat the English. + CONSTABLE. I think he will eat all he kills. + ORLEANS. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince. + CONSTABLE. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. + ORLEANS. He is simply the most active gentleman of France. + CONSTABLE. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing. + ORLEANS. He never did harm that I heard of. + CONSTABLE. Nor will do none 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 car'd not + who knew it. + ORLEANS. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him. + CONSTABLE. By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but + his lackey. + 'Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate. + ORLEANS. Ill-wind never said well. + CONSTABLE. I will cap that proverb with 'There is flattery in + friendship.' + ORLEANS. And I will take up that with 'Give the devil his due.' + CONSTABLE. Well plac'd! There stands your friend for the devil; + have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A pox of the devil!' + ORLEANS. You are the better at proverbs by how much 'A fool's bolt + is soon shot.' + CONSTABLE. You have shot over. + ORLEANS. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen + hundred paces of your tents. + CONSTABLE. Who hath measur'd the ground? + MESSENGER. The Lord 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-brain'd followers so far out of his + knowledge! + CONSTABLE. If the English had any apprehension, they would run + away. + ORLEANS. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual + armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces. + RAMBURES. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; + their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. + ORLEANS. Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian + bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten apples! You may as + well say that's a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the + lip of a lion. + CONSTABLE. Just, just! and the men do sympathise 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 fix'd sentinels almost receive + The secret whispers of each other's watch. + Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames + Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; + Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs + Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents + The armourers accomplishing the knights, + With busy hammers closing rivets up, + Give dreadful note of preparation. + The country cocks do crow, the clocks do ton, + 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-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, + The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, + Minding true things by what their mock'ries be. Exit + + + + +SCENE I. +France. The English camp at Agincourt + +Enter the KING, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER + + KING HENRY. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger; + The greater therefore should our courage be. + Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty! + There is some soul of goodness in things evil, + Would men observingly distil it out; + For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, + Which is both healthful and good husbandry. + Besides, they are our outward consciences + And preachers to us all, admonishing + That we should dress us fairly for our end. + Thus may we gather honey from the weed, + And make a moral of the devil himself. + + Enter ERPINGHAM + + Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: + A good soft pillow for that good white head + Were better than a churlish turf of France. + ERPINGHAM. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better, + Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.' + KING HENRY. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains + Upon example; so the spirit is eased; + And when the mind is quick'ned, out of doubt + The organs, though defunct and dead before, + Break up their drowsy grave and newly move + With casted slough and fresh legerity. + Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, + Commend me to the princes in our camp; + Do my good morrow to them, and anon + Desire them all to my pavilion. + GLOUCESTER. We shall, my liege. + ERPINGHAM. Shall I attend your Grace? + KING HENRY. No, my good knight: + Go with my brothers to my lords of England; + I and my bosom must debate awhile, + And then I would no other company. + ERPINGHAM. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! + Exeunt all but the KING + KING HENRY. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully. + + Enter PISTOL + + PISTOL. Qui va la? + KING HENRY. A friend. + PISTOL. Discuss unto me: art thou officer, + Or art thou base, common, and popular? + KING HENRY. I am a gentleman of a company. + PISTOL. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? + KING HENRY. Even so. What are you? + PISTOL. As good a gentleman as the Emperor. + KING HENRY. Then you are a better than the King. + PISTOL. The King's a bawcock and a heart of gold, + A lad of life, an imp of fame; + Of parents good, of fist most valiant. + I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string + I love the lovely bully. What is thy name? + KING HENRY. Harry le Roy. + PISTOL. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish crew? + KING HENRY. No, I am a Welshman. + PISTOL. Know'st thou Fluellen? + KING HENRY. Yes. + PISTOL. Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate + Upon Saint Davy's day. + KING HENRY. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest + he knock that about yours. + PISTOL. Art thou his friend? + KING HENRY. And his kinsman too. + PISTOL. The figo for thee, then! + KING HENRY. I thank you; God be with you! + PISTOL. My name is Pistol call'd. Exit + KING HENRY. It sorts well with your fierceness. + + Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER + + GOWER. Captain Fluellen! + FLUELLEN. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer. It is the + greatest admiration in 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-taddle nor + pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find the + ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, + and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. + GOWER. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night. + FLUELLEN. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating + coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be + an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb? In your own + conscience, now? + GOWER. I will speak lower. + FLUELLEN. I pray you and beseech you that you will. + Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN + KING HENRY. Though it appear a little out of fashion, + There is much care and valour in this Welshman. + + Enter three soldiers: JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT, + and MICHAEL WILLIAMS + + COURT. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks + yonder? + BATES. I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the + approach of day. + WILLIAMS. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we + shall never see the end of it. Who goes there? + KING HENRY. A friend. + WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you? + KING HENRY. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. + WILLIAMS. A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray + you, what thinks he of our estate? + KING HENRY. Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that look to be wash'd + off the next tide. + BATES. He hath not told his thought to the King? + KING HENRY. No; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it + to you, I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells + to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to + me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid + by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his + affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, + they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees reason of + fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish + as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any + appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his + army. + BATES. He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as + cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the + neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so + we were quit here. + KING HENRY. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I + think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is. + BATES. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be + ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved. + KING HENRY. I dare say you love him not so ill to wish him here + alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds; + methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the King's + company, his cause being just and his quarrel honourable. + WILLIAMS. That's more than we know. + BATES. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough if + we know we are the King's subjects. If his cause be wrong, our + obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us. + WILLIAMS. But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a + heavy reckoning to make when all those legs and arms and heads, + chopp'd off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day + and cry all 'We died at such a place'- some swearing, some crying + for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some + upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I + am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how + can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their + argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black + matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were + against all proportion of subjection. + KING HENRY. So, if a son that is by his father sent about + merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of + his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father + that sent him; or if a servant, under his master's command + transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in + many irreconcil'd iniquities, you may call the business of the + master the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not so: + the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his + soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; + for they purpose not their death when they purpose their + services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so + spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out + with all unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them the + guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling + virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars + their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace + with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law + and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men they + have no wings to fly from God: war is His beadle, war is His + vengeance; so that here men are punish'd for before-breach of the + King's laws in now the King's quarrel. Where they feared the + death they have borne life away; and where they would be safe + they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King + guilty of their damnation than he was before guilty of those + impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's + duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own. + Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man + in his bed- wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so, + death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly + lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes + it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He + let him outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach + others how they should prepare. + WILLIAMS. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his + own head- the King is not to answer for it. + BATES. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine + to fight lustily for him. + KING HENRY. I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom'd. + WILLIAMS. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our + throats are cut he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser. + KING HENRY. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. + WILLIAMS. You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an + elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a + monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with + fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust + his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying. + KING HENRY. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry + with you, if the time were convenient. + WILLIAMS. Let it be a quarrel between us if you live. + KING HENRY. I embrace it. + WILLIAMS. How shall I know thee again? + KING HENRY. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my + bonnet; then if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make it + my quarrel. + WILLIAMS. Here's my glove; give me another of thine. + KING HENRY. There. + WILLIAMS. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to me + and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,' by this hand I will + take thee a box on the ear. + KING HENRY. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. + WILLIAMS. Thou dar'st as well be hang'd. + KING HENRY. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's + company. + WILLIAMS. Keep thy word. Fare thee well. + BATES. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have + French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon. + KING HENRY. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one + they will beat us, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it + is no English treason to cut French crowns, and 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 idol Ceremony? + What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more + Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? + What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in? + O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! + What is thy soul of adoration? + Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, + Creating awe and fear in other men? + Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd + Than they in fearing. + What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, + But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, + And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! + Thinks 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 tide 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 Pheebus, 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. Good old knight, + Collect them all together at my tent: + I'll be before thee. + ERPINGHAM. I shall do't, my lord. Exit + KING. O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts, + Possess them not with fear! Take from them now + The sense of reck'ning, if th' 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 new, + And on it have bestowed more contrite tears + Than from it issued forced drops of blood; + Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, + Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up + Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built + Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests + Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; + Though all that I can do is nothing worth, + Since that my penitence comes after all, + Imploring pardon. + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. My liege! + KING HENRY. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; + I know thy errand, I will go with thee; + The day, my friends, and all things, stay for me. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The French camp + +Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others + + ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! + DAUPHIN. 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 le 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 a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. The English are embattl'd, you French peers. + CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant Princes! straight to horse! + Do but behold yon poor and starved band, + And your fair show shall suck away their souls, + Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. + There is not work enough for all our hands; + Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins + To give each naked curtle-axe a stain + That our French gallants shall 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? + Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, + Ill-favouredly become the morning field; + Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, + And our air shakes them passing scornfully; + Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, + And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. + The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks + With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades + Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips, + The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, + And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal'd bit + Lies foul with chaw'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 + + + + +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 bye 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 fram'd of the firm truth of valour. + Exit SALISBURY + BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness; + Princely in both. + + Enter the KING + + WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here + But one ten thousand of those men in England + That do no work to-day! + KING. 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 call'd the feast of Crispian. + He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, + Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, + 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 Crispian's day.' + Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, + But he'll remember, with advantages, + What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, + Familiar in his mouth as household words- + Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, + Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- + Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. + This story shall the good man teach his son; + And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, + From this day to the ending of the world, + But we in it shall be remembered- + We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; + For he 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 accurs'd 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. All things are ready, if our minds be so. + WESTMORELAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now! + KING HENRY. 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. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; + Which likes me better than to wish us one. + You know your places. God be with you all! + + Tucket. Enter MONTJOY + + MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, + If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, + Before thy most assured overthrow; + For certainly thou art so near the gulf + Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, + The constable desires thee thou wilt mind + Thy followers of repentance, that their souls + May make a peaceful and a sweet retire + From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies + Must lie and fester. + KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now? + MONTJOY. The Constable of France. + KING HENRY. I pray thee bear my former answer back: + Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. + Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? + The man that once did sell the lion's skin + While the beast liv'd was kill'd with hunting him. + A many of our bodies shall no doubt + Find native graves; upon the which, I trust, + Shall witness live in brass of this day's work. + And those that leave their valiant bones in France, + Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, + They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them + And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, + Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, + The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. + Mark then abounding valour in our English, + That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing + Break out into a second course of mischief, + Killing in relapse of mortality. + Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable + We are but warriors for the working-day; + Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd + With rainy marching in the painful field; + There's not a piece of feather in our host- + Good argument, I hope, we will not fly- + And time hath worn us into slovenry. + But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; + And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night + They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck + The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads + And turn them out of service. If they do this- + As, if God please, they shall- my ransom then + Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; + Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald; + They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; + Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them, + Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. + MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well: + Thou never shalt hear herald any more. Exit + KING HENRY. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom. + + Enter the DUKE OF YORK + + YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg + The leading of the vaward. + KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away; + And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The field of battle + +Alarum. Excursions. Enter FRENCH SOLDIER, PISTOL, and BOY + + PISTOL. Yield, cur! + FRENCH SOLDIER. Je pense que vous etes le gentilhomme de bonne + qualite. + PISTOL. Cality! Calen o 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 a 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, neamnoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il + est content a 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 fall'n 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. Exit + BOY. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. Exit 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' th' old play, that every one may pare his nails with a + wooden dagger; and they are both hang'd; and so would this be, if + he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the + lackeys, with the luggage of our camp. The French might have a + good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it + but boys. Exit + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the field of battle + +Enter CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES + + CONSTABLE. O diable! + ORLEANS. O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu! + DAUPHIN. Mort Dieu, ma vie! all is confounded, all! + Reproach and everlasting shame + Sits mocking in our plumes. [A short alarum] + O mechante fortune! Do not run away. + CONSTABLE. Why, an 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 gender 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 + + + + +SCENE VI. +Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter the KING and his train, with prisoners; EXETER, and others + + KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen; + But all's not done- yet keep the French the field. + EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty. + KING HENRY. Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour + I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting; + From helmet to the spur all blood he was. + EXETER. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie + Larding the plain; and by his bloody side, + Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, + The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. + Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, + Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, + And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes + That bloodily did yawn upon his face, + He cries aloud 'Tarry, my cousin Suffolk. + My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; + Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast; + As in this glorious and well-foughten field + We kept together in our chivalry.' + Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up; + He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, + And, with a feeble grip, says 'Dear my lord, + Commend my service to my sovereign.' + So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck + He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips; + And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd + A testament of noble-ending love. + The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd + Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd; + But I had not so much of man in me, + And all my mother came into mine eyes + And gave me up to tears. + KING HENRY. I blame you not; + For, hearing this, I must perforce compound + With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. [Alarum] + But hark! what new alarum is this same? + The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men. + Then every soldier kill his prisoners; + Give the word through. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +Another part of the field + +Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER + + FLUELLEN. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'Tis expressly against the + law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as + can be offert; in your conscience, now, is it not? + GOWER. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly + rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this slaughter; + besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the + King's tent; wherefore the King most worthily hath caus'd every + soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant King! + FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you + the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born? + GOWER. Alexander the Great. + FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not 'pig' great? The pig, or great, + or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one + reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. + GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his father + was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it. + FLUELLEN. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell + you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you + sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that + the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in + Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is + call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the + name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my + fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you + mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come + after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. + Alexander- God knows, and you know- in his rages, and his furies, + and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his + displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little + intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look + you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. + GOWER. Our king is not like him in that: he never kill'd any of his + friends. + FLUELLEN. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out + of my mouth ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the + figures and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend + Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth, + being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the + fat knight with the great belly doublet; he was full of jests, + and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. + GOWER. Sir John Falstaff. + FLUELLEN. That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at + Monmouth. + GOWER. Here comes his Majesty. + + Alarum. Enter the KING, WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, + EXETER, and others, with prisoners. Flourish + + KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France + Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald, + Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill; + If they will fight with us, bid them come down + Or void the field; they do offend our sight. + If they'll do neither, we will come to them + And make them skirr away as swift as stones + Enforced from the old Assyrian slings; + Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have, + And not a man of them that we shall take + Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. + + Enter MONTJOY + + EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. + GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. + KING HENRY. How now! What means this, herald? know'st thou not + That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom? + Com'st thou again for ransom? + MONTJOY. No, great King; + I come to thee for charitable licence, + That we may wander o'er this bloody field + To book our dead, and then to bury them; + To sort our nobles from our common men; + For many of our princes- woe the while!- + Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; + So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs + In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds + Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage + Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, + Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King, + To view the field in safety, and dispose + Of their dead bodies! + KING HENRY. I tell thee truly, herald, + I know not if the day be ours or no; + For yet a many of your horsemen peer + And gallop o'er the field. + MONTJOY. The day is yours. + KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it! + What is this castle call'd that stands hard by? + MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt. + KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, + Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. + FLUELLEN. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your + Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, + as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here + in France. + KING HENRY. They did, Fluellen. + FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true; if your Majesties is + rememb'red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where + leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your + Majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; + and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek + upon Saint Tavy's day. + KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour; + For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. + FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh + plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and + preserve it as long as it pleases his Grace and his Majesty too! + KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman. + FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, care not who + know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not be + asham'd of your Majesty, praised be Got, so long as your Majesty + is an honest man. + + Enter WILLIAMS + + KING HENRY. 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. + Exeunt heralds with MONTJOY + EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King. + KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap? + WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I + should fight withal, if he be alive. + KING HENRY. An Englishman? + WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd with me + last night; who, if 'a live 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. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this + soldier keep his oath? + FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your + Majesty, in my conscience. + KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite + from the answer of his degree. + FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the Devil is, as + Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, + that he keep his vow and his oath; if he be perjur'd, see you + now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce as + ever his black shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my + conscience, la. + KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the + fellow. + WILLIAMS. So I Will, my liege, as I live. + KING HENRY. Who serv'st thou under? + WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege. + FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and + literatured in the wars. + KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier. + WILLIAMS. I will, my liege. Exit + KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick + it in thy cap; when Alencon and myself were down together, I + pluck'd 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 does me as great honours as can be desir'd in + the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man that has but + two legs that shall find himself aggrief'd at this glove, that is + all; but I would fain see it once, an please God of his grace + that I might see. + KING HENRY. Know'st thou Gower? + FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you. + KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent. + FLUELLEN. I will fetch him. Exit + KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick and my brother Gloucester, + Follow Fluellen closely at the heels; + The glove which I have given him for a favour + May haply purchase him a box o' 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 touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, + And quickly will return an injury; + Follow, and see there be no harm between them. + Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VIII. +Before KING HENRY'S PAVILION + +Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS + + WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain. + + Enter FLUELLEN + + FLUELLEN. God's will and his pleasure, Captain, I beseech you now, + come apace to the King: there is more good toward you + peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of. + WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove? + FLUELLEN. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove. + WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it. [Strikes him] + FLUELLEN. 'Sblood, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal + world, or in France, or in England! + GOWER. How now, sir! you villain! + WILLIAMS. Do you think I'll be forsworn? + FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his + payment into plows, I warrant you. + WILLIAMS. I am no traitor. + FLUELLEN. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's + name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the Duke 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 the KING and EXETER + + KING HENRY. How now! what's the matter? + FLUELLEN. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look + your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out + of the helmet of Alencon. + WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove: here is the fellow of it; + and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his + cap; I promis'd to strike him if he did; I met this man with my + glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. + FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood, + what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is; I hope + your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will + avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your Majesty + is give me; in your conscience, now. + KING HENRY. Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the fellow of + it. + 'Twas I, indeed, thou 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. How canst thou make me satisfaction? + WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart; never came + any from mine that might offend your Majesty. + KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse. + WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself: you appear'd to me + but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your + lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape I + beseech you take it for your own fault, and not mine; for had you + been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech + your Highness pardon me. + KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, + And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; + And wear it for an honour in thy cap + Till I do challenge it. Give him 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 God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and + quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better + for you. + WILLIAMS. I will none of your money. + FLUELLEN. It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve you + to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? + Your shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or + I will change it. + + Enter an ENGLISH HERALD + + KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numb'red? + HERALD. Here is the number of the slaught'red French. + [Gives a paper] + KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle? + EXETER. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King; + John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt; + Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, + Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. + KING HENRY. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French + That in the field lie slain; of princes in this number, + And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead + One hundred twenty-six; added to these, + Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, + Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which + Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights. + So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, + There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; + The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, + And gentlemen of blood and quality. + The names of those their nobles that lie dead: + Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; + 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; Antony Duke of Brabant, + The brother to the Duke of Burgundy; + And Edward Duke of Bar. Of lusty earls, + Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix, + Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake. + Here was a royal fellowship of death! + Where is the number of our English dead? + [HERALD presents another paper] + Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, + Sir Richard Kikely, 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 los + On one part and on th' other? Take it, God, + For it is none but thine. + EXETER. 'Tis wonderful! + KING HENRY. Come, go we in procession to the village; + And be it death proclaimed through our host + To boast of this or take that praise from God + Which is his only. + FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how + many is kill'd? + KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment, + That God fought for us. + FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good. + KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites: + Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum'; + The dead with charity enclos'd in clay- + And then to Calais; and to England then; + Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 th' excuse + Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, + Which cannot in their huge and proper life + Be here presented. Now we bear the King + Toward Calais. Grant him there. There seen, + Heave him away upon your winged thoughts + Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach + Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, + Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, + Which, like a mighty whiffler, fore the King + Seems to prepare his way. So let him land, + And solemnly see him set on to London. + So swift a pace hath thought that even now + You may imagine him upon Blackheath; + Where that his lords desire him to have borne + His bruised helmet and his bended sword + Before him through the city. He forbids it, + Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; + Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, + Quite from himself to God. But now behold + In the quick forge and working-house of thought, + How London doth pour out her citizens! + The mayor and all his brethren in best sort- + Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, + With the plebeians swarming at their heels- + Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Caesar in; + As, by a lower but loving likelihood, + Were now the General of our gracious Empress- + As in good time he may- from Ireland coming, + Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, + How many would the peaceful city quit + To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause, + Did they this Harry. Now in London place him- + As yet the lamentation of the French + Invites the King of England's stay at home; + The Emperor's coming in behalf of France + To order peace between them; and omit + All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, + Till Harry's back-return again to France. + There must we bring him; and myself have play'd + The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past. + Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance, + After your thoughts, straight back again to France. Exit + + + + +SCENE I. +France. The English camp + +Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER + + GOWER. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint + Davy's day is past. + FLUELLEN. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all + things. I will tell you, ass my friend, Captain Gower: the + rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol- which + you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a + fellow, look you now, of no merits- he is come to me, and prings + me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek; it + was in a place where I could not breed no contendon 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 Troyan, + 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, does not + agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. + PISTOL. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. + FLUELLEN. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him] Will you be so + good, scald knave, as eat it? + PISTOL. Base Troyan, thou shalt die. + FLUELLEN. You say very true, scald knave- when God's will is. I + will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals; + come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again] You call'd 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 astonish'd him. + FLUELLEN. I say I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will + peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you, it is good for your + green wound and your ploody coxcomb. + PISTOL. Must I bite? + FLUELLEN. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of question + too, and ambiguides. + PISTOL. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge- I eat and eat, + I swear- + FLUELLEN. Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sauce to your + leek? There is not enough leek to swear by. + PISTOL. Quiet thy cudgel: thou dost see I eat. + FLUELLEN. Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you + throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When + you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at + 'em; that is all. + PISTOL. Good. + FLUELLEN. Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal + your pate. + PISTOL. Me a groat! + FLUELLEN. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I have + another leek in my pocket which you shall eat. + PISTOL. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. + FLUELLEN. If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels; you + shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God bye + you, and keep you, and heal your pate. + Exit + PISTOL. All hell shall stir for this. + GOWER. Go, go: you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock + at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and + worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not + avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking + and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, + because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could + not therefore handle an English cudgel; you find it otherwise, + and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English + condition. Fare ye well. Exit + PISTOL. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now? + News have I that my Nell is dead i' th' spital + Of malady of France; + And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. + Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs + Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn, + And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. + To England will I steal, and there I'll steal; + And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars, + And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +France. The FRENCH KING'S palace + +Enter at one door, KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, +WESTMORELAND, and other LORDS; at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, +the PRINCESS KATHERINE, ALICE, and other LADIES; the DUKE OF BURGUNDY, +and his train + + KING HENRY. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met! + Unto our brother France, and to our sister, + Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes + To our most fair and princely cousin Katherine. + And, as a branch and member of this royalty, + By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, + We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy. + And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! + FRENCH KING. Right joyous are we to behold your face, + Most worthy brother England; fairly met! + So are you, princes English, every one. + QUEEN ISABEL. So happy be the issue, brother England, + Of this good day and of this gracious meeting + As we are now glad to behold your eyes- + Your eyes, which hitherto have home in them, + Against the French that met them in their bent, + The fatal balls of murdering basilisks; + The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, + Have lost their quality; and that this day + Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. + KING HENRY. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. + QUEEN ISABEL. You English princes an, I do salute you. + BURGUNDY. My duty to you both, on equal love, + Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd + With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, + To bring your most imperial Majesties + Unto this bar and royal interview, + Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. + Since then my office hath so far prevail'd + That face to face and royal eye to eye + You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me + If I demand, before this royal view, + What rub or what impediment there is + Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, + Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, + Should not in this best garden of the world, + Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? + Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd! + And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, + Corrupting in it own fertility. + Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, + Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd, + Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, + Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas + The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, + Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts + That should deracinate such savagery; + The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth + The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, + Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, + Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems + But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, + Losing both beauty and utility. + And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, + Defective in their natures, grow to wildness; + Even so our houses and ourselves and children + Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, + The sciences that should become our country; + But grow, like savages- as soldiers will, + That nothing do but meditate on blood- + To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire, + And everything that seems unnatural. + Which to reduce into our former favout + You are assembled; and my speech entreats + That I may know the let why gentle Peace + Should not expel these inconveniences + And bless us with her former qualities. + KING HENRY. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace + Whose want gives growth to th' imperfections + Which you have cited, you must buy that peace + With full accord to all our just demands; + Whose tenours and particular effects + You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. + BURGUNDY. The King hath heard them; to the which as yet + There is no answer made. + KING HENRY. Well then, the peace, + Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. + FRENCH KING. I have but with a cursorary eye + O'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. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, + And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester, + Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King; + And take with you free power to ratify, + Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best + Shall see advantageable for our dignity, + 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 urg'd be stood on. + KING HENRY. Yet leave our cousin Katherine here with us; + She is our capital demand, compris'd + Within the fore-rank of our articles. + QUEEN ISABEL. She hath good leave. + Exeunt all but the KING, KATHERINE, and ALICE + KING HENRY. Fair Katherine, 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? + KATHERINE. Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England. + KING HENRY. O fair Katherine, 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? + KATHERINE. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is like me. + KING HENRY. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel. + KATHERINE. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges? + ALICE. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il. + KING HENRY. I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not blush to + affirm it. + KATHERINE. O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de + tromperies. + KING HENRY. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are + full of deceits? + ALICE. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits- dat is + de Princess. + KING HENRY. The Princess is the better English-woman. 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? + KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, me understand well. + KING HENRY. Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for + your sake, Kate, why you undid me; for the one I have neither + words nor measure, and for the other I have no strength in + measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a + lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour + on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I + should quickly leap into 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 cloquence, nor I have no + cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use + till urg'd, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a + fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, + that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, + let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou + canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I + shall die is true- but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love + thee too. And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of + plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, + because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these + fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into + ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. + What! a speaker is but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good + leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will + turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will + wither; a full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart, Kate, is + the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon- for + it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. + If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a + soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say'st thou, then, + to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. + KATHERINE. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France? + KING HENRY. No, it is not possible you should love the enemy of + France, Kate, but in loving me you should love the friend of + France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a + village of it; I will have it all mine. And, Kate, when France is + mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine. + KATHERINE. I cannot tell vat is dat. + KING HENRY. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, which I am sure + will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her + husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le + possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi- + let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!- donc votre est + France et vous 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. + KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, le Francais que vous parlez, il est + meilleur que l'Anglais lequel je parle. + KING HENRY. No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my + tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to + be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much + English- Canst thou love me? + KATHERINE. I cannot tell. + KING HENRY. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them. + Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into + your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I + know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you + love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the + rather, gentle Princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever + thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells + me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore + needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between + Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half + English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the + beard? Shall we not? What say'st thou, my fair flower-de-luce? + KATHERINE. I do not know dat. + KING HENRY. No: 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise; do but + now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of + such a boy; and for my English moiety take the word of a king and + a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon + tres cher et divin deesse? + KATHERINE. Your Majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de + most sage damoiselle dat is en France. + KING HENRY. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true + English, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou + lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, + notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now + beshrew my father's ambition! He was thinking of civil wars when + he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with + an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies I fright them. + But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: + my comfort is, that old age, that in 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 Katherine, will you have + me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your + heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand and say + 'Harry of England, I am thine.' Which word thou shalt no sooner + bless mine ear withal but I will tell thee aloud 'England is + thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet + is thine'; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not + fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good + fellows. Come, your answer in broken music- for thy voice is + music and thy English broken; therefore, Queen of all, Katherine, + break thy mind to me in broken English, wilt thou have me? + KATHERINE. Dat is as it shall please de roi mon pere. + KING HENRY. Nay, it will please him well, Kate- it shall please + him, Kate. + KATHERINE. Den it sall also content me. + KING HENRY. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I can you my queen. + KATHERINE. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne + veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main + d'une, notre seigneur, indigne serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous + supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur. + KING HENRY. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. + KATHERINE. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur + noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France. + KING HENRY. Madame my interpreter, what says she? + ALICE. Dat it is not be de fashion pour le ladies of France- I + cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish. + KING HENRY. To kiss. + ALICE. Your Majestee entendre bettre que moi. + KING HENRY. It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss + before they are married, would she say? + ALICE. Oui, vraiment. + KING HENRY. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, + you and I cannot be confin'd 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 Henry of England + than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. + + Enter the FRENCH POWER and the ENGLISH LORDS + + BURGUNDY. God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, + Teach you our princess English? + KING HENRY. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I + love her; and that is good English. + BURGUNDY. Is she not apt? + KING HENRY. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not + smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of + flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in + her that he will appear in his true likeness. + BURGUNDY. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for + that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if + conjure up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked + and blind. Can you blame her, then, being a maid yet ros'd over + with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of + a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a + hard condition for a maid to consign to. + KING HENRY. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and + enforces. + BURGUNDY. They are then excus'd, my lord, when they see not what + they do. + KING HENRY. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent + winking. + BURGUNDY. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach + her to know my meaning; for maids well summer'd and warm kept are + like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their + eyes; and then they will endure handling, which before would not + abide looking on. + KING HENRY. This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and + so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she + must be blind too. + BURGUNDY. As love is, my lord, before it loves. + KING HENRY. It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my + blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city for one fair + French maid that stands in my way. + FRENCH KING. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities + turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls + that war hath never ent'red. + KING HENRY. Shall Kate be my wife? + FRENCH KING. So please you. + KING HENRY. I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait + on her; so the maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show + me the way to my will. + FRENCH KING. We have consented to all terms of reason. + KING HENRY. Is't so, my lords of England? + 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 tres cher + 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 our request shall make me let it pass. + KING HENRY. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance, + Let that one article rank with the rest; + And thereupon give me your daughter. + FRENCH KING. Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up + Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms + Of France and England, whose very shores look pale + With envy of each other's happiness, + May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction + Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord + In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance + His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. + LORDS. Amen! + KING HENRY. Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all, + That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Floulish] + QUEEN ISABEL. God, the best maker of all marriages, + Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! + As man and wife, being two, are one in love, + So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal + That never may ill office or fell jealousy, + Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, + Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, + To make divorce of their incorporate league; + That English may as French, French Englishmen, + Receive each other. God speak this Amen! + ALL. Amen! + KING HENRY. Prepare we for our marriage; on which day, + My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, + And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. + Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me, + And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be! + Sennet. Exeunt + +EPILOGUE + EPILOGUE. + + Enter CHORUS + + CHORUS. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, + Our bending author hath pursu'd the story, + In little room confining mighty men, + Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. + Small time, but, in that small, most greatly lived + This star of England. Fortune made his sword; + By which the world's best garden he achieved, + And of it left his son imperial lord. + Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king + Of France and England, did this king succeed; + Whose state so many had the managing + That they lost France and made his England bleed; + Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, + In your fair minds let this acceptance take. Exit + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1592 + +THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH + +by William Shakespeare + + +Dramatis Personae + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector + DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France + THOMAS BEAUFORT, DUKE OF EXETER, great-uncle to the king + HENRY BEAUFORT, great-uncle to the King, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, + and afterwards CARDINAL + JOHN BEAUFORT, EARL OF SOMERSET, afterwards Duke + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, + afterwards DUKE OF YORK + EARL OF WARWICK + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL OF SUFFOLK + LORD TALBOT, afterwards EARL OF SHREWSBURY + JOHN TALBOT, his son + EDMUND MORTIMER, EARL OF MARCH + SIR JOHN FASTOLFE + SIR WILLIAM LUCY + SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE + SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE + MAYOR of LONDON + WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower + VERNON, of the White Rose or York faction + BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction + A LAWYER + GAOLERS, to Mortimer + CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France + REIGNIER, DUKE OF ANJOU, and titular King of Naples + DUKE OF BURGUNDY + DUKE OF ALENCON + BASTARD OF ORLEANS + GOVERNOR OF PARIS + MASTER-GUNNER OF ORLEANS, and his SON + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH FORCES in Bordeaux + A FRENCH SERGEANT + A PORTER + AN OLD SHEPHERD, father to Joan la Pucelle + MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to + King Henry + COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE + JOAN LA PUCELLE, Commonly called JOAN OF ARC + + Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, + Messengers, English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing + to La Pucelle + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +England and France + + + + +The First Part of King Henry the Sixth + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +Westminster Abbey + +Dead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH, +attended on by the DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France, +the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, Protector, the DUKE OF EXETER, +the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER + + BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to + night! Comets, importing change of times and states, + Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky + And with them scourge the bad revolting stars + That have consented unto Henry's death! + King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! + England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. + GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time. + Virtue he had, deserving to command; + His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; + His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; + His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, + More dazzled and drove back his enemies + Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. + What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech: + He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. + EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood? + Henry is dead and never shall revive. + Upon a wooden coffin we attend; + And death's dishonourable victory + We with our stately presence glorify, + Like captives bound to a triumphant car. + What! shall we curse the planets of mishap + That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? + Or shall we think the subtle-witted French + Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, + By magic verses have contriv'd his end? + WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings; + Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day + So dreadful will not be as was his sight. + The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought; + The Church's prayers made him so prosperous. + GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen + pray'd, + His thread of life had not so soon decay'd. + None do you like but an effeminate prince, + Whom like a school-boy you may overawe. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art + Protector + And lookest to command the Prince and realm. + Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe + More than God or religious churchmen may. + GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; + And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, + Except it be to pray against thy foes. + BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace; + Let's to the altar. Heralds, wait on us. + Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms, + Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. + Posterity, await for wretched years, + When at their mothers' moist'ned eyes babes shall suck, + Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, + And none but women left to wail the dead. + HENRY the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: + Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, + Combat with adverse planets in the heavens. + A far more glorious star thy soul will make + Than Julius Caesar or bright + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all! + Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, + Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: + Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, + Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. + BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? + Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns + Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. + GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up? + If Henry were recall'd to life again, + These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. + EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd? + MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money. + Amongst the soldiers this is muttered + That here you maintain several factions; + And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, + You are disputing of your generals: + One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost; + Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; + A third thinks, without expense at all, + By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. + Awake, awake, English nobility! + Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot. + Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; + Of England's coat one half is cut away. + EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, + These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. + BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France. + Give me my steeled coat; I'll fight for France. + Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! + Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, + To weep their intermissive miseries. + + Enter a second MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad + mischance. + France is revolted from the English quite, + Except some petty towns of no import. + The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; + The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; + Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; + The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. + EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! + O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? + GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats. + Bedford, if thou be slack I'll fight it out. + BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? + An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, + Wherewith already France is overrun. + + Enter a third MESSENGER + + THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your + laments, + Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, + I must inform you of a dismal fight + Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. + WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is't so? + THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was + o'erthrown. + The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. + The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, + Retiring from the siege of Orleans, + Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, + By three and twenty thousand of the French + Was round encompassed and set upon. + No leisure had he to enrank his men; + He wanted pikes to set before his archers; + Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges + They pitched in the ground confusedly + To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. + More than three hours the fight continued; + Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, + Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: + Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; + Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he slew + The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms; + All the whole army stood agaz'd on him. + His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, + 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' cried out amain, + And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. + Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up + If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward. + He, being in the vaward plac'd behind + With purpose to relieve and follow them- + Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke; + Hence grew the general wreck and massacre. + Enclosed were they with their enemies. + A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, + Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; + Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, + Durst not presume to look once in the face. + BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself, + For living idly here in pomp and ease, + Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, + Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. + THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner, + And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford; + Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. + BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay. + I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne; + His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; + Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. + Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; + Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make + To keep our great Saint George's feast withal. + Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, + Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake. + THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; + The English army is grown weak and faint; + The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply + And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, + Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. + EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, + Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, + Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. + BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave + To go about my preparation. Exit + GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can + To view th' artillery and munition; + And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit + EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is, + Being ordain'd his special governor; + And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit + WINCHESTER. [Aside] Each hath his place and function to + attend: + I am left out; for me nothing remains. + But long I will not be Jack out of office. + The King from Eltham I intend to steal, + And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Orleans + + Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON, + and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers + + CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens + So in the earth, to this day is not known. + Late did he shine upon the English side; + Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. + What towns of any moment but we have? + At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; + Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, + Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. + ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull + beeves. + Either they must be dieted like mules + And have their provender tied to their mouths, + Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. + REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here? + Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear; + Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, + And he may well in fretting spend his gall + Nor men nor money hath he to make war. + CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them. + Now for the honour of the forlorn French! + Him I forgive my death that killeth me, + When he sees me go back one foot or flee. Exeunt + + Here alarum. They are beaten hack by the English, with + great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER + + CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I! + Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled + But that they left me midst my enemies. + REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; + He fighteth as one weary of his life. + The other lords, like lions wanting food, + Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. + ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records + England all Olivers and Rowlands bred + During the time Edward the Third did reign. + More truly now may this be verified; + For none but Samsons and Goliases + It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! + Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose + They had such courage and audacity? + CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd + slaves, + And hunger will enforce them to be more eager. + Of old I know them; rather with their teeth + The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. + REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device + Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on; + Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. + By my consent, we'll even let them alone. + ALENCON. Be it so. + + Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS + + BASTARD. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. + CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. + BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd. + Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? + Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand. + A holy maid hither with me I bring, + Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, + Ordained is to raise this tedious siege + And drive the English forth the bounds of France. + The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, + Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: + What's past and what's to come she can descry. + Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, + For they are certain and unfallible. + CHARLES. Go, call her in. [Exit BASTARD] + But first, to try her skill, + Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place; + Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern; + By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. + + Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with + JOAN LA PUCELLE + + REIGNIER. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? + PUCELLE. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me? + Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; + I know thee well, though never seen before. + Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me. + In private will I talk with thee apart. + Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. + REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. + PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, + My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. + Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd + To shine on my contemptible estate. + Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs + And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, + God's Mother deigned to appear to me, + And in a vision full of majesty + Will'd me to leave my base vocation + And free my country from calamity + Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success. + In complete glory she reveal'd herself; + And whereas I was black and swart before, + With those clear rays which she infus'd on me + That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see. + Ask me what question thou canst possible, + And I will answer unpremeditated. + My courage try by combat if thou dar'st, + And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. + Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate + If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. + CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms. + Only this proof I'll of thy valour make + In single combat thou shalt buckle with me; + And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; + Otherwise I renounce all confidence. + PUCELLE. I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword, + Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side, + The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's churchyard, + Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. + CHARLES. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. + PUCELLE. And while I live I'll ne'er fly from a man. + [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes] + CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, + And fightest with the sword of Deborah. + PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak. + CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me. + Impatiently I burn with thy desire; + My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. + Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, + Let me thy servant and not sovereign be. + 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. + PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love, + For my profession's sacred from above. + When I have chased all thy foes from hence, + Then will I think upon a recompense. + CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. + REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. + ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; + Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. + REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? + ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know; + These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. + REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on? + Shall we give o'er Orleans, or no? + PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants! + Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. + CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm; we'll fight it out. + PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. + This night the siege assuredly I'll raise. + Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, + Since I have entered into these wars. + Glory is like a circle in the water, + Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself + Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. + With Henry's death the English circle ends; + Dispersed are the glories it included. + Now am I like that proud insulting ship + Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. + CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? + Thou with an eagle art inspired then. + Helen, the mother of great Constantine, + Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were like thee. + Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, + How may I reverently worship thee enough? + ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. + REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; + Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. + CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it. + No prophet will I trust if she prove false. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 3. + + London. Before the Tower gates + + Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men + in blue coats + + GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day; + Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. + Where be these warders that they wait not here? + Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. + FIRST WARDER. [Within] Who's there that knocks so + imperiously? + FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. + SECOND WARDER. [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be + let in. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord + Protector? + FIRST WARDER. [Within] The Lord protect him! so we + answer him. + We do no otherwise than we are will'd. + GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but + mine? + There's none Protector of the realm but I. + Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. + Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? + [GLOUCESTER'S men rush at the Tower gates, and + WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within] + WOODVILLE. [Within] What noise is this? What traitors + have we here? + GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? + Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. + WOODVILLE. [Within] Have patience, noble Duke, I may + not open; + The Cardinal of Winchester forbids. + From him I have express commandment + That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. + GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me? + Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate + Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook! + Thou art no friend to God or to the King. + Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. + SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector, + Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. + + Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER + and his men in tawny coats + + WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means + this? + GLOUCESTER. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be + shut out? + WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor, + And not Protector of the King or realm. + GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, + Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord; + Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin. + I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, + If thou proceed in this thy insolence. + WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot. + This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain, + To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. + GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back. + Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth + I'll use to carry thee out of this place. + WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face. + GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar'd and bearded to my face? + Draw, men, for all this privileged place + Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard; + I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly; + Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; + In spite of Pope or dignities of church, + Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the + Pope. + GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry 'A rope, a rope!' + Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? + Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. + Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite! + + Here GLOUCESTER'S men beat out the CARDINAL'S + men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF + LONDON and his OFFICERS + + MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, + Thus contumeliously should break the peace! + GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: + Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King, + Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. + WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens; + One that still motions war and never peace, + O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; + That seeks to overthrow religion, + Because he is Protector of the realm, + And would have armour here out of the Tower, + To crown himself King and suppress the Prince. + GLOUCESTER. I Will not answer thee with words, but blows. + [Here they skirmish again] + MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife + But to make open proclamation. + Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst, + Cry. + OFFICER. [Cries] All manner of men assembled here in arms + this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge + and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to + your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or + use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon + pain of death. + GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law; + But we shall meet and break our minds at large. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we'll meet to thy cost, be sure; + Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. + MAYOR. I'll call for clubs if you will not away. + This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil. + GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou + mayst. + WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head, + For I intend to have it ere long. + Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER + with their servants + MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. + Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! + I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 4. + + France. Before Orleans + + Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER + OF ORLEANS and his BOY + + MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is + besieg'd, + And how the English have the suburbs won. + BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, + Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. + MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd + by me. + Chief master-gunner am I of this town; + Something I must do to procure me grace. + The Prince's espials have informed me + How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, + Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars + In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, + And thence discover how with most advantage + They may vex us with shot or with assault. + To intercept this inconvenience, + A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd; + And even these three days have I watch'd + If I could see them. Now do thou watch, + For I can stay no longer. + If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; + And thou shalt find me at the Governor's. Exit + BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; + I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit + + Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with + SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE, + and others + + SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! + How wert thou handled being prisoner? + Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd? + Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. + TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner + Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; + For him was I exchang'd and ransomed. + But with a baser man of arms by far + Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me; + Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death + Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. + In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. + But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart + Whom with my bare fists I would execute, + If I now had him brought into my power. + SALISBURY. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. + TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts, + In open market-place produc'd they me + To be a public spectacle to all; + Here, said they, is the terror of the French, + The scarecrow that affrights our children so. + Then broke I from the officers that led me, + And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground + To hurl at the beholders of my shame; + My grisly countenance made others fly; + None durst come near for fear of sudden death. + In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; + So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread + That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel + And spurn in pieces posts of adamant; + Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had + That walk'd about me every minute-while; + And if I did but stir out of my bed, + Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. + + Enter the BOY with a linstock + + SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd; + But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. + Now it is supper-time in Orleans: + Here, through this grate, I count each one + And view the Frenchmen how they fortify. + Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. + Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale, + Let me have your express opinions + Where is best place to make our batt'ry next. + GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords. + GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge. + TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, + Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. + [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE + fall down] + SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! + GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! + TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? + Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak. + How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? + One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! + Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand + That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! + In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; + Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; + Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up, + His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. + Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail, + One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace; + The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. + Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive + If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! + Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. + Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? + Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. + Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort, + Thou shalt not die whiles + He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, + As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, + Remember to avenge me on the French.' + Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, + Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn. + Wretched shall France be only in my name. + [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens] + What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? + Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd + head + The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, + A holy prophetess new risen up, + Is come with a great power to raise the siege. + [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans] + TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan. + It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd. + Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. + Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, + Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels + And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. + Convey me Salisbury into his tent, + And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. + Alarum. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 5. + + Before Orleans + + Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the + DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE + driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT + + TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? + Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; + A woman clad in armour chaseth them. + + Enter LA PUCELLE + + Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee. + Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee; + Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch + And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. + PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. + [Here they fight] + TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? + My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage. + And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, + But I will chastise this high minded strumpet. + [They fight again] + PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come. + I must go victual Orleans forthwith. + [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers] + O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. + Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men; + Help Salisbury to make his testament. + This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit + TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; + I know not where I am nor what I do. + A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal, + Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists. + So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench + Are from their hives and houses driven away. + They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs; + Now like to whelps we crying run away. + [A short alarum] + Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight + Or tear the lions out of England's coat; + Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: + Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, + Or horse or oxen from the leopard, + As you fly from your oft subdued slaves. + [Alarum. Here another skirmish] + It will not be-retire into your trenches. + You all consented unto Salisbury's death, + For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. + Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans + In spite of us or aught that we could do. + O, would I were to die with Salisbury! + The shame hereof will make me hide my head. + Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat + + + + SCENE 6. + + ORLEANS + + Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, + REIGNIER, ALENCON, and soldiers + + PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls; + Rescu'd is Orleans from the English. + Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. + CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, + How shall I honour thee for this success? + Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, + That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. + France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess. + Recover'd is the town of Orleans. + More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. + REIGNIER. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the + town? + Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires + And feast and banquet in the open streets + To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. + ALENCON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy + When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. + CHARLES. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; + For which I will divide my crown with her; + And all the priests and friars in my realm + Shall in procession sing her endless praise. + A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear + Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was. + In memory of her, when she is dead, + Her ashes, in an urn more precious + Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, + Transported shall be at high festivals + Before the kings and queens of France. + No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, + But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. + Come in, and let us banquet royally + After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Before Orleans + +Enter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS + + SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant. + If any noise or soldier you perceive + Near to the walls, by some apparent sign + Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. + FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit SERGEANT] + Thus are poor servitors, + When others sleep upon their quiet beds, + Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. + + Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces, + with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead + march + + TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, + By whose approach the regions of Artois, + Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us, + This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, + Having all day carous'd and banqueted; + Embrace we then this opportunity, + As fitting best to quittance their deceit, + Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery. + BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, + Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, + To join with witches and the help of hell! + BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company. + But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? + TALBOT. A maid, they say. + BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial! + BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, + If underneath the standard of the French + She carry armour as she hath begun. + TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: + God is our fortress, in whose conquering name + Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. + BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. + TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess, + That we do make our entrance several ways; + That if it chance the one of us do fail + The other yet may rise against their force. + BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner. + BURGUNDY. And I to this. + TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave. + Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right + Of English Henry, shall this night appear + How much in duty I am bound to both. + [The English scale the walls and cry 'Saint George! + a Talbot!'] + SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault. + + The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts. + Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, + half ready and half unready + + ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so? + BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. + REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, + Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. + ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms + Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise + More venturous or desperate than this. + BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. + REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him + ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped. + + Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE + + BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. + CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? + Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, + Make us partakers of a little gain + That now our loss might be ten times so much? + PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? + At all times will you have my power alike? + Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail + Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? + Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good + This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. + CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default + That, being captain of the watch to-night, + Did look no better to that weighty charge. + ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept + As that whereof I had the government, + We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. + BASTARD. Mine was secure. + REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord. + CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night, + Within her quarter and mine own precinct + I was employ'd in passing to and fro + About relieving of the sentinels. + Then how or which way should they first break in? + PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case, + How or which way; 'tis sure they found some place + But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. + And now there rests no other shift but this + To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, + And lay new platforms to endamage them. + + Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying + 'A Talbot! A Talbot!' They fly, leaving their + clothes behind + + SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. + The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; + For I have loaden me with many spoils, + Using no other weapon but his name. Exit + + + + + SCENE 2. + + ORLEANS. Within the town + + Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN, + and others + + BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled + Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. + Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit. + [Retreat sounded] + TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury + And here advance it in the market-place, + The middle centre of this cursed town. + Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; + For every drop of blood was drawn from him + There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. + And that hereafter ages may behold + What ruin happened in revenge of him, + Within their chiefest temple I'll erect + A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd; + Upon the which, that every one may read, + Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans, + The treacherous manner of his mournful death, + And what a terror he had been to France. + But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, + I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, + His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, + Nor any of his false confederates. + BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, + Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, + They did amongst the troops of armed men + Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. + BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern + For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, + Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull, + When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, + Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves + That could not live asunder day or night. + After that things are set in order here, + We'll follow them with all the power we have. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train + Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts + So much applauded through the realm of France? + TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him? + MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, + With modesty admiring thy renown, + By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe + To visit her poor castle where she lies, + That she may boast she hath beheld the man + Whose glory fills the world with loud report. + BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars + Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, + When ladies crave to be encount'red with. + You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. + TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men + Could not prevail with all their oratory, + Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd; + And therefore tell her I return great thanks + And in submission will attend on her. + Will not your honours bear me company? + BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will; + And I have heard it said unbidden guests + Are often welcomest when they are gone. + TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, + I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. + Come hither, Captain. [Whispers] You perceive my mind? + CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 3. + + AUVERGNE. The Castle + + Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER + + COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; + And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. + PORTER. Madam, I will. + COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right, + I shall as famous be by this exploit. + As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. + Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, + And his achievements of no less account. + Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears + To give their censure of these rare reports. + + Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT. + + MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd, + By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. + COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? + MESSENGER. Madam, it is. + COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France? + Is this Talbot, so much fear'd abroad + That with his name the mothers still their babes? + I see report is fabulous and false. + I thought I should have seen some Hercules, + A second Hector, for his grim aspect + And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. + Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! + It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp + Should strike such terror to his enemies. + TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; + But since your ladyship is not at leisure, + I'll sort some other time to visit you. [Going] + COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he + goes. + MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves + To know the cause of your abrupt departure. + TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, + I go to certify her Talbot's here. + + Re-enter PORTER With keys + + COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. + TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom? + COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord + And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. + Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, + For in my gallery thy picture hangs; + But now the substance shall endure the like + And I will chain these legs and arms of thine + That hast by tyranny these many years + Wasted our country, slain our citizens, + And sent our sons and husbands captivate. + TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha! + COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to + moan. + TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond + To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow + Whereon to practise your severity. + COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man? + TALBOT. I am indeed. + COUNTESS. Then have I substance too. + TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself. + You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; + For what you see is but the smallest part + And least proportion of humanity. + I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, + It is of such a spacious lofty pitch + Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't. + COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; + He will be here, and yet he is not here. + How can these contrarieties agree? + TALBOT. That will I show you presently. + + Winds his horn; drums strike up; + a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers + + How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded + That Talbot is but shadow of himself? + These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, + With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, + Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, + And in a moment makes them desolate. + COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse. + I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, + And more than may be gathered by thy shape. + Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath, + For I am sorry that with reverence + I did not entertain thee as thou art. + TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster + The mind of Talbot as you did mistake + The outward composition of his body. + What you have done hath not offended me. + Nor other satisfaction do I crave + But only, with your patience, that we may + Taste of your wine and see what cates you have, + For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. + COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured + To feast so great a warrior in my house. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 4. + + London. The Temple garden + + Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER + + PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this + silence? + Dare no man answer in a case of truth? + SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud; + The garden here is more convenient. + PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth; + Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error? + SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law + And never yet could frame my will to it; + And therefore frame the law unto my will. + SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us. + WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; + Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; + Between two blades, which bears the better temper; + Between two horses, which doth bear him best; + Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye + I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment; + But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, + Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. + PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: + The truth appears so naked on my side + That any purblind eye may find it out. + SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, + So clear, so shining, and so evident, + That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. + PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak, + In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts. + Let him that is a true-born gentleman + And stands upon the honour of his birth, + If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, + From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. + SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, + But dare maintain the party of the truth, + Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. + WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour + Of base insinuating flattery, + I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. + SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset, + And say withal I think he held the right. + VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more + Till you conclude that he upon whose side + The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree + Shall yield the other in the right opinion. + SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected; + If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. + PLANTAGENET. And I. + VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, + I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, + Giving my verdict on the white rose side. + SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, + Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, + And fall on my side so, against your will. + VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, + Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt + And keep me on the side where still I am. + SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else? + LAWYER. [To Somerset] Unless my study and my books be + false, + The argument you held was wrong in you; + In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. + PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? + SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that + Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. + PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our + roses; + For pale they look with fear, as witnessing + The truth on our side. + SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet, + 'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks + Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, + And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. + PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? + SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? + PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; + Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. + SOMERSET. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, + That shall maintain what I have said is true, + Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. + PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, + I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. + SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. + PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and + thee. + SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. + SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole! + We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. + WARWICK. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; + His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, + Third son to the third Edward, King of England. + Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? + PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege, + Or durst not for his craven heart say thus. + SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words + On any plot of ground in Christendom. + Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, + For treason executed in our late king's days? + And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted, + Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? + His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; + And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman. + PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted; + Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; + And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, + Were growing time once ripened to my will. + For your partaker Pole, and you yourself, + I'll note you in my book of memory + To scourge you for this apprehension. + Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd. + SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still; + And know us by these colours for thy foes + For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. + PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, + As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, + Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, + Until it wither with me to my grave, + Or flourish to the height of my degree. + SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! + And so farewell until I meet thee next. Exit + SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious + Richard. Exit + PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure + it! + WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house + Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament, + Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; + And if thou be not then created York, + I will not live to be accounted Warwick. + Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, + Against proud Somerset and William Pole, + Will I upon thy party wear this rose; + And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day, + Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, + Shall send between the Red Rose and the White + A thousand souls to death and deadly night. + PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you + That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. + VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same. + LAWYER. And so will I. + PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir. + Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say + This quarrel will drink blood another day. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 5. + + The Tower of London + + Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS + + MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, + Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. + Even like a man new haled from the rack, + So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; + And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, + Nestor-like aged in an age of care, + Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. + These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, + Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; + Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, + And pithless arms, like to a withered vine + That droops his sapless branches to the ground. + Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, + Unable to support this lump of clay, + Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, + As witting I no other comfort have. + But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? + FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. + We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber; + And answer was return'd that he will come. + MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. + Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. + Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, + Before whose glory I was great in arms, + This loathsome sequestration have I had; + And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, + Depriv'd of honour and inheritance. + But now the arbitrator of despairs, + Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries, + With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. + I would his troubles likewise were expir'd, + That so he might recover what was lost. + + Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET + + FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. + MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? + PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, + Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. + MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck + And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. + O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, + That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. + And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, + Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd? + PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; + And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. + This day, in argument upon a case, + Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me; + Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue + And did upbraid me with my father's death; + Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, + Else with the like I had requited him. + Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, + In honour of a true Plantagenet, + And for alliance sake, declare the cause + My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. + MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me + And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth + Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, + Was cursed instrument of his decease. + PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was, + For I am ignorant and cannot guess. + MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit + And death approach not ere my tale be done. + Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, + Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son, + The first-begotten and the lawful heir + Of Edward king, the third of that descent; + During whose reign the Percies of the north, + Finding his usurpation most unjust, + Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne. + The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this + Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd, + Leaving no heir begotten of his body- + I was the next by birth and parentage; + For by my mother I derived am + From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son + To King Edward the Third; whereas he + From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, + Being but fourth of that heroic line. + But mark: as in this haughty great attempt + They laboured to plant the rightful heir, + I lost my liberty, and they their lives. + Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, + Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, + Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd + From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, + Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, + Again, in pity of my hard distress, + Levied an army, weening to redeem + And have install'd me in the diadem; + But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, + And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, + In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. + PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last. + MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have, + And that my fainting words do warrant death. + Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather; + But yet be wary in thy studious care. + PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me. + But yet methinks my father's execution + Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. + MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; + Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster + And like a mountain not to be remov'd. + But now thy uncle is removing hence, + As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd + With long continuance in a settled place. + PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years + Might but redeem the passage of your age! + MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer + doth + Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. + Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; + Only give order for my funeral. + And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes, + And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Dies] + PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! + In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, + And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. + Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; + And what I do imagine, let that rest. + Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself + Will see his burial better than his life. + Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER + Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, + Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort; + And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, + Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, + I doubt not but with honour to redress; + And therefore haste I to the Parliament, + Either to be restored to my blood, + Or make my ill th' advantage of my good. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. The Parliament House + +Flourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; +the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. +GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it + + WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, + With written pamphlets studiously devis'd? + Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse + Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, + Do it without invention, suddenly; + I with sudden and extemporal speech + Purpose to answer what thou canst object. + GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my + patience, + Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me. + Think not, although in writing I preferr'd + The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, + That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able + Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen. + No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, + Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, + As very infants prattle of thy pride. + Thou art a most pernicious usurer; + Froward by nature, enemy to peace; + Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems + A man of thy profession and degree; + And for thy treachery, what's more manifest + In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, + As well at London Bridge as at the Tower? + Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, + The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt + From envious malice of thy swelling heart. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe + To give me hearing what I shall reply. + If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, + As he will have me, how am I so poor? + Or how haps it I seek not to advance + Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? + And for dissension, who preferreth peace + More than I do, except I be provok'd? + No, my good lords, it is not that offends; + It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke: + It is because no one should sway but he; + No one but he should be about the King; + And that engenders thunder in his breast + And makes him roar these accusations forth. + But he shall know I am as good + GLOUCESTER. As good! + Thou bastard of my grandfather! + WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, + But one imperious in another's throne? + GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest? + WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church? + GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, + And useth it to patronage his theft. + WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester! + GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend + Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. + WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this. + WARWICK. Roam thither then. + SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. + WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. + SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious, + And know the office that belongs to such. + WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; + It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. + SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. + WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? + Is not his Grace Protector to the King? + PLANTAGENET. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his + tongue, + Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should; + Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?' + Else would I have a fling at Winchester. + KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, + The special watchmen of our English weal, + I would prevail, if prayers might prevail + To join your hearts in love and amity. + O, what a scandal is it to our crown + That two such noble peers as ye should jar! + Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell + Civil dissension is a viperous worm + That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. + [A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!'] + What tumult's this? + WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant, + Begun through malice of the Bishop's men. + [A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!'] + + Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended + + MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, + Pity the city of London, pity us! + The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, + Forbidden late to carry any weapon, + Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones + And, banding themselves in contrary parts, + Do pelt so fast at one another's pate + That many have their giddy brains knock'd out. + Our windows are broke down in every street, + And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. + + Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and + WINCHESTER, with bloody pates + + KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, + To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace. + Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll + fall to it with our teeth. + SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. + [Skirmish again] + GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, + And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. + THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a + man + Just and upright, and for your royal birth + Inferior to none but to his Majesty; + And ere that we will suffer such a prince, + So kind a father of the commonweal, + To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, + We and our wives and children all will fight + And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails + Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again] + GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say! + And if you love me, as you say you do, + Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. + KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! + Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold + My sighs and tears and will not once relent? + Who should be pitiful, if you be not? + Or who should study to prefer a peace, + If holy churchmen take delight in broils? + WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester; + Except you mean with obstinate repulse + To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. + You see what mischief, and what murder too, + Hath been enacted through your enmity; + Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. + WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield. + GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop, + Or I would see his heart out ere the priest + Should ever get that privilege of me. + WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke + Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, + As by his smoothed brows it doth appear; + Why look you still so stem and tragical? + GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. + KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach + That malice was a great and grievous sin; + And will not you maintain the thing you teach, + But prove a chief offender in the same? + WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird. + For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent; + What, shall a child instruct you what to do? + WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee; + Love for thy love and hand for hand I give. + GLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow + heart. + See here, my friends and loving countrymen: + This token serveth for a flag of truce + Betwixt ourselves and all our followers. + So help me God, as I dissemble not! + WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not! + KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, + How joyful am I made by this contract! + Away, my masters! trouble us no more; + But join in friendship, as your lords have done. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I'll to the surgeon's. + SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I. + THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern + affords. Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C. + WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; + Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet + We do exhibit to your Majesty. + GLOUCESTER. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet + prince, + An if your Grace mark every circumstance, + You have great reason to do Richard right; + Especially for those occasions + At Eltham Place I told your Majesty. + KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force; + Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is + That Richard be restored to his blood. + WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood; + So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. + WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. + KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone + But all the whole inheritance I give + That doth belong unto the house of York, + From whence you spring by lineal descent. + PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience + And humble service till the point of death. + KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot; + And in reguerdon of that duty done + I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. + Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, + And rise created princely Duke of York. + PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall! + And as my duty springs, so perish they + That grudge one thought against your Majesty! + ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York! + SOMERSET. [Aside] Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of + York! + GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty + To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France: + The presence of a king engenders love + Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, + As it disanimates his enemies. + KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry + goes; + For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. + GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness. + Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER + EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France, + Not seeing what is likely to ensue. + This late dissension grown betwixt the peers + Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love + And will at last break out into a flame; + As fest'red members rot but by degree + Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, + So will this base and envious discord breed. + And now I fear that fatal prophecy. + Which in the time of Henry nam'd the Fifth + Was in the mouth of every sucking babe: + That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, + And Henry born at Windsor should lose all. + Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish + His days may finish ere that hapless time. Exit + + + + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Rouen + + Enter LA PUCELLE disguis'd, with four soldiers dressed + like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs + + PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, + Through which our policy must make a breach. + Take heed, be wary how you place your words; + Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men + That come to gather money for their corn. + If we have entrance, as I hope we shall, + And that we find the slothful watch but weak, + I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, + That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. + FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, + And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; + Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks] + WATCH. [Within] Qui est la? + PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France + Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. + WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung. + PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the + ground. + + [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town] + + Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces + + CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem! + And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. + BASTARD. Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants; + Now she is there, how will she specify + Here is the best and safest passage in? + ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; + Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is + No way to that, for weakness, which she ent'red. + + Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out + a torch burning + + PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch + That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, + But burning fatal to the Talbotites. Exit + BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; + The burning torch in yonder turret stands. + CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, + A prophet to the fall of all our foes! + ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends; + Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently, + And then do execution on the watch. Alarum. Exeunt + + An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion + + TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, + If Talbot but survive thy treachery. + PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress, + Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, + That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. Exit + + An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in + a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without; + within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, + and REIGNIER, on the walls + + PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread? + I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast + Before he'll buy again at such a rate. + 'Twas full of darnel-do you like the taste? + BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan. + I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own, + And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. + CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. + BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! + PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a + lance, + And run a tilt at death within a chair? + TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, + Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours, + Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age + And twit with cowardice a man half dead? + Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, + Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. + PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; + If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. + [The English party whisper together in council] + God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker? + TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field? + PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools, + To try if that our own be ours or no. + TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate, + But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest. + Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? + ALENCON. Signior, no. + TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France! + Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, + And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. + PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls; + For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. + God b'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you + That we are here. Exeunt from the walls + TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long, + Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame! + Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, + Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France, + Either to get the town again or die; + And I, as sure as English Henry lives + And as his father here was conqueror, + As sure as in this late betrayed town + Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried + So sure I swear to get the town or die. + BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. + TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince, + The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, + We will bestow you in some better place, + Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. + BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me; + Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, + And will be partner of your weal or woe. + BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. + BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read + That stout Pendragon in his litter sick + Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. + Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts, + Because I ever found them as myself. + TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! + Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe! + And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, + But gather we our forces out of hand + And set upon our boasting enemy. + Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants + + An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE, + and a CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste? + FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight: + We are like to have the overthrow again. + CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot? + FASTOLFE. Ay, + All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. Exit + CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! + Exit into the town + + Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON, + and CHARLES fly + + BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please, + For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. + What is the trust or strength of foolish man? + They that of late were daring with their scoffs + Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. + [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair] + + An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest + + TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again! + This is a double honour, Burgundy. + Yet heavens have glory for this victory! + BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy + Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects + Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments. + TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now? + I think her old familiar is asleep. + Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks? + What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief + That such a valiant company are fled. + Now will we take some order in the town, + Placing therein some expert officers; + And then depart to Paris to the King, + For there young Henry with his nobles lie. + BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. + TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let's not forget + The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, + But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen. + A braver soldier never couched lance, + A gentler heart did never sway in court; + But kings and mightiest potentates must die, + For that's the end of human misery. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 3. + + The plains near Rouen + + Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE, + and forces + + PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident, + Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered. + Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, + For things that are not to be remedied. + Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while + And like a peacock sweep along his tail; + We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, + If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. + CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto, + And of thy cunning had no diffidence; + One sudden foil shall never breed distrust + BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies, + And we will make thee famous through the world. + ALENCON. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, + And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint. + Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good. + PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: + By fair persuasions, mix'd with sug'red words, + We will entice the Duke of Burgundy + To leave the Talbot and to follow us. + CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, + France were no place for Henry's warriors; + Nor should that nation boast it so with us, + But be extirped from our provinces. + ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls'd from France, + And not have tide of an earldom here. + PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work + To bring this matter to the wished end. + [Drum sounds afar off] + Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive + Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. + + Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over + at a distance, TALBOT and his forces + + There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, + And all the troops of English after him. + + French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and + his forces + + Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his. + Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. + Summon a parley; we will talk with him. + [Trumpets sound a parley] + CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy! + BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? + PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman. + BURGUNDY. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching + hence. + CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words. + PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! + Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. + BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. + PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, + And see the cities and the towns defac'd + By wasting ruin of the cruel foe; + As looks the mother on her lowly babe + When death doth close his tender dying eyes, + See, see the pining malady of France; + Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, + Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast. + O, turn thy edged sword another way; + Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help! + One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom + Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore. + Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, + And wash away thy country's stained spots. + BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, + Or nature makes me suddenly relent. + PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, + Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. + Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation + That will not trust thee but for profit's sake? + When Talbot hath set footing once in France, + And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, + Who then but English Henry will be lord, + And thou be thrust out like a fugitive? + Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof: + Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe? + And was he not in England prisoner? + But when they heard he was thine enemy + They set him free without his ransom paid, + In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. + See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen, + And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen. + Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; + Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms. + BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers + Have batt'red me like roaring cannon-shot + And made me almost yield upon my knees. + Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen + And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. + My forces and my power of men are yours; + So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. + PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman- [Aside] turn and turn + again. + CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us + fresh. + BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. + ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this, + And doth deserve a coronet of gold. + CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers, + And seek how we may prejudice the foe. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 4. + + Paris. The palace + + Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, + SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER, + VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with + his soldiers, TALBOT + + TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers, + Hearing of your arrival in this realm, + I have awhile given truce unto my wars + To do my duty to my sovereign; + In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim'd + To your obedience fifty fortresses, + Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, + Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, + Lets fall his sword before your Highness' feet, + And with submissive loyalty of heart + Ascribes the glory of his conquest got + First to my God and next unto your Grace. [Kneels] + KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester, + That hath so long been resident in France? + GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege. + KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord! + When I was young, as yet I am not old, + I do remember how my father said + A stouter champion never handled sword. + Long since we were resolved of your truth, + Your faithful service, and your toil in war; + Yet never have you tasted our reward, + Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, + Because till now we never saw your face. + Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts + We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury; + And in our coronation take your place. + Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET + VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, + Disgracing of these colours that I wear + In honour of my noble Lord of York + Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? + BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage + The envious barking of your saucy tongue + Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. + VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. + BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York! + VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that. + [Strikes him] + BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such + That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death, + Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. + But I'll unto his Majesty and crave + I may have liberty to venge this wrong; + When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost. + VERNON. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you; + And, after, meet you sooner than you would. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +Park. The palace + +Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, +TALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others + + GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head. + WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth! + GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath + [GOVERNOR kneels] + That you elect no other king but him, + Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, + And none your foes but such as shall pretend + Malicious practices against his state. + This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! + Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train + + Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE + + FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, + To haste unto your coronation, + A letter was deliver'd to my hands, + Writ to your Grace from th' Duke of Burgundy. + TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee! + I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next + To tear the Garter from thy craven's leg, [Plucking it off] + Which I have done, because unworthily + Thou wast installed in that high degree. + Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: + This dastard, at the battle of Patay, + When but in all I was six thousand strong, + And that the French were almost ten to one, + Before we met or that a stroke was given, + Like to a trusty squire did run away; + In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; + Myself and divers gentlemen beside + Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners. + Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss, + Or whether that such cowards ought to wear + This ornament of knighthood-yea or no. + GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous + And ill beseeming any common man, + Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. + TALBOT. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, + Knights of the Garter were of noble birth, + Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, + Such as were grown to credit by the wars; + Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress, + But always resolute in most extremes. + He then that is not furnish'd in this sort + Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, + Profaning this most honourable order, + And should, if I were worthy to be judge, + Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain + That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. + KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy + doom. + Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; + Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death. + Exit FASTOLFE + And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter + Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy. + GLOUCESTER. [Viewing the superscription] What means his + Grace, that he hath chang'd his style? + No more but plain and bluntly 'To the King!' + Hath he forgot he is his sovereign? + Or doth this churlish superscription + Pretend some alteration in good-will? + What's here? [Reads] 'I have, upon especial cause, + Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck, + Together with the pitiful complaints + Of such as your oppression feeds upon, + Forsaken your pernicious faction, + And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.' + O monstrous treachery! Can this be so + That in alliance, amity, and oaths, + There should be found such false dissembling guile? + KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? + GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe. + KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain? + GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. + KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with + him + And give him chastisement for this abuse. + How say you, my lord, are you not content? + TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented, + I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. + KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him + straight; + Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason. + And what offence it is to flout his friends. + TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still + You may behold confusion of your foes. Exit + + Enter VERNON and BASSET + + VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign. + BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too. + YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince. + SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him. + KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak. + Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim, + And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom? + VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong. + BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong. + KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both + complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you. + BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France, + This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, + Upbraided me about the rose I wear, + Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves + Did represent my master's blushing cheeks + When stubbornly he did repugn the truth + About a certain question in the law + Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him; + With other vile and ignominious terms + In confutation of which rude reproach + And in defence of my lord's worthiness, + I crave the benefit of law of arms. + VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord; + For though he seem with forged quaint conceit + To set a gloss upon his bold intent, + Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him, + And he first took exceptions at this badge, + Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower + Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. + YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? + SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out, + Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. + KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick + men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause + Such factious emulations shall arise! + Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, + Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. + YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, + And then your Highness shall command a peace. + SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; + Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. + YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. + VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. + BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. + GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife; + And perish ye, with your audacious prate! + Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd + With this immodest clamorous outrage + To trouble and disturb the King and us? + And you, my lords- methinks you do not well + To bear with their perverse objections, + Much less to take occasion from their mouths + To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves. + Let me persuade you take a better course. + EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends. + KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants: + Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, + Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. + And you, my lords, remember where we are: + In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation; + If they perceive dissension in our looks + And that within ourselves we disagree, + How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd + To wilful disobedience, and rebel! + Beside, what infamy will there arise + When foreign princes shall be certified + That for a toy, a thing of no regard, + King Henry's peers and chief nobility + Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of France! + O, think upon the conquest of my father, + My tender years; and let us not forgo + That for a trifle that was bought with blood! + Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. + I see no reason, if I wear this rose, + [Putting on a red rose] + That any one should therefore be suspicious + I more incline to Somerset than York: + Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both. + As well they may upbraid me with my crown, + Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd. + But your discretions better can persuade + Than I am able to instruct or teach; + And, therefore, as we hither came in peace, + So let us still continue peace and love. + Cousin of York, we institute your Grace + To be our Regent in these parts of France. + And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite + Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; + And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, + Go cheerfully together and digest + Your angry choler on your enemies. + Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest, + After some respite will return to Calais; + From thence to England, where I hope ere long + To be presented by your victories + With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout. + Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, + EXETER, VERNON + WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King + Prettily, methought, did play the orator. + YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not, + In that he wears the badge of Somerset. + WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not; + I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. + YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest; + Other affairs must now be managed. + Exeunt all but EXETER + EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; + For had the passions of thy heart burst out, + I fear we should have seen decipher'd there + More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, + Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. + But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees + This jarring discord of nobility, + This shouldering of each other in the court, + This factious bandying of their favourites, + But that it doth presage some ill event. + 'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands; + But more when envy breeds unkind division: + There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. Exit + + + + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Bordeaux + + Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum + + TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter; + Summon their general unto the wall. + + Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others + + English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth, + Servant in arms to Harry King of England; + And thus he would open your city gates, + Be humble to us, call my sovereignvours + And do him homage as obedient subjects, + And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power; + But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, + You tempt the fury of my three attendants, + Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; + Who in a moment even with the earth + Shall lay your stately and air braving towers, + If you forsake the offer of their love. + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of + death, + Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge! + The period of thy tyranny approacheth. + On us thou canst not enter but by death; + For, I protest, we are well fortified, + And strong enough to issue out and fight. + If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, + Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. + On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd + To wall thee from the liberty of flight, + And no way canst thou turn thee for redress + But death doth front thee with apparent spoil + And pale destruction meets thee in the face. + Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament + To rive their dangerous artillery + Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. + Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, + Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit! + This is the latest glory of thy praise + That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; + For ere the glass that now begins to run + Finish the process of his sandy hour, + These eyes that see thee now well coloured + Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead. + [Drum afar off] + Hark! hark! The Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, + Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; + And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. Exit + TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy. + Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. + O, negligent and heedless discipline! + How are we park'd and bounded in a pale + A little herd of England's timorous deer, + Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! + If we be English deer, be then in blood; + Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch, + But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, + Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel + And make the cowards stand aloof at bay. + Sell every man his life as dear as mine, + And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. + God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right, + Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 3. + + Plains in Gascony + + Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A + MESSENGER meets him + + YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again + That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? + MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out + That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power + To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along, + By your espials were discovered + Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, + Which join'd with him and made their march for + Bordeaux. + YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset + That thus delays my promised supply + Of horsemen that were levied for this siege! + Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, + And I am louted by a traitor villain + And cannot help the noble chevalier. + God comfort him in this necessity! + If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY + + LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength, + Never so needful on the earth of France, + Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, + Who now is girdled with a waist of iron + And hemm'd about with grim destruction. + To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York! + Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. + YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart + Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place! + So should we save a valiant gentleman + By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. + Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep + That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep. + LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord! + YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word. + We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get- + All long of this vile traitor Somerset. + LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul, + And on his son, young John, who two hours since + I met in travel toward his warlike father. + This seven years did not Talbot see his son; + And now they meet where both their lives are done. + YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have + To bid his young son welcome to his grave? + Away! vexation almost stops my breath, + That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death. + Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can + But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. + Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away + Long all of Somerset and his delay. Exit with forces + LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition + Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, + Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss + The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, + That ever-living man of memory, + Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross, + Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. Exit + + + + + SCENE 4. + + Other plains of Gascony + + Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of + TALBOT'S with him + + SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now. + This expedition was by York and Talbot + Too rashly plotted; all our general force + Might with a sally of the very town + Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot + Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour + By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure. + York set him on to fight and die in shame. + That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. + OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me + Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY + + SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent? + LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord + Talbot, + Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, + Cries out for noble York and Somerset + To beat assailing death from his weak legions; + And whiles the honourable captain there + Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs + And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue, + You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, + Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. + Let not your private discord keep away + The levied succours that should lend him aid, + While he, renowned noble gentleman, + Yield up his life unto a world of odds. + Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, + Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, + And Talbot perisheth by your default. + SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid. + LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, + Swearing that you withhold his levied host, + Collected for this expedition. + SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse. + I owe him little duty and less love, + And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. + LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France, + Hath now entrapp'd the noble minded Talbot. + Never to England shall he bear his life, + But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife. + SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight; + Within six hours they will be at his aid. + LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain, + For fly he could not if he would have fled; + And fly would Talbot never, though he might. + SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu! + LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. Exeunt + + + SCENE 5. + + The English camp near Bordeaux + + Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son + + TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee + To tutor thee in stratagems of war, + That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd + When sapless age and weak unable limbs + Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. + But, O malignant and ill-boding stars! + Now thou art come unto a feast of death, + A terrible and unavoided danger; + Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, + And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape + By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone. + JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son? + And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, + Dishonour not her honourable name, + To make a bastard and a slave of me! + The world will say he is not Talbot's blood + That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. + TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. + JOHN. He that flies so will ne'er return again. + TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. + JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly. + Your loss is great, so your regard should be; + My worth unknown, no loss is known in me; + Upon my death the French can little boast; + In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. + Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; + But mine it will, that no exploit have done; + You fled for vantage, every one will swear; + But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. + There is no hope that ever I will stay + If the first hour I shrink and run away. + Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, + Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. + TALBOT. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? + JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. + TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go. + JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. + TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. + JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me. + TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. + JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? + TALBOT. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain. + JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain. + If death be so apparent, then both fly. + TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die? + My age was never tainted with such shame. + JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? + No more can I be severed from your side + Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide. + Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; + For live I will not if my father die. + TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, + Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. + Come, side by side together live and die; + And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 6. + + A field of battle + + Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd + about, and TALBOT rescues him + + TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight. + The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word + And left us to the rage of France his sword. + Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath; + I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death. + JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son! + The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done + Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, + To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. + TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck + fire, + It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire + Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, + Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, + Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, + And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. + The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood + From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood + Of thy first fight, I soon encountered + And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed + Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace + Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base, + And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, + Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine + Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.' + Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, + Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care; + Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? + Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, + Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? + Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: + The help of one stands me in little stead. + O, too much folly is it, well I wot, + To hazard all our lives in one small boat! + If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, + To-morrow I shall die with mickle age. + By me they nothing gain an if I stay: + 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day. + In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, + My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame. + All these and more we hazard by thy stay; + All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away. + JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; + These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. + On that advantage, bought with such a shame, + To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, + Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, + The coward horse that bears me fall and die! + And like me to the peasant boys of France, + To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance! + Surely, by all the glory you have won, + An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son; + Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; + If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. + TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete, + Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet. + If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; + And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 7. + + Another part of the field + + Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT + + TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone. + O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John? + Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, + Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee. + When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee, + His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, + And like a hungry lion did commence + Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; + But when my angry guardant stood alone, + Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none, + Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart + Suddenly made him from my side to start + Into the clust'ring battle of the French; + And in that sea of blood my boy did drench + His overmounting spirit; and there died, + My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. + + Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT + + SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne! + TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st us here to scorn, + Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, + Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, + Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, + In thy despite shall scape mortality. + O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death, + Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! + Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; + Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. + Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say, + Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day. + Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms. + My spirit can no longer bear these harms. + Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, + Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies] + + Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD, + LA PUCELLE, and forces + + CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, + We should have found a bloody day of this. + BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood, + Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! + PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said: + 'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.' + But with a proud majestical high scorn + He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born + To be the pillage of a giglot wench.' + So, rushing in the bowels of the French, + He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. + BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. + See where he lies inhearsed in the arms + Of the most bloody nurser of his harms! + BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, + Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. + CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled + During the life, let us not wrong it dead. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH + HERALD preceding + + LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, + To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. + CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent? + LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! 'Tis a mere French word: + We English warriors wot not what it means. + I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, + And to survey the bodies of the dead. + CHARLES. For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is. + But tell me whom thou seek'st. + LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field, + Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, + Created for his rare success in arms + Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, + Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, + Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, + Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, + The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, + Knight of the noble order of Saint George, + Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, + Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth + Of all his wars within the realm of France? + PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed! + The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, + Writes not so tedious a style as this. + Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides, + Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. + LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge, + Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? + O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd, + That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! + O that I could but can these dead to life! + It were enough to fright the realm of France. + Were but his picture left amongst you here, + It would amaze the proudest of you all. + Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence + And give them burial as beseems their worth. + PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, + He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. + For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here, + They would but stink, and putrefy the air. + CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence. + LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be + rear'd + A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. + CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou + wilt. + And now to Paris in this conquering vein! + All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Sennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER + + KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope, + The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac? + GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this: + They humbly sue unto your Excellence + To have a godly peace concluded of + Between the realms of England and of France. + KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion? + GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means + To stop effusion of our Christian blood + And stablish quietness on every side. + KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought + It was both impious and unnatural + That such immanity and bloody strife + Should reign among professors of one faith. + GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect + And surer bind this knot of amity, + The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, + A man of great authority in France, + Proffers his only daughter to your Grace + In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. + KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young + And fitter is my study and my books + Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. + Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please, + So let them have their answers every one. + I shall be well content with any choice + Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. + + Enter in Cardinal's habit + BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS + + EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd + And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? + Then I perceive that will be verified + Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy: + 'If once he come to be a cardinal, + He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.' + KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits + Have been consider'd and debated on. + Your purpose is both good and reasonable, + And therefore are we certainly resolv'd + To draw conditions of a friendly peace, + Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean + Shall be transported presently to France. + GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master, + I have inform'd his Highness so at large, + As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, + Her beauty, and the value of her dower, + He doth intend she shall be England's Queen. + KING HENRY. [To AMBASSADOR] In argument and proof of + which contract, + Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. + And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded + And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd, + Commit them to the fortune of the sea. + + Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE + WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive + The sum of money which I promised + Should be delivered to his Holiness + For clothing me in these grave ornaments. + LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. + WINCHESTER. [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I + trow, + Or be inferior to the proudest peer. + Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive + That neither in birth or for authority + The Bishop will be overborne by thee. + I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, + Or sack this country with a mutiny. Exeunt + + + SCENE 2. + + France. Plains in Anjou + + Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD, + REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces + + CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping + spirits: + 'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt + And turn again unto the warlike French. + ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, + And keep not back your powers in dalliance. + PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; + Else ruin combat with their palaces! + + Enter a SCOUT + + SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general, + And happiness to his accomplices! + CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak. + SCOUT. The English army, that divided was + Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, + And means to give you battle presently. + CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; + But we will presently provide for them. + BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there. + Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. + PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd. + Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine, + Let Henry fret and all the world repine. + CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! + Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 3. + + Before Angiers + + Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE + + PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly. + Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; + And ye choice spirits that admonish me + And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder] + You speedy helpers that are substitutes + Under the lordly monarch of the north, + Appear and aid me in this enterprise! + + Enter FIENDS + + This speedy and quick appearance argues proof + Of your accustom'd diligence to me. + Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd + Out of the powerful regions under earth, + Help me this once, that France may get the field. + [They walk and speak not] + O, hold me not with silence over-long! + Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, + I'll lop a member off and give it you + In earnest of a further benefit, + So you do condescend to help me now. + [They hang their heads] + No hope to have redress? My body shall + Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. + [They shake their heads] + Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice + Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? + Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all, + Before that England give the French the foil. + [They depart] + See! they forsake me. Now the time is come + That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest + And let her head fall into England's lap. + My ancient incantations are too weak, + And hell too strong for me to buckle with. + Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. Exit + + Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting. + LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE + is taken. The French fly + + YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast. + Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, + And try if they can gain your liberty. + A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace! + See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows + As if, with Circe, she would change my shape! + PUCELLE. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be. + YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man: + No shape but his can please your dainty eye. + PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee! + And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd + By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds! + YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue. + PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile. + YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. + Exeunt + + Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand + + SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. + [Gazes on her] + O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly! + For I will touch thee but with reverent hands; + I kiss these fingers for eternal peace, + And lay them gently on thy tender side. + Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee. + MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, + The King of Naples-whosoe'er thou art. + SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. + Be not offended, nature's miracle, + Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me. + So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, + Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. + Yet, if this servile usage once offend, + Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She is going] + O, stay! [Aside] I have no power to let her pass; + My hand would free her, but my heart says no. + As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, + Twinkling another counterfeited beam, + So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. + Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak. + I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind. + Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself; + Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner? + Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? + Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such + Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough. + MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, + What ransom must I pay before I pass? + For I perceive I am thy prisoner. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] How canst thou tell she will deny thy + suit, + Before thou make a trial of her love? + MARGARET. Why speak'st thou not? What ransom must I + pay? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd; + She is a woman, therefore to be won. + MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] Fond man, remember that thou hast a + wife; + Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? + MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling + card. + MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] And yet a dispensation may be had. + MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? + Why, for my King! Tush, that's a wooden thing! + MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, + And peace established between these realms. + But there remains a scruple in that too; + For though her father be the King of Naples, + Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, + And our nobility will scorn the match. + MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much. + Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. + Madam, I have a secret to reveal. + MARGARET. [Aside] What though I be enthrall'd? He seems + a knight, + And will not any way dishonour me. + SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. + MARGARET. [Aside] Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French; + And then I need not crave his courtesy. + SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause + MARGARET. [Aside] Tush! women have been captivate ere + now. + SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so? + MARGARET. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. + SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose + Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? + MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile + Than is a slave in base servility; + For princes should be free. + SUFFOLK. And so shall you, + If happy England's royal king be free. + MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? + SUFFOLK. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen, + To put a golden sceptre in thy hand + And set a precious crown upon thy head, + If thou wilt condescend to be my- + MARGARET. What? + SUFFOLK. His love. + MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. + SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am + To woo so fair a dame to be his wife + And have no portion in the choice myself. + How say you, madam? Are ye so content? + MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content. + SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth! + And, madam, at your father's castle walls + We'll crave a parley to confer with him. + + Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls + + See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner! + REIGNIER. To whom? + SUFFOLK. To me. + REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy? + I am a soldier and unapt to weep + Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. + SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord. + Consent, and for thy honour give consent, + Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, + Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto; + And this her easy-held imprisonment + Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. + REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? + SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows + That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. + REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend + To give thee answer of thy just demand. + Exit REIGNIER from the walls + SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming. + + Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below + + REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories; + Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases. + SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, + Fit to be made companion with a king. + What answer makes your Grace unto my suit? + REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth + To be the princely bride of such a lord, + Upon condition I may quietly + Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou, + Free from oppression or the stroke of war, + My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. + SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her. + And those two counties I will undertake + Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy. + REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry's royal name, + As deputy unto that gracious king, + Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith. + SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, + Because this is in traffic of a king. + [Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well content + To be mine own attorney in this case. + I'll over then to England with this news, + And make this marriage to be solemniz'd. + So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe + In golden palaces, as it becomes. + REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace + The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here. + MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and + prayers, + Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [She is going] + SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam. But hark you, Margaret + No princely commendations to my king? + MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid, + A virgin, and his servant, say to him. + SUFFOLK. Words sweetly plac'd and modestly directed. + But, madam, I must trouble you again + No loving token to his Majesty? + MARGARET. Yes, my good lord: a pure unspotted heart, + Never yet taint with love, I send the King. + SUFFOLK. And this withal. [Kisses her] + MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume + To send such peevish tokens to a king. + Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET + SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay; + Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth: + There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. + Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise. + Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, + And natural graces that extinguish art; + Repeat their semblance often on the seas, + That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, + Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder. Exit + + + + + SCENE 4. + + Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in Anjou + + Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others + YORK. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. + + Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a SHEPHERD + + SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright! + Have I sought every country far and near, + And, now it is my chance to find thee out, + Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? + Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee! + PUCELLE. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch! + I am descended of a gentler blood; + Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. + SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so; + I did beget her, all the parish knows. + Her mother liveth yet, can testify + She was the first fruit of my bach'lorship. + WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage? + YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been- + Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. + SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle! + God knows thou art a collop of my flesh; + And for thy sake have I shed many a tear. + Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. + PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man + Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. + SHEPHERD. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest + The morn that I was wedded to her mother. + Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. + Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time + Of thy nativity. I would the milk + Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast + Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake. + Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield, + I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee. + Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? + O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good. Exit + YORK. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long, + To fill the world with vicious qualities. + PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn'd: + Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, + But issued from the progeny of kings; + Virtuous and holy, chosen from above + By inspiration of celestial grace, + To work exceeding miracles on earth. + I never had to do with wicked spirits. + But you, that are polluted with your lusts, + Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, + Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, + Because you want the grace that others have, + You judge it straight a thing impossible + To compass wonders but by help of devils. + No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been + A virgin from her tender infancy, + Chaste and immaculate in very thought; + Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, + Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. + YORK. Ay, ay. Away with her to execution! + WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, + Spare for no fagots, let there be enow. + Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, + That so her torture may be shortened. + PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? + Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity + That warranteth by law to be thy privilege: + I am with child, ye bloody homicides; + Murder not then the fruit within my womb, + Although ye hale me to a violent death. + YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child! + WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: + Is all your strict preciseness come to this? + YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling. + I did imagine what would be her refuge. + WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live; + Especially since Charles must father it. + PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his: + It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love. + YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel! + It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. + PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you. + 'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd, + But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd. + WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable. + YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well + There were so many-whom she may accuse. + WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. + YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. + Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee. + Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. + PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my + curse: + May never glorious sun reflex his beams + Upon the country where you make abode; + But darkness and the gloomy shade of death + Environ you, till mischief and despair + Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves! + Exit, guarded + YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes, + Thou foul accursed minister of hell! + + Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended + + CARDINAL. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence + With letters of commission from the King. + For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, + Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils, + Have earnestly implor'd a general peace + Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; + And here at hand the Dauphin and his train + Approacheth, to confer about some matter. + YORK. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? + After the slaughter of so many peers, + So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, + That in this quarrel have been overthrown + And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, + Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? + Have we not lost most part of all the towns, + By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, + Our great progenitors had conquered? + O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief + The utter loss of all the realm of France. + WARWICK. Be patient, York. If we conclude a peace, + It shall be with such strict and severe covenants + As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. + + Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others + + CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed + That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, + We come to be informed by yourselves + What the conditions of that league must be. + YORK. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes + The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, + By sight of these our baleful enemies. + CARDINAL. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: + That, in regard King Henry gives consent, + Of mere compassion and of lenity, + To ease your country of distressful war, + An suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, + You shall become true liegemen to his crown; + And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear + To pay him tribute and submit thyself, + Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, + And still enjoy thy regal dignity. + ALENCON. Must he be then as shadow of himself? + Adorn his temples with a coronet + And yet, in substance and authority, + Retain but privilege of a private man? + This proffer is absurd and reasonless. + CHARLES. 'Tis known already that I am possess'd + With more than half the Gallian territories, + And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king. + Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, + Detract so much from that prerogative + As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole? + No, Lord Ambassador; I'll rather keep + That which I have than, coveting for more, + Be cast from possibility of all. + YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means + Us'd intercession to obtain a league, + And now the matter grows to compromise + Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison? + Either accept the title thou usurp'st, + Of benefit proceeding from our king + And not of any challenge of desert, + Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. + REIGNIER. [To CHARLES] My lord, you do not well in + obstinacy + To cavil in the course of this contract. + If once it be neglected, ten to one + We shall not find like opportunity. + ALENCON. [To CHARLES] To say the truth, it is your policy + To save your subjects from such massacre + And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen + By our proceeding in hostility; + And therefore take this compact of a truce, + Although you break it when your pleasure serves. + WARWICK. How say'st thou, Charles? Shall our condition + stand? + CHARLES. It shall; + Only reserv'd, you claim no interest + In any of our towns of garrison. + YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty: + As thou art knight, never to disobey + Nor be rebellious to the crown of England + Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. + [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty] + So, now dismiss your army when ye please; + Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, + For here we entertain a solemn peace. Exeunt + + + + + SCENE 5. + + London. The palace + + Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING, + GLOUCESTER and EXETER + + KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl, + Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me. + Her virtues, graced with external gifts, + Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; + And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts + Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, + So am I driven by breath of her renown + Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive + Where I may have fruition of her love. + SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale + Is but a preface of her worthy praise. + The chief perfections of that lovely dame, + Had I sufficient skill to utter them, + Would make a volume of enticing lines, + Able to ravish any dull conceit; + And, which is more, she is not so divine, + So full-replete with choice of all delights, + But with as humble lowliness of mind + She is content to be at your command + Command, I mean, of virtuous intents, + To love and honour Henry as her lord. + KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. + Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent + That Margaret may be England's royal Queen. + GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin. + You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth'd + Unto another lady of esteem. + How shall we then dispense with that contract, + And not deface your honour with reproach? + SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; + Or one that at a triumph, having vow'd + To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists + By reason of his adversary's odds: + A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, + And therefore may be broke without offence. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than + that? + Her father is no better than an earl, + Although in glorious titles he excel. + SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king, + The King of Naples and Jerusalem; + And of such great authority in France + As his alliance will confirm our peace, + And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. + GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do, + Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. + EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower; + Where Reignier sooner will receive than give. + SUFFOLK. A dow'r, my lords! Disgrace not so your king, + That he should be so abject, base, and poor, + To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. + Henry is able to enrich his queen, + And not to seek a queen to make him rich. + So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, + As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. + Marriage is a matter of more worth + Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; + Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects, + Must be companion of his nuptial bed. + And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, + It most of all these reasons bindeth us + In our opinions she should be preferr'd; + For what is wedlock forced but a hell, + An age of discord and continual strife? + Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, + And is a pattern of celestial peace. + Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, + But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? + Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, + Approves her fit for none but for a king; + Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, + More than in women commonly is seen, + Will answer our hope in issue of a king; + For Henry, son unto a conqueror, + Is likely to beget more conquerors, + If with a lady of so high resolve + As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. + Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me + That Margaret shall be Queen, and none but she. + KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report, + My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that + My tender youth was never yet attaint + With any passion of inflaming love, + I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd, + I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, + Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, + As I am sick with working of my thoughts. + Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France; + Agree to any covenants; and procure + That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come + To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd + King Henry's faithful and anointed queen. + For your expenses and sufficient charge, + Among the people gather up a tenth. + Be gone, I say; for till you do return + I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. + And you, good uncle, banish all offence: + If you do censure me by what you were, + Not what you are, I know it will excuse + This sudden execution of my will. + And so conduct me where, from company, + I may revolve and ruminate my grief. Exit + GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER + SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes, + As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, + With hope to find the like event in love + But prosper better than the Troyan did. + Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King; + But I will rule both her, the King, and realm. Exit + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1591 + +THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his uncle + CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, great-uncle to the King + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK + EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons + DUKE OF SOMERSET + DUKE OF SUFFOLK + DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + LORD CLIFFORD + YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL OF WARWICK + LORD SCALES + LORD SAY + SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD + WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother + SIR JOHN STANLEY + VAUX + MATTHEW GOFFE + A LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER, a MASTER'S MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE + TWO GENTLEMEN, prisoners with Suffolk + JOHN HUME and JOHN SOUTHWELL, two priests + ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer + A SPIRIT raised by him + THOMAS HORNER, an armourer + PETER, his man + CLERK OF CHATHAM + MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS + SAUNDER SIMPCOX, an impostor + ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish gentleman + JACK CADE, a rebel + GEORGE BEVIS, JOHN HOLLAND, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER, + MICHAEL, &c., followers of Cade + TWO MURDERERS + + MARGARET, Queen to King Henry + ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester + MARGERY JOURDAIN, a witch + WIFE to SIMPCOX + + Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald, + a Beadle, a Sheriff, Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, + Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +England + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +London. The palace + +Flourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY +OF GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL BEAUFORT, on the one side; +the QUEEN, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other + + SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty + I had in charge at my depart for France, + As procurator to your Excellence, + To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace; + So, in the famous ancient city Tours, + In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, + The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alencon, + Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops, + I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd; + And humbly now upon my bended knee, + In sight of England and her lordly peers, + Deliver up my title in the Queen + To your most gracious hands, that are the substance + Of that great shadow I did represent: + The happiest gift that ever marquis gave, + The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. + KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: + I can express no kinder sign of love + Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, + Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! + For thou hast given me in this beauteous face + A world of earthly blessings to my soul, + If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. + QUEEN. Great King of England, and my gracious lord, + The mutual conference that my mind hath had, + By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, + In courtly company or at my beads, + With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, + Makes me the bolder to salute my king + With ruder terms, such as my wit affords + And over-joy of heart doth minister. + KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, + Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, + Makes me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys, + Such is the fulness of my heart's content. + Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. + ALL. [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! + QUEEN. We thank you all. [Flourish] + SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your Grace, + Here are the articles of contracted peace + Between our sovereign and the French King Charles, + For eighteen months concluded by consent. + GLOUCESTER. [Reads] 'Imprimis: It is agreed between the French King + Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador + for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the + Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia, + and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth + of May next ensuing. + Item: That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be + released and delivered to the King her father'- + [Lets the paper fall] + KING HENRY. Uncle, how now! + GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord; + Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, + And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. + KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on. + CARDINAL. [Reads] 'Item: It is further agreed between them that the + duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over + to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of + England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' + KING HENRY. They please us well. Lord Marquess, kneel down. + We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk, + And girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York, + We here discharge your Grace from being Regent + I' th' parts of France, till term of eighteen months + Be full expir'd. Thanks, uncle Winchester, + Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, + Salisbury, and Warwick; + We thank you all for this great favour done + In entertainment to my princely queen. + Come, let us in, and with all speed provide + To see her coronation be perform'd. + Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK + GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, + To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief + Your grief, the common grief of all the land. + What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, + His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? + Did he so often lodge in open field, + In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, + To conquer France, his true inheritance? + And did my brother Bedford toil his wits + To keep by policy what Henry got? + Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, + Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, + Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? + Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, + With all the learned Council of the realm, + Studied so long, sat in the Council House + Early and late, debating to and fro + How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? + And had his Highness in his infancy + Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes? + And shall these labours and these honours die? + Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, + Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die? + O peers of England, shameful is this league! + Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, + Blotting your names from books of memory, + Razing the characters of your renown, + Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, + Undoing all, as all had never been! + CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, + This peroration with such circumstance? + For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can; + But now it is impossible we should. + Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, + Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine + Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style + Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. + SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all, + These counties were the keys of Normandy! + But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? + WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery; + For were there hope to conquer them again + My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. + Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; + Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer; + And are the cities that I got with wounds + Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? + Mort Dieu! + YORK. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, + That dims the honour of this warlike isle! + France should have torn and rent my very heart + Before I would have yielded to this league. + I never read but England's kings have had + Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives; + And our King Henry gives away his own + To match with her that brings no vantages. + GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before, + That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth + For costs and charges in transporting her! + She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd in France, + Before- + CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: + It was the pleasure of my lord the King. + GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; + 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, + But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. + Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face + I see thy fury; if I longer stay + We shall begin our ancient bickerings. + Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, + I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit + CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage. + 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy; + Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, + And no great friend, I fear me, to the King. + Consider, lords, he is the next of blood + And heir apparent to the English crown. + Had Henry got an empire by his marriage + And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, + There's reason he should be displeas'd at it. + Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words + Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. + What though the common people favour him, + Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' + Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice + 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' + With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' + I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, + He will be found a dangerous Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Why should he then protect our sovereign, + He being of age to govern of himself? + Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, + And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, + We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. + CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay; + I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit + SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride + And greatness of his place be grief to us, + Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; + His insolence is more intolerable + Than all the princes in the land beside; + If Gloucester be displac'd, he'll be Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector, + Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal. + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET + SALISBURY. Pride went before, ambition follows him. + While these do labour for their own preferment, + Behoves it us to labour for the realm. + I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester + Did bear him like a noble gentleman. + Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal- + More like a soldier than a man o' th' church, + As stout and proud as he were lord of all- + Swear like a ruffian and demean himself + Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. + Warwick my son, the comfort of my age, + Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, + Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, + Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey. + And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, + In bringing them to civil discipline, + Thy late exploits done in the heart of France + When thou wert Regent for our sovereign, + Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: + Join we together for the public good, + In what we can, to bridle and suppress + The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal, + With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; + And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds + While they do tend the profit of the land. + WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land + And common profit of his country! + YORK. And so says York- [Aside] for he hath greatest cause. + SALISBURY. Then let's make haste away and look unto the main. + WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost- + That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, + And would have kept so long as breath did last. + Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, + Which I will win from France, or else be slain. + Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY + YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; + Paris is lost; the state of Normandy + Stands on a tickle point now they are gone. + Suffolk concluded on the articles; + The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd + To changes two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. + I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? + 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. + Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, + And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, + Still revelling like lords till all be gone; + While as the silly owner of the goods + Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands + And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, + While all is shar'd and all is borne away, + Ready to starve and dare not touch his own. + So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, + While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. + Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland, + Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood + As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt + Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. + Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! + Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, + Even as I have of fertile England's soil. + A day will come when York shall claim his own; + And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, + And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, + And when I spy advantage, claim the crown, + For that's the golden mark I seek to hit. + Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, + Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, + Nor wear the diadem upon his head, + Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. + Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve; + Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep, + To pry into the secrets of the state; + Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love + With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, + And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars; + Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, + With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd, + And in my standard bear the arms of York, + To grapple with the house of Lancaster; + And force perforce I'll make him yield the crown, + Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S house + +Enter DUKE and his wife ELEANOR + + DUCHESS. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn + Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? + Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, + As frowning at the favours of the world? + Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, + Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? + What see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem, + Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? + If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face + Until thy head be circled with the same. + Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. + What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine; + And having both together heav'd it up, + We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, + And never more abase our sight so low + As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. + GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, + Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts! + And may that thought, when I imagine ill + Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, + Be my last breathing in this mortal world! + My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad. + DUCHESS. What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it + With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. + GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, + Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, + But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal; + And on the pieces of the broken wand + Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset + And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk. + This was my dream; what it doth bode God knows. + DUCHESS. Tut, this was nothing but an argument + That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove + Shall lose his head for his presumption. + But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke: + Methought I sat in seat of majesty + In the cathedral church of Westminster, + And in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd; + Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel'd to me, + And on my head did set the diadem. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. + Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! + Art thou not second woman in the realm, + And the Protector's wife, belov'd of him? + Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command + Above the reach or compass of thy thought? + And wilt thou still be hammering treachery + To tumble down thy husband and thyself + From top of honour to disgrace's feet? + Away from me, and let me hear no more! + DUCHESS. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric + With Eleanor for telling but her dream? + Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself + And not be check'd. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure + You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, + Where as the King and Queen do mean to hawk. + GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? + DUCHESS. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and MESSENGER + Follow I must; I cannot go before, + While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. + Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, + I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks + And smooth my way upon their headless necks; + And, being a woman, I will not be slack + To play my part in Fortune's pageant. + Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man, + We are alone; here's none but thee and I. + + Enter HUME + + HUME. Jesus preserve your royal Majesty! + DUCHESS. What say'st thou? Majesty! I am but Grace. + HUME. But, by the grace of God and Hume's advice, + Your Grace's title shall be multiplied. + DUCHESS. What say'st thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferr'd + With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch of Eie, + With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? + And will they undertake to do me good? + HUME. This they have promised, to show your Highness + A spirit rais'd from depth of underground + That shall make answer to such questions + As by your Grace shall be propounded him + DUCHESS. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions; + When from Saint Albans we do make return + We'll see these things effected to the full. + Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, + With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit + HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess' gold; + Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume! + Seal up your lips and give no words but mum: + The business asketh silent secrecy. + Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: + Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil. + Yet have I gold flies from another coast- + I dare not say from the rich Cardinal, + And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk; + Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain, + They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, + Have hired me to undermine the Duchess, + And buzz these conjurations in her brain. + They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker'; + Yet am I Suffolk and the Cardinal's broker. + Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near + To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. + Well, so its stands; and thus, I fear, at last + Hume's knavery will be the Duchess' wreck, + And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall + Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +London. The palace + +Enter three or four PETITIONERS, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one + + FIRST PETITIONER. My masters, let's stand close; my Lord Protector + will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our + supplications in the quill. + SECOND PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good + man, Jesu bless him! + + Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN + + FIRST PETITIONER. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the Queen with him. + I'll be the first, sure. + SECOND PETITIONER. Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk and + not my Lord Protector. + SUFFOLK. How now, fellow! Wouldst anything with me? + FIRST PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my Lord + Protector. + QUEEN. [Reads] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to + his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine? + FIRST PETITIONER. Mine is, an't please your Grace, against John + Goodman, my Lord Cardinal's man, for keeping my house and lands, + and wife and all, from me. + SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That's some wrong indeed. What's yours? + What's here! [Reads] 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing + the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! + SECOND PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our + whole township. + PETER. [Presenting his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, + for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. + QUEEN. What say'st thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful + heir to the crown? + PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth. My master said that he + was, and that the King was an usurper. + SUFFOLK. Who is there? [Enter servant] Take this fellow in, and + send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We'll hear more + of your matter before the King. + Exit servant with PETER + QUEEN. And as for you, that love to be protected + Under the wings of our Protector's grace, + Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. + [Tears the supplications] + Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. + ALL. Come, let's be gone. Exeunt + QUEEN. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, + Is this the fashions in the court of England? + Is this the government of Britain's isle, + And this the royalty of Albion's king? + What, shall King Henry be a pupil still, + Under the surly Gloucester's governance? + Am I a queen in title and in style, + And must be made a subject to a duke? + I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours + Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love + And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France, + I thought King Henry had resembled thee + In courage, courtship, and proportion; + But all his mind is bent to holiness, + To number Ave-Maries on his beads; + His champions are the prophets and apostles; + His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; + His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves + Are brazen images of canonized saints. + I would the college of the Cardinals + Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome, + And set the triple crown upon his head; + That were a state fit for his holiness. + SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause + Your Highness came to England, so will I + In England work your Grace's full content. + QUEEN. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort + The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, + And grumbling York; and not the least of these + But can do more in England than the King. + SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all + Cannot do more in England than the Nevils; + Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. + QUEEN. Not all these lords do vex me half so much + As that proud dame, the Lord Protector's wife. + She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, + More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife. + Strangers in court do take her for the Queen. + She bears a duke's revenues on her back, + And in her heart she scorns our poverty; + Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? + Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, + She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day + The very train of her worst wearing gown + Was better worth than all my father's lands, + Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. + SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her, + And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds + That she will light to listen to the lays, + And never mount to trouble you again. + So, let her rest. And, madam, list to me, + For I am bold to counsel you in this: + Although we fancy not the Cardinal, + Yet must we join with him and with the lords, + Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. + As for the Duke of York, this late complaint + Will make but little for his benefit. + So one by one we'll weed them all at last, + And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. + + Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY, + CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, + WARWICK, and the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER + + KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which: + Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. + YORK. If York have ill demean'd himself in France, + Then let him be denay'd the regentship. + SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, + Let York be Regent; I will yield to him. + WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no, + Dispute not that; York is the worthier. + CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. + WARWICK. The Cardinal's not my better in the field. + BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. + WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all. + SALISBURY. Peace, son! And show some reason, Buckingham, + Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. + QUEEN. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so. + GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself + To give his censure. These are no women's matters. + QUEEN. If he be old enough, what needs your Grace + To be Protector of his Excellence? + GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm; + And at his pleasure will resign my place. + SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. + Since thou wert king- as who is king but thou?- + The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack, + The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas, + And all the peers and nobles of the realm + Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. + CARDINAL. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags + Are lank and lean with thy extortions. + SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire + Have cost a mass of public treasury. + BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution + Upon offenders hath exceeded law, + And left thee to the mercy of the law. + QUEEN. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, + If they were known, as the suspect is great, + Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. + Exit GLOUCESTER. The QUEEN drops QUEEN her fan + Give me my fan. What, minion, can ye not? + [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear] + I cry your mercy, madam; was it you? + DUCHESS. Was't I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman. + Could I come near your beauty with my nails, + I could set my ten commandments in your face. + KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. + DUCHESS. Against her will, good King? Look to 't in time; + She'll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby. + Though in this place most master wear no breeches, + She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng'd. Exit + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, + And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds. + She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, + She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit + + Re-enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown + With walking once about the quadrangle, + I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. + As for your spiteful false objections, + Prove them, and I lie open to the law; + But God in mercy so deal with my soul + As I in duty love my king and country! + But to the matter that we have in hand: + I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man + To be your Regent in the realm of France. + SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave + To show some reason, of no little force, + That York is most unmeet of any man. + YORK. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: + First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; + Next, if I be appointed for the place, + My Lord of Somerset will keep me here + Without discharge, money, or furniture, + Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands. + Last time I danc'd attendance on his will + Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. + WARWICK. That can I witness; and a fouler fact + Did never traitor in the land commit. + SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick! + WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? + + Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded + + SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: + Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! + YORK. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? + KING HENRY. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these? + SUFFOLK. Please it your Majesty, this is the man + That doth accuse his master of high treason; + His words were these: that Richard Duke of York + Was rightful heir unto the English crown, + And that your Majesty was an usurper. + KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words? + HORNER. An't shall please your Majesty, I never said nor thought + any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accus'd by the + villain. + PETER. [Holding up his hands] By these ten bones, my lords, he did + speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my + Lord of York's armour. + YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, + I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. + I do beseech your royal Majesty, + Let him have all the rigour of the law. + HORNER`. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My + accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault + the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with + me. I have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your + Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's + accusation. + KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? + GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: + Let Somerset be Regent o'er the French, + Because in York this breeds suspicion; + And let these have a day appointed them + For single combat in convenient place, + For he hath witness of his servant's malice. + This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. + SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty. + HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly. + PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case! + The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon + me, I shall never be able to fight a blow! O Lord, my heart! + GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd. + KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall + be the last of the next month. + Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S garden + +Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, the witch; the two priests, HUME and SOUTHWELL; +and BOLINGBROKE + + HUME. Come, my masters; the Duchess, I tell you, expects + performance of your promises. + BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided; will her + ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? + HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage. + BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an + invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that + you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so I pray you go, + in God's name, and leave us. [Exit HUME] Mother Jourdain, be you + prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and + let us to our work. + + Enter DUCHESS aloft, followed by HUME + + DUCHESS. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the + sooner the better. + BOLINGBROKE. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: + Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, + The time of night when Troy was set on fire; + The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, + And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves- + That time best fits the work we have in hand. + Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise + We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. + + [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; + BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads: 'Conjuro te,' &c. + It thunders and lightens terribly; then the SPIRIT riseth] + + SPIRIT. Adsum. + MARGERY JOURDAIN. Asmath, + By the eternal God, whose name and power + Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; + For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence. + SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt; that I had said and done. + BOLINGBROKE. [Reads] 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' + SPIRIT. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; + But him outlive, and die a violent death. + [As the SPIRIT speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer] + BOLINGBROKE. 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' + SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end. + BOLINGBROKE. 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' + SPIRIT. Let him shun castles: + Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains + Than where castles mounted stand. + Have done, for more I hardly can endure. + BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake; + False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit SPIRIT + + Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUKE OF + BUCKINGHAM with guard, and break in + + YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. + Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. + What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal + Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains; + My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not, + See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. + DUCHESS. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, + Injurious Duke, that threatest where's no cause. + BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What can you this? + Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close, + And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. + Stafford, take her to thee. + We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. + All, away! + Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, guarded; below, + WITCH, SOUTHWELL and BOLINGBROKE, guarded + YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd her well. + A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! + Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. + What have we here? [Reads] + 'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; + But him outlive, and die a violent death.' + Why, this is just + 'Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse.' + Well, to the rest: + 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?' + 'By water shall he die and take his end.' + 'What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?' + 'Let him shun castles; + Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains + Than where castles mounted stand.' + Come, come, my lords; + These oracles are hardly attain'd, + And hardly understood. + The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans, + With him the husband of this lovely lady; + Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them- + A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, + To be the post, in hope of his reward. + YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord. + Who's within there, ho? + + Enter a serving-man + + Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick + To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Saint Albans + +Enter the KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, +with Falconers halloing + + QUEEN. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, + I saw not better sport these seven years' day; + Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high, + And ten to one old Joan had not gone out. + KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, + And what a pitch she flew above the rest! + To see how God in all His creatures works! + Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. + SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your Majesty, + My Lord Protector's hawks do tow'r so well; + They know their master loves to be aloft, + And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind + That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. + CARDINAL. I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, my lord Cardinal, how think you by that? + Were it not good your Grace could fly to heaven? + KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy! + CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts + Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; + Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer, + That smooth'st it so with King and commonweal. + GLOUCESTER. What, Cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? + Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? + Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice; + With such holiness can you do it? + SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes + So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. + GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord? + SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord, + An't like your lordly Lord's Protectorship. + GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. + QUEEN. And thy ambition, Gloucester. + KING HENRY. I prithee, peace, + Good Queen, and whet not on these furious peers; + For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. + CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make + Against this proud Protector with my sword! + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere + come to that! + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou dar'st. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the + matter; + In thine own person answer thy abuse. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou dar'st not peep; an + if thou dar'st, + This evening on the east side of the grove. + KING HENRY. How now, my lords! + CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester, + Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, + We had had more sport. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Come with thy + two-hand sword. + GLOUCESTER. True, uncle. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advis'd? The east side of + the grove? + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. + KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! + GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. + [Aside to CARDINAL] Now, by God's Mother, priest, + I'll shave your crown for this, + Or all my fence shall fail. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum; + Protector, see to't well; protect yourself. + KING HENRY. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. + How irksome is this music to my heart! + When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? + I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. + + Enter a TOWNSMAN of Saint Albans, crying 'A miracle!' + + GLOUCESTER. What means this noise? + Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? + TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle! + SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle. + TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine + Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight; + A man that ne'er saw in his life before. + KING HENRY. Now God be prais'd that to believing souls + Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! + + Enter the MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS and his brethren, + bearing Simpcox between two in a chair; + his WIFE and a multitude following + + CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession + To present your Highness with the man. + KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, + Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. + GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the King; + His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him. + KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, + That we for thee may glorify the Lord. + What, hast thou been long blind and now restor'd? + SIMPCOX. Born blind, an't please your Grace. + WIFE. Ay indeed was he. + SUFFOLK. What woman is this? + WIFE. His wife, an't like your worship. + GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better + told. + KING HENRY. Where wert thou born? + SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an't like your Grace. + KING HENRY. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee. + Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, + But still remember what the Lord hath done. + QUEEN. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance, + Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? + SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd + A hundred times and oft'ner, in my sleep, + By good Saint Alban, who said 'Simpcox, come, + Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' + WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft + Myself have heard a voice to call him so. + CARDINAL. What, art thou lame? + SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me! + SUFFOLK. How cam'st thou so? + SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree. + WIFE. A plum tree, master. + GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind? + SIMPCOX. O, born so, master! + GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree? + SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. + WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. + GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so. + SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons + And made me climb, With danger of my life. + GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve: + Let me see thine eyes; wink now; now open them; + In my opinion yet thou seest not well. + SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. + GLOUCESTER. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? + SIMPCOX. Red, master; red as blood. + GLOUCESTER. Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? + SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet. + KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? + SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. + GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day a many. + WIFE. Never before this day in all his life. + GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not. + GLOUCESTER. What's his name? + SIMPCOX. I know not. + GLOUCESTER. Nor his? + SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master. + GLOUCESTER. What's thine own name? + SIMPCOX. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. + GLOUCESTER. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lying'st knave in + Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well + have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we + do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to + nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here + hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be + great that could restore this cripple to his legs again? + SIMPCOX. O master, that you could! + GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in + your town, and things call'd whips? + MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently. + MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. + Exit an attendant + GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool + brought] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, + leap me over this stool and run away. + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone! + You go about to torture me in vain. + + Enter a BEADLE with whips + + GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. + Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. + BEADLE. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet + quickly. + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. + + After the BEADLE hath hit him once, he leaps over + the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry + 'A miracle!' + + KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? + QUEEN. It made me laugh to see the villain run. + GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away. + WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need! + GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipp'd through every market town till they + come to Berwick, from whence they came. + Exeunt MAYOR, BEADLE, WIFE, &c. + CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. + SUFFOLK. True; made the lame to leap and fly away. + GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I: + You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold: + A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, + Under the countenance and confederacy + Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector's wife, + The ringleader and head of all this rout, + Have practis'd dangerously against your state, + Dealing with witches and with conjurers, + Whom we have apprehended in the fact, + Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, + Demanding of King Henry's life and death + And other of your Highness' Privy Council, + As more at large your Grace shall understand. + CARDINAL. And so, my Lord Protector, by this means + Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. + This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; + 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. + GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart. + Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; + And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to the + Or to the meanest groom. + KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, + Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! + QUEEN. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest; + And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. + GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal + How I have lov'd my King and commonweal; + And for my wife I know not how it stands. + Sorry I am to hear what I have heard. + Noble she is; but if she have forgot + Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such + As, like to pitch, defile nobility, + I banish her my bed and company + And give her as a prey to law and shame, + That hath dishonoured Gloucester's honest name. + KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here. + To-morrow toward London back again + To look into this business thoroughly + And call these foul offenders to their answers, + And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, + Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. + Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +London. The DUKE OF YORK'S garden + +Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK + + YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, + Our simple supper ended, give me leave + In this close walk to satisfy myself + In craving your opinion of my tide, + Which is infallible, to England's crown. + SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full. + WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good, + The Nevils are thy subjects to command. + YORK. Then thus: + Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons; + The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; + The second, William of Hatfield; and the third, + Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom + Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; + The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; + The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; + William of Windsor was the seventh and last. + Edward the Black Prince died before his father + And left behind him Richard, his only son, + Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king + Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, + The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, + Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, + Seiz'd on the realm, depos'd the rightful king, + Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came. + And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know, + Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously. + WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth; + Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. + YORK. Which now they hold by force, and not by right; + For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, + The issue of the next son should have reign'd. + SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. + YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line + I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a daughter, + Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March; + Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; + Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. + SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, + As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; + And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, + Who kept him in captivity till he died. + But, to the rest. + YORK. His eldest sister, Anne, + My mother, being heir unto the crown, + Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was + To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son, son. + By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir + To Roger Earl of March, who was the son + Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, + Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence; + So, if the issue of the elder son + Succeed before the younger, I am King. + WARWICK. What plain proceedings is more plain than this? + Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, + The fourth son: York claims it from the third. + Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign. + It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee + And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. + Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together, + And in this private plot be we the first + That shall salute our rightful sovereign + With honour of his birthright to the crown. + BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's King! + YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king + Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd + With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; + And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, + But with advice and silent secrecy. + Do you as I do in these dangerous days: + Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, + At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, + At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, + Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, + That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey; + 'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that, + Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. + SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. + WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick + Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. + YORK. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, + Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick + The greatest man in England but the King. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +London. A hall of justice + +Sound trumpets. Enter the KING and State: the QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, YORK, +SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY, with guard, to banish the DUCHESS. Enter, guarded, +the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE + + KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: + In sight of God and us, your guilt is great; + Receive the sentence of the law for sins + Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. + You four, from hence to prison back again; + From thence unto the place of execution: + The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes, + And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. + You, madam, for you are more nobly born, + Despoiled of your honour in your life, + Shall, after three days' open penance done, + Live in your country here in banishment + With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man. + DUCHESS. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. + GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee. + I cannot justify whom the law condemns. + Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other prisoners, guarded + Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. + Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age + Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! + I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go; + Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. + KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester; ere thou go, + Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself + Protector be; and God shall be my hope, + My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. + And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov'd + Than when thou wert Protector to thy King. + QUEEN. I see no reason why a king of years + Should be to be protected like a child. + God and King Henry govern England's realm! + Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm. + GLOUCESTER. My staff! Here, noble Henry, is my staff. + As willingly do I the same resign + As ere thy father Henry made it mine; + And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it + As others would ambitiously receive it. + Farewell, good King; when I am dead and gone, + May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit + QUEEN. Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen, + And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, + That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once- + His lady banish'd and a limb lopp'd off. + This staff of honour raught, there let it stand + Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. + SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; + Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. + YORK. Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty, + This is the day appointed for the combat; + And ready are the appellant and defendant, + The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, + So please your Highness to behold the fight. + QUEEN. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore + Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. + KING HENRY. A God's name, see the lists and all things fit; + Here let them end it, and God defend the right! + YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested, + Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, + The servant of his armourer, my lords. + + Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his + NEIGHBOURS, drinking to him so much that he is + drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and + his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the + other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sandbag, + and PRENTICES drinking to him + + FIRST NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of + sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. + SECOND NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. + THIRD NEIGHBOUR. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour; + drink, and fear not your man. + HORNER. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig + for Peter! + FIRST PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid. + SECOND PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight + for credit of the prentices. + PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I + think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an + if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my + hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord + bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, + he hath learnt so much fence already. + SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows. + Sirrah, what's thy name? + PETER. Peter, forsooth. + SALISBURY. Peter? What more? + PETER. Thump. + SALISBURY. Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well. + HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's + instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and + touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him + any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have + at thee with a down right blow! + YORK. Dispatch- this knave's tongue begins to double. + Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! + [Alarum. They fight and PETER strikes him down] + HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. + [Dies] + YORK. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in + thy master's way. + PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O + Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right! + KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight, + For by his death we do perceive his guilt; + And God in justice hath reveal'd to us + The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, + Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. + Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. + Sound a flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. A street + +Enter DUKE HUMPHREY and his men, in mourning cloaks + + GLOUCESTER. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud, + And after summer evermore succeeds + Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold; + So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. + Sirs, what's o'clock? + SERVING-MAN. Ten, my lord. + GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me + To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess. + Uneath may she endure the flinty streets + To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. + Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook + The abject people gazing on thy face, + With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, + That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels + When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. + But, soft! I think she comes, and I'll prepare + My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. + + Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet, + and a taper burning in her hand, with SIR JOHN + STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS + + SERVING-MAN. So please your Grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. + GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by. + DUCHESS. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? + Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! + See how the giddy multitude do point + And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee; + Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, + And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame + And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! + GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. + DUCHESS. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! + For whilst I think I am thy married wife + And thou a prince, Protector of this land, + Methinks I should not thus be led along, + Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, + And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice + To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. + The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, + And when I start, the envious people laugh + And bid me be advised how I tread. + Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? + Trowest thou that e'er I'll look upon the world + Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? + No; dark shall be my light and night my day; + To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. + Sometimes I'll say I am Duke Humphrey's wife, + And he a prince, and ruler of the land; + Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, + As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, + Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock + To every idle rascal follower. + But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame, + Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death + Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will. + For Suffolk- he that can do all in all + With her that hateth thee and hates us all- + And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, + Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, + And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee. + But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd, + Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry. + I must offend before I be attainted; + And had I twenty times so many foes, + And each of them had twenty times their power, + All these could not procure me any scathe + So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. + Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? + Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, + But I in danger for the breach of law. + Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell. + I pray thee sort thy heart to patience; + These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. + + Enter a HERALD + + HERALD. I summon your Grace to his Majesty's Parliament, + Holden at Bury the first of this next month. + GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! + This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit HERALD + My Nell, I take my leave- and, master sheriff, + Let not her penance exceed the King's commission. + SHERIFF. An't please your Grace, here my commission stays; + And Sir John Stanley is appointed now + To take her with him to the Isle of Man. + GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? + STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may't please your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray + You use her well; the world may laugh again, + And I may live to do you kindness if + You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell. + DUCHESS. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! + GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and servants + DUCHESS. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee! + For none abides with me. My joy is death- + Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, + Because I wish'd this world's eternity. + Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence; + I care not whither, for I beg no favour, + Only convey me where thou art commanded. + STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man, + There to be us'd according to your state. + DUCHESS. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach- + And shall I then be us'd reproachfully? + STANLEY. Like to a duchess and Duke Humphrey's lady; + According to that state you shall be us'd. + DUCHESS. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, + Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. + SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. + DUCHESS. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd. + Come, Stanley, shall we go? + STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, + And go we to attire you for our journey. + DUCHESS. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet. + No, it will hang upon my richest robes + And show itself, attire me how I can. + Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +The Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds + +Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, +BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the Parliament + + KING HENRY. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come. + 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, + Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. + QUEEN. Can you not see, or will ye not observe + The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? + With what a majesty he bears himself; + How insolent of late he is become, + How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? + We know the time since he was mild and affable, + And if we did but glance a far-off look + Immediately he was upon his knee, + That all the court admir'd him for submission. + But meet him now and be it in the morn, + When every one will give the time of day, + He knits his brow and shows an angry eye + And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, + Disdaining duty that to us belongs. + Small curs are not regarded when they grin, + But great men tremble when the lion roars, + And Humphrey is no little man in England. + First note that he is near you in descent, + And should you fall he is the next will mount; + Me seemeth, then, it is no policy- + Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, + And his advantage following your decease- + That he should come about your royal person + Or be admitted to your Highness' Council. + By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts; + And when he please to make commotion, + 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. + Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; + Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden + And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. + The reverent care I bear unto my lord + Made me collect these dangers in the Duke. + If it be fond, can it a woman's fear; + Which fear if better reasons can supplant, + I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke. + My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, + Reprove my allegation if you can, + Or else conclude my words effectual. + SUFFOLK. Well hath your Highness seen into this duke; + And had I first been put to speak my mind, + I think I should have told your Grace's tale. + The Duchess, by his subornation, + Upon my life, began her devilish practices; + Or if he were not privy to those faults, + Yet by reputing of his high descent- + As next the King he was successive heir- + And such high vaunts of his nobility, + Did instigate the bedlam brainsick Duchess + By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. + Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, + And in his simple show he harbours treason. + The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. + No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man + Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. + CARDINAL. Did he not, contrary to form of law, + Devise strange deaths for small offences done? + YORK. And did he not, in his protectorship, + Levy great sums of money through the realm + For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? + By means whereof the towns each day revolted. + BUCKINGHAM. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown + Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. + KING HENRY. My lords, at once: the care you have of us, + To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, + Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience? + Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent + From meaning treason to our royal person + As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: + The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given + To dream on evil or to work my downfall. + QUEEN. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance? + Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrow'd, + For he's disposed as the hateful raven. + Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him, + For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf. + Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? + Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all + Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. + + Enter SOMERSET + + SOMERSET. All health unto my gracious sovereign! + KING HENRY. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? + SOMERSET. That all your interest in those territories + Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. + KING HENRY. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God's will be done! + YORK. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France + As firmly as I hope for fertile England. + Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, + And caterpillars eat my leaves away; + But I will remedy this gear ere long, + Or sell my title for a glorious grave. + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. All happiness unto my lord the King! + Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. + SUFFOLK. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, + Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art. + I do arrest thee of high treason here. + GLOUCESTER. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush + Nor change my countenance for this arrest: + A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. + The purest spring is not so free from mud + As I am clear from treason to my sovereign. + Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty? + YORK. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France + And, being Protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; + By means whereof his Highness hath lost France. + GLOUCESTER. Is it but thought so? What are they that think it? + I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay + Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. + So help me God, as I have watch'd the night- + Ay, night by night- in studying good for England! + That doit that e'er I wrested from the King, + Or any groat I hoarded to my use, + Be brought against me at my trial-day! + No; many a pound of mine own proper store, + Because I would not tax the needy commons, + Have I dispursed to the garrisons, + And never ask'd for restitution. + CARDINAL. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. + GLOUCESTER. I say no more than truth, so help me God! + YORK. In your protectorship you did devise + Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, + That England was defam'd by tyranny. + GLOUCESTER. Why, 'tis well known that whiles I was Protector + Pity was all the fault that was in me; + For I should melt at an offender's tears, + And lowly words were ransom for their fault. + Unless it were a bloody murderer, + Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, + I never gave them condign punishment. + Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd + Above the felon or what trespass else. + SUFFOLK. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd; + But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, + Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. + I do arrest you in His Highness' name, + And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal + To keep until your further time of trial. + KING HENRY. My Lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope + That you will clear yourself from all suspense. + My conscience tells me you are innocent. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous! + Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, + And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; + Foul subornation is predominant, + And equity exil'd your Highness' land. + I know their complot is to have my life; + And if my death might make this island happy + And prove the period of their tyranny, + I would expend it with all willingness. + But mine is made the prologue to their play; + For thousands more that yet suspect no peril + Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. + Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, + And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; + Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue + The envious load that lies upon his heart; + And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, + Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, + By false accuse doth level at my life. + And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, + Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, + And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up + My liefest liege to be mine enemy; + Ay, all of you have laid your heads together- + Myself had notice of your conventicles- + And all to make away my guiltless life. + I shall not want false witness to condemn me + Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt. + The ancient proverb will be well effected: + 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' + CARDINAL. My liege, his railing is intolerable. + If those that care to keep your royal person + From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage + Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, + And the offender granted scope of speech, + 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace. + SUFFOLK. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here + With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, + As if she had suborned some to swear + False allegations to o'erthrow his state? + QUEEN. But I can give the loser leave to chide. + GLOUCESTER. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed. + Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! + And well such losers may have leave to speak. + BUCKINGHAM. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day. + Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner. + CARDINAL. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch + Before his legs be firm to bear his body! + Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, + And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. + Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! + For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded + KING HENRY. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best + Do or undo, as if ourself were here. + QUEEN. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament? + KING HENRY. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, + Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; + My body round engirt with misery- + For what's more miserable than discontent? + Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see + The map of honour, truth, and loyalty! + And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come + That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith. + What louring star now envies thy estate + That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen, + Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? + Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; + And as the butcher takes away the calf, + And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, + Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, + Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence; + And as the dam runs lowing up and down, + Looking the way her harmless young one went, + And can do nought but wail her darling's loss, + Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case + With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes + Look after him, and cannot do him good, + So mighty are his vowed enemies. + His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan + Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.' Exit + QUEEN. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams: + Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, + Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester's show + Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile + With sorrow snares relenting passengers; + Or as the snake, roll'd in a flow'ring bank, + With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child + That for the beauty thinks it excellent. + Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I- + And yet herein I judge mine own wit good- + This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world + To rid us from the fear we have of him. + CARDINAL. That he should die is worthy policy; + But yet we want a colour for his death. + 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. + SUFFOLK. But, in my mind, that were no policy: + The King will labour still to save his life; + The commons haply rise to save his life; + And yet we have but trivial argument, + More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. + YORK. So that, by this, you would not have him die. + SUFFOLK. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I! + YORK. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death. + But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, + Say as you think, and speak it from your souls: + Were't not all one an empty eagle were set + To guard the chicken from a hungry kite + As place Duke Humphrey for the King's Protector? + QUEEN. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. + SUFFOLK. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then + To make the fox surveyor of the fold? + Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, + His guilt should be but idly posted over, + Because his purpose is not executed. + No; let him die, in that he is a fox, + By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, + Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, + As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. + And do not stand on quillets how to slay him; + Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, + Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, + So he be dead; for that is good deceit + Which mates him first that first intends deceit. + QUEEN. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. + SUFFOLK. Not resolute, except so much were done, + For things are often spoke and seldom meant; + But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, + Seeing the deed is meritorious, + And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, + Say but the word, and I will be his priest. + CARDINAL. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk, + Ere you can take due orders for a priest; + Say you consent and censure well the deed, + And I'll provide his executioner- + I tender so the safety of my liege. + SUFFOLK. Here is my hand the deed is worthy doing. + QUEEN. And so say I. + YORK. And I. And now we three have spoke it, + It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. + + Enter a POST + + POST. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain + To signify that rebels there are up + And put the Englishmen unto the sword. + Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, + Before the wound do grow uncurable; + For, being green, there is great hope of help. + CARDINAL. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! + What counsel give you in this weighty cause? + YORK. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither; + 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd, + Witness the fortune he hath had in France. + SOMERSET. If York, with all his far-fet policy, + Had been the Regent there instead of me, + He never would have stay'd in France so long. + YORK. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done. + I rather would have lost my life betimes + Than bring a burden of dishonour home + By staying there so long till all were lost. + Show me one scar character'd on thy skin: + Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win. + QUEEN. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, + If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with; + No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still. + Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there, + Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. + YORK. What, worse than nought? Nay, then a shame take all! + SOMERSET. And in the number, thee that wishest shame! + CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is. + Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms + And temper clay with blood of Englishmen; + To Ireland will you lead a band of men, + Collected choicely, from each county some, + And try your hap against the Irishmen? + YORK. I will, my lord, so please his Majesty. + SUFFOLK. Why, our authority is his consent, + And what we do establish he confirms; + Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. + YORK. I am content; provide me soldiers, lords, + Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. + SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd. + But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey. + CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him + That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. + And so break off; the day is almost spent. + Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. + YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days + At Bristol I expect my soldiers; + For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. + SUFFOLK. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York. + Exeunt all but YORK + YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts + And change misdoubt to resolution; + Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art + Resign to death- it is not worth th' enjoying. + Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man + And find no harbour in a royal heart. + Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on thought, + And not a thought but thinks on dignity. + My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, + Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. + Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done + To send me packing with an host of men. + I fear me you but warm the starved snake, + Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts. + 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me; + I take it kindly. Yet be well assur'd + You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. + Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, + I will stir up in England some black storm + Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; + And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage + Until the golden circuit on my head, + Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, + Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. + And for a minister of my intent + I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, + John Cade of Ashford, + To make commotion, as full well he can, + Under the tide of John Mortimer. + In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade + Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, + And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts + Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine; + And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen + Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, + Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. + Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern, + Hath he conversed with the enemy, + And undiscover'd come to me again + And given me notice of their villainies. + This devil here shall be my substitute; + For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, + In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble. + By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, + How they affect the house and claim of York. + Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortured; + I know no pain they can inflict upon him + Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms. + Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will, + Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, + And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; + For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, + And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state + +Enter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage, +from the murder of DUKE HUMPHREY + + FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know + We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded. + SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done? + Didst ever hear a man so penitent? + + Enter SUFFOLK + + FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord. + SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. + SUFFOLK. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house; + I will reward you for this venturous deed. + The King and all the peers are here at hand. + Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, + According as I gave directions? + FIRST MURDERER. 'Tis, my good lord. + SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS + + Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, + CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants + + KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight; + Say we intend to try his Grace to-day, + If he be guilty, as 'tis published. + SUFFOLK. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit + KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, + Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester + Than from true evidence, of good esteem, + He be approv'd in practice culpable. + QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail + That faultless may condemn a nobleman! + Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion! + KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much. + + Re-enter SUFFOLK + + How now! Why look'st thou pale? Why tremblest thou? + Where is our uncle? What's the matter, Suffolk? + SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead. + QUEEN. Marry, God forfend! + CARDINAL. God's secret judgment! I did dream to-night + The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word. + [The KING swoons] + QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead. + SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. + QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes! + SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient. + KING. O heavenly God! + QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord? + SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort! + KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? + Came he right now to sing a raven's note, + Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs; + And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, + By crying comfort from a hollow breast, + Can chase away the first conceived sound? + Hide not thy poison with such sug'red words; + Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say, + Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. + Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! + Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny + Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. + Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding; + Yet do not go away; come, basilisk, + And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; + For in the shade of death I shall find joy- + In life but double death,'now Gloucester's dead. + QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? + Although the Duke was enemy to him, + Yet he most Christian-like laments his death; + And for myself- foe as he was to me- + Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, + Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life, + I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, + Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, + And all to have the noble Duke alive. + What know I how the world may deem of me? + For it is known we were but hollow friends: + It may be judg'd I made the Duke away; + So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, + And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. + This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy! + To be a queen and crown'd with infamy! + KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man! + QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. + What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? + I am no loathsome leper- look on me. + What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf? + Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen. + Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb? + Why, then Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. + Erect his statue and worship it, + And make my image but an alehouse sign. + Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea, + And twice by awkward wind from England's bank + Drove back again unto my native clime? + What boded this but well-forewarning wind + Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest, + Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'? + What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts, + And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves; + And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, + Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? + Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer, + But left that hateful office unto thee. + The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me, + Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore + With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness; + The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands + And would not dash me with their ragged sides, + Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, + Might in thy palace perish Margaret. + As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, + When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, + I stood upon the hatches in the storm; + And when the dusky sky began to rob + My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, + I took a costly jewel from my neck- + A heart it was, bound in with diamonds- + And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it; + And so I wish'd thy body might my heart. + And even with this I lost fair England's view, + And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart, + And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles + For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. + How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue- + The agent of thy foul inconstancy- + To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did + When he to madding Dido would unfold + His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy! + Am I not witch'd like her? Or thou not false like him? + Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret, + For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. + + Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, + and many commons + + WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign, + That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd'red + By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. + The commons, like an angry hive of bees + That want their leader, scatter up and down + And care not who they sting in his revenge. + Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny + Until they hear the order of his death. + KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true; + But how he died God knows, not Henry. + Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, + And comment then upon his sudden death. + WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, + With the rude multitude till I return. Exit + Exit SALISBURY with the commons + KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts- + My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul + Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life! + If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; + For judgment only doth belong to Thee. + Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips + With twenty thousand kisses and to drain + Upon his face an ocean of salt tears + To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk; + And with my fingers feel his hand un-feeling; + But all in vain are these mean obsequies; + And to survey his dead and earthy image, + What were it but to make my sorrow greater? + + Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body. + KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made; + For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, + For, seeing him, I see my life in death. + WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live + With that dread King that took our state upon Him + To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, + I do believe that violent hands were laid + Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke. + SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! + What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow? + WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face. + Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, + Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, + Being all descended to the labouring heart, + Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, + Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy, + Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth + To blush and beautify the cheek again. + But see, his face is black and full of blood; + His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, + Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; + His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling; + His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd + And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. + Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; + His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, + Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. + It cannot be but he was murd'red here: + The least of all these signs were probable. + SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? + Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; + And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. + WARWICK. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes; + And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep. + 'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend; + And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. + QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen + As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. + WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh, + And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, + But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter? + Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest + But may imagine how the bird was dead, + Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? + Even so suspicious is this tragedy. + QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife? + Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons? + SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; + But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, + That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart + That slanders me with murder's crimson badge. + Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, + That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. + Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others + WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him? + QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, + Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, + Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. + WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say; + For every word you speak in his behalf + Is slander to your royal dignity. + SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour, + If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, + Thy mother took into her blameful bed + Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock + Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art, + And never of the Nevils' noble race. + WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, + And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, + Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, + And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, + I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee + Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech + And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st, + That thou thyself was born in bastardy; + And, after all this fearful homage done, + Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, + Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men. + SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, + If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. + WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. + Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, + And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost. + Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK + KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted? + Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; + And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, + Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. + [A noise within] + QUEEN. What noise is this? + + Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn + + KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn + Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold? + Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? + SUFFOLK. The trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury, + Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. + + Re-enter SALISBURY + + SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King + shall know your mind. + Dread lord, the commons send you word by me + Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, + Or banished fair England's territories, + They will by violence tear him from your palace + And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. + They say by him the good Duke Humphrey died; + They say in him they fear your Highness' death; + And mere instinct of love and loyalty, + Free from a stubborn opposite intent, + As being thought to contradict your liking, + Makes them thus forward in his banishment. + They say, in care of your most royal person, + That if your Highness should intend to sleep + And charge that no man should disturb your rest, + In pain of your dislike or pain of death, + Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, + Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue + That slily glided towards your Majesty, + It were but necessary you were wak'd, + Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, + The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal. + And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, + That they will guard you, whe'er you will or no, + From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is; + With whose envenomed and fatal sting + Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, + They say, is shamefully bereft of life. + COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury! + SUFFOLK. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, + Could send such message to their sovereign; + But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, + To show how quaint an orator you are. + But all the honour Salisbury hath won + Is that he was the lord ambassador + Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King. + COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, or we will all break in! + KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me + I thank them for their tender loving care; + And had I not been cited so by them, + Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; + For sure my thoughts do hourly prophesy + Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. + And therefore by His Majesty I swear, + Whose far unworthy deputy I am, + He shall not breathe infection in this air + But three days longer, on the pain of death. + Exit SALISBURY + QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! + KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk! + No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him, + Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. + Had I but said, I would have kept my word; + But when I swear, it is irrevocable. + If after three days' space thou here be'st found + On any ground that I am ruler of, + The world shall not be ransom for thy life. + Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; + I have great matters to impart to thee. + Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK + QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you! + Heart's discontent and sour affliction + Be playfellows to keep you company! + There's two of you; the devil make a third, + And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! + SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations, + And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. + QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch, + Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy? + SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them? + Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan, + I would invent as bitter searching terms, + As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, + Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, + With full as many signs of deadly hate, + As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave. + My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words, + Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint, + Mine hair be fix'd an end, as one distract; + Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban; + And even now my burden'd heart would break, + Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! + Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! + Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! + Their chiefest prospect murd'ring basilisks! + Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings! + Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss, + And boding screech-owls make the consort full! + all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell- + QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself; + And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, + Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, + And turns the force of them upon thyself. + SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? + Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, + Well could I curse away a winter's night, + Though standing naked on a mountain top + Where biting cold would never let grass grow, + And think it but a minute spent in sport. + QUEEN. O, let me entreat thee cease! Give me thy hand, + That I may dew it with my mournful tears; + Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place + To wash away my woeful monuments. + O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, + That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, + Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! + So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; + 'Tis but surmis'd whiles thou art standing by, + As one that surfeits thinking on a want. + I will repeal thee or, be well assur'd, + Adventure to be banished myself; + And banished I am, if but from thee. + Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. + O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd + Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, + Loather a hundred times to part than die. + Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee! + SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, + Once by the King and three times thrice by thee, + 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence; + A wilderness is populous enough, + So Suffolk had thy heavenly company; + For where thou art, there is the world itself, + With every several pleasure in the world; + And where thou art not, desolation. + I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life; + Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv'st. + + Enter VAUX + + QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee? + VAUX. To signify unto his Majesty + That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; + For suddenly a grievous sickness took him + That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, + Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. + Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost + Were by his side; sometime he calls the King + And whispers to his pillow, as to him, + The secrets of his overcharged soul; + And I am sent to tell his Majesty + That even now he cries aloud for him. + QUEEN. Go tell this heavy message to the King. Exit VAUX + Ay me! What is this world! What news are these! + But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, + Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? + Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, + And with the southern clouds contend in tears- + Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? + Now get thee hence: the King, thou know'st, is coming; + If thou be found by me; thou art but dead. + SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee I cannot live; + And in thy sight to die, what were it else + But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? + Here could I breathe my soul into the air, + As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe + Dying with mother's dug between its lips; + Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad + And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, + To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth; + So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, + Or I should breathe it so into thy body, + And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. + To die by thee were but to die in jest: + From thee to die were torture more than death. + O, let me stay, befall what may befall! + QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, + It is applied to a deathful wound. + To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee; + For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe + I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. + SUFFOLK. I go. + QUEEN. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him] + SUFFOLK. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st cask + That ever did contain a thing of worth. + Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we: + This way fall I to death. + QUEEN. This way for me. Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE III. +London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT'S bedchamber + +Enter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed + + KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. + CARDINAL. If thou be'st Death I'll give thee England's treasure, + Enough to purchase such another island, + So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. + KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life + Where death's approach is seen so terrible! + WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. + CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will. + Died he not in his bed? Where should he die? + Can I make men live, whe'er they will or no? + O, torture me no more! I will confess. + Alive again? Then show me where he is; + I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. + He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. + Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright, + Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul! + Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary + Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. + KING HENRY. O Thou eternal Mover of the heavens, + Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! + O, beat away the busy meddling fiend + That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, + And from his bosom purge this black despair! + WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin + SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. + KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! + Lord Card'nal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, + Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. + He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him! + WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. + KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. + Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; + And let us all to meditation. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The coast of Kent + +Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a LIEUTENANT, +a SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors; +SUFFOLK and other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners + + LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day + Is crept into the bosom of the sea; + And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades + That drag the tragic melancholy night; + Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings + Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws + Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. + Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; + For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, + Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, + Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore. + Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; + And thou that art his mate make boot of this; + The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know? + MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. + MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. + LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, + And bear the name and port of gentlemen? + Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall; + The lives of those which we have lost in fight + Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum! + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight. + WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, + [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; + And so should these, if I might have my will. + LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. + SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman: + Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. + WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore. + How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright? + SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. + A cunning man did calculate my birth + And told me that by water I should die; + Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; + Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded. + WHITMORE. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not: + Never yet did base dishonour blur our name + But with our sword we wip'd away the blot; + Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, + Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, + And I proclaim'd a coward through the world. + SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince, + The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. + WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags? + SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke: + Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? + LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. + SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood, + The honourable blood of Lancaster, + Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. + Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup, + Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule, + And thought thee happy when I shook my head? + How often hast thou waited at my cup, + Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, + When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? + Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall'n, + Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride, + How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood + And duly waited for my coming forth. + This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, + And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. + WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? + LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. + SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. + LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side + Strike off his head. + SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own. + LIEUTENANT. Poole! + SUFFOLK. Poole? + LIEUTENANT. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt + Troubles the silver spring where England drinks; + Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth + For swallowing the treasure of the realm. + Thy lips, that kiss'd the Queen, shall sweep the ground; + And thou that smil'dst at good Duke Humphrey's death + Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, + Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again; + And wedded be thou to the hags of hell + For daring to affy a mighty lord + Unto the daughter of a worthless king, + Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. + By devilish policy art thou grown great, + And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd + With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. + By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France; + The false revolting Normans thorough thee + Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy + Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts, + And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. + The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, + Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, + As hating thee, are rising up in arms; + And now the house of York- thrust from the crown + By shameful murder of a guiltless king + And lofty proud encroaching tyranny- + Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours + Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, + Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.' + The commons here in Kent are up in arms; + And to conclude, reproach and beggary + Is crept into the palace of our King, + And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. + SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder + Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! + Small things make base men proud: this villain here, + Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more + Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate. + Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives. + It is impossible that I should die + By such a lowly vassal as thyself. + Thy words move rage and not remorse in me. + I go of message from the Queen to France: + I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel. + LIEUTENANT. Walter- + WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. + SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear. + WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. + What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. + SUFFOLK. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough, + Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. + Far be it we should honour such as these + With humble suit: no, rather let my head + Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any + Save to the God of heaven and to my king; + And sooner dance upon a bloody pole + Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. + True nobility is exempt from fear: + More can I bear than you dare execute. + LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. + SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, + That this my death may never be forgot- + Great men oft die by vile bezonians: + A Roman sworder and banditto slave + Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand + Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders + Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. + Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK + LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set, + It is our pleasure one of them depart; + Therefore come you with us, and let him go. + Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN + + Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body + + WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie, + Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit + FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! + His body will I bear unto the King. + If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; + So will the Queen, that living held him dear. + Exit with the body + + + + +SCENE II. +Blackheath + +Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND + + GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have + been up these two days. + JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then. + GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the + commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. + JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never + merry world in England since gentlemen came up. + GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen. + JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. + GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen. + JOHN. True; and yet it is said 'Labour in thy vocation'; which is + as much to say as 'Let the magistrates be labouring men'; and + therefore should we be magistrates. + GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave + mind than a hard hand. + JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of + Wingham- + GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's + leather of. + JOHN. And Dick the butcher- + GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat + cut like a calf. + JOHN. And Smith the weaver- + GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun. + JOHN. Come, come, let's fall in with them. + + Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH + THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers + + CADE. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed father- + DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. + CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the + spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence. + DICK. Silence! + CADE. My father was a Mortimer- + DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer. + CADE. My mother a Plantagenet- + DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife. + CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies- + DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many + laces. + SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd + pack, she washes bucks here at home. + CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house. + DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there + was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but + the cage. + CADE. Valiant I am. + SMITH. [Aside] 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. + CADE. I am able to endure much. + DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three + market days together. + CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire. + SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of + proof. + DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being + burnt i' th' hand for stealing of sheep. + CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows + reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves + sold for a penny; the three-hoop'd pot shall have ten hoops; and + I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be + in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And + when I am king- as king I will be + ALL. God save your Majesty! + CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall + eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one + livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their + lord. + DICK. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. + CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that + of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That + parchment, being scribbl'd o'er, should undo a man? Some say the + bee stings; but I say 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once + to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who's + there? + + Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM + + SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast + accompt. + CADE. O monstrous! + SMITH. We took him setting of boys' copies. + CADE. Here's a villain! + SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't. + CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer. + DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand. + CADE. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man, of mine honour; + unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, + I must examine thee. What is thy name? + CLERK. Emmanuel. + DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; 'twill go hard + with you. + CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a + mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man? + CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can + write my name. + ALL. He hath confess'd. Away with him! He's a villain and a + traitor. + CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about + his neck. Exit one with the CLERK + + Enter MICHAEL + + MICHAEL. Where's our General? + CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow. + MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are + hard by, with the King's forces. + CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He shall be + encount'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, + is 'a? + MICHAEL. No. + CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently. + [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him! + + Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM + his brother, with drum and soldiers + + STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, + Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down; + Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; + The King is merciful if you revolt. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, + If you go forward; therefore yield or die. + CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not; + It is to you, good people, that I speak, + O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; + For I am rightful heir unto the crown. + STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; + And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? + CADE. And Adam was a gardener. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that? + CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, + Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not? + STAFFORD. Ay, sir. + CADE. By her he had two children at one birth. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. That's false. + CADE. Ay, there's the question; but I say 'tis true. + The elder of them being put to nurse, + Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away, + And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, + Became a bricklayer when he came to age. + His son am I; deny it if you can. + DICK. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king. + SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks + are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not. + STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge's words + That speaks he knows not what? + ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this. + CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah, + tell the King from me that for his father's sake, Henry the + Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, + I am content he shall reign; but I'll be Protector over him. + DICK. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling + the dukedom of Maine. + CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main'd and fain to go + with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I + tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made + it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and + therefore he is a traitor. + STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance! + CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to, + then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an + enemy be a good counsellor, or no? + ALL. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, + Assail them with the army of the King. + STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town + Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; + That those which fly before the battle ends + May, even in their wives'and children's sight, + Be hang'd up for example at their doors. + And you that be the King's friends, follow me. + Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers + CADE. And you that love the commons follow me. + Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty. + We will not leave one lord, one gentleman; + Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, + For they are thrifty honest men and such + As would- but that they dare not- take our parts. + DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us. + CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, + march forward. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Another part of Blackheath + +Alarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain. +Enter CADE and the rest + + CADE. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? + DICK. Here, sir. + CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst + thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house; + therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long + again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a + hundred lacking one. + DICK. I desire no more. + CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv'st no less. [Putting on SIR + HUMPHREY'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear, + and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come + to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us. + DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and + let out the prisoners. + CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards + London. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. The palace + +Enter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head; +the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY + + QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind + And makes it fearful and degenerate; + Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. + But who can cease to weep, and look on this? + Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; + But where's the body that I should embrace? + BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels' + supplication? + KING HENRY. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; + For God forbid so many simple souls + Should perish by the sword! And I myself, + Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, + Will parley with Jack Cade their general. + But stay, I'll read it over once again. + QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face + Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, + And could it not enforce them to relent + That were unworthy to behold the same? + KING HENRY. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. + SAY. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his. + KING HENRY. How now, madam! + Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? + I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, + Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me. + QUEEN. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + KING HENRY. How now! What news? Why com'st thou in such haste? + MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord! + Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, + Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house, + And calls your Grace usurper, openly, + And vows to crown himself in Westminster. + His army is a ragged multitude + Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless; + Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death + Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. + All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, + They call false caterpillars and intend their death. + KING HENRY. O graceless men! they know not what they do. + BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth + Until a power be rais'd to put them down. + QUEEN. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, + These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd! + KING HENRY. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee; + Therefore away with us to Killingworth. + SAY. So might your Grace's person be in danger. + The sight of me is odious in their eyes; + And therefore in this city will I stay + And live alone as secret as I may. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge. + The citizens fly and forsake their houses; + The rascal people, thirsting after prey, + Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear + To spoil the city and your royal court. + BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse. + KING HENRY. Come Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us. + QUEEN. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. + KING HENRY. [To LORD SAY] Farewell, my lord, trust not the Kentish + rebels. + BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. + SAY. The trust I have is in mine innocence, + And therefore am I bold and resolute. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +London. The Tower + +Enter LORD SCALES Upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three CITIZENS, +below + + SCALES. How now! Is Jack Cade slain? + FIRST CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have + won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them. + The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the + Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. + SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command, + But I am troubled here with them myself; + The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. + But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, + And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe; + Fight for your King, your country, and your lives; + And so, farewell, for I must hence again. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +London. Cannon street + +Enter JACK CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone + + CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon + London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the + pissing conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of + our reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that + calls me other than Lord Mortimer. + + Enter a SOLDIER, running + + SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! + CADE. Knock him down there. [They kill him] + SMITH. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack Cade more; + I think he hath a very fair warning. + DICK. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield. + CADE. Come then, let's go fight with them. But first go and set + London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. + Come, let's away. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +London. Smithfield + +Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest. Then enter JACK CADE, +with his company + + CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th' + Inns of Court; down with them all. + DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship. + CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word. + DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth. + JOHN. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in + the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet. + SMITH. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath + stinks with eating toasted cheese. + CADE. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away, burn all the + records of the realm. My mouth shall be the Parliament of + England. + JOHN. [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his + teeth be pull'd out. + CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here's the Lord Say, which + sold the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty + fifteens, and one shining to the pound, the last subsidy. + + Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY + + CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say, + thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point + blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my + Majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu the + Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even + the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must + sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most + traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a + grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other + books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to + be us'd, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou + hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou + hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and + such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. + Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before + them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou + hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou + hast hang'd them, when, indeed, only for that cause they have + been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost + thou not? + SAY. What of that? + CADE. Marry, thou ought'st not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when + honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets. + DICK. And work in their shirt too, as myself, for example, that am + a butcher. + SAY. You men of Kent- + DICK. What say you of Kent? + SAY. Nothing but this: 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.' + CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin. + SAY. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. + Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, + Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle. + Sweet is the country, because full of riches; + The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy; + Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. + I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; + Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. + Justice with favour have I always done; + Pray'rs and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. + When have I aught exacted at your hands, + But to maintain the King, the realm, and you? + Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, + Because my book preferr'd me to the King, + And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, + Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, + Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits + You cannot but forbear to murder me. + This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings + For your behoof. + CADE. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field? + SAY. Great men have reaching hands. Oft have I struck + Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. + GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks? + SAY. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good. + CADE. Give him a box o' th' ear, and that will make 'em red again. + SAY. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes + Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. + CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet. + DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man? + SAY. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. + CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say 'I'll be even with + you'; I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no. + Take him away, and behead him. + SAY. Tell me: wherein have I offended most? + Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak. + Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? + Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? + Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death? + These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding, + This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. + O, let me live! + CADE. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I'll + bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for + his life.- Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he + speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike + off his head presently, and then break into his son-in-law's + house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them + both upon two poles hither. + ALL. It shall be done. + SAY. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your pray'rs, + God should be so obdurate as yourselves, + How would it fare with your departed souls? + And therefore yet relent and save my life. + CADE. Away with him, and do as I command ye. [Exeunt some with + LORD SAY] The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head + on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a + maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they + have it. Men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and + command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue + can tell. + DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up + commodities upon our bills? + CADE. Marry, presently. + ALL. O, brave! + + Re-enter one with the heads + + CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they + lov'd well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they + consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. + Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these + borne before us instead of maces will we ride through the + streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VIII. +Southwark + +Alarum and retreat. Enter again CADE and all his rabblement + + CADE. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill and knock + down! Throw them into Thames! [Sound a parley] + What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat + or parley when I command them kill? + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD, attended + + BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee. + And therefore yet relent, and save my life. + Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King + Unto the commons whom thou hast misled; + And here pronounce free pardon to them all + That will forsake thee and go home in peace. + CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent + And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you, + Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths? + Who loves the King, and will embrace his pardon, + Fling up his cap and say 'God save his Majesty!' + Who hateth him and honours not his father, + Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, + Shake he his weapon at us and pass by. + ALL. God save the King! God save the King! + CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? + And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be + hang'd with your about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke + through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart + in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms + till you had recovered your ancient freedom. But you are all + recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the + nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your + houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before + your faces. For me, I will make shift for one; and so God's curse + light upon you all! + ALL. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade! + CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, + That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him? + Will he conduct you through the heart of France, + And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? + Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; + Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, + Unless by robbing of your friends and us. + Were't not a shame that whilst you live at jar + The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, + Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you? + Methinks already in this civil broil + I see them lording it in London streets, + Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet. + Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry + Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. + To France, to France, and get what you have lost; + Spare England, for it is your native coast. + Henry hath money; you are strong and manly. + God on our side, doubt not of victory. + ALL. A Clifford! a Clifford! We'll follow the King and Clifford. + CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this + multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred + mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their + heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me for here + is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through + the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be witness that + no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and + ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels. + Exit + BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him; + And he that brings his head unto the King + Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. + Exeunt some of them + Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean + To reconcile you all unto the King. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IX. +Killing, worth Castle + +Sound trumpets. Enter KING, QUEEN, and SOMERSET, on the terrace + + KING HENRY. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne + And could command no more content than I? + No sooner was I crept out of my cradle + But I was made a king, at nine months old. + Was never subject long'd to be a King + As I do long and wish to be a subject. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD + + BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your Majesty! + KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surpris'd? + Or is he but retir'd to make him strong? + + Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about their necks + + CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield, + And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, + Expect your Highness' doom of life or death. + KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, + To entertain my vows of thanks and praise! + Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, + And show'd how well you love your Prince and country. + Continue still in this so good a mind, + And Henry, though he be infortunate, + Assure yourselves, will never be unkind. + And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, + I do dismiss you to your several countries. + ALL. God save the King! God save the King! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Please it your Grace to be advertised + The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland + And with a puissant and a mighty power + Of gallowglasses and stout kerns + Is marching hitherward in proud array, + And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, + His arms are only to remove from thee + The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. + KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd; + Like to a ship that, having scap'd a tempest, + Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate; + But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd, + And now is York in arms to second him. + I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him + And ask him what's the reason of these arms. + Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower- + And Somerset, we will commit thee thither + Until his army be dismiss'd from him. + SOMERSET. My lord, + I'll yield myself to prison willingly, + Or unto death, to do my country good. + KING HENRY. In any case be not too rough in terms, + For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language. + BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal + As all things shall redound unto your good. + KING HENRY. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better; + For yet may England curse my wretched reign. + Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE X. +Kent. Iden's garden + +Enter CADE + + CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am + ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and + durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now + am I so hungry that, if I might have a lease of my life for a + thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick + wall have I climb'd into this garden, to see if I can eat grass + or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a + man's stomach this hot weather. And I think this word 'sallet' + was born to do me good; for many a time, but for a sallet, my + brain-pain had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, + when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it hath serv'd me + instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and now the word 'sallet' + must serve me to feed on. + + Enter IDEN + + IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court + And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? + This small inheritance my father left me + Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. + I seek not to wax great by others' waning + Or gather wealth I care not with what envy; + Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, + And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. + CADE. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for + entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt + betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my + head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich and + swallow my sword like a great pin ere thou and I part. + IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, + I know thee not; why then should I betray thee? + Is't not enough to break into my garden + And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, + Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, + But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? + CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broach'd, and + beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five + days, yet come thou and thy five men and if I do not leave you + all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass + more. + IDEN. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands, + That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, + Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. + Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine; + See if thou canst outface me with thy looks; + Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; + Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, + Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; + My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast, + And if mine arm be heaved in the air, + Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. + As for words, whose greatness answers words, + Let this my sword report what speech forbears. + CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! + Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly bon'd + clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech + God on my knees thou mayst be turn'd to hobnails. [Here they + fight; CADE falls] O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain + me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the + ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden, and + be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house, + because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. + IDEN. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? + Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed + And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead. + Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, + But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat + To emblaze the honour that thy master got. + CADE. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from + me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be + cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, + not by valour. [Dies] + IDEN. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge. + Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! + And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, + So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. + Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels + Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, + And there cut off thy most ungracious head, + Which I will bear in triumph to the King, + Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Fields between Dartford and Blackheath + +Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours + + YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right + And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: + Ring bells aloud, burn bonfires clear and bright, + To entertain great England's lawful king. + Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? + Let them obey that knows not how to rule; + This hand was made to handle nought but gold. + I cannot give due action to my words + Except a sword or sceptre balance it. + A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul + On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + [Aside] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? + The King hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. + BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well I greet thee well. + YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. + Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? + BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, + To know the reason of these arms in peace; + Or why thou, being a subject as I am, + Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, + Should raise so great a power without his leave, + Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. + YORK. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. + O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, + I am so angry at these abject terms; + And now, like Ajax Telamonius, + On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. + I am far better born than is the King, + More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts; + But I must make fair weather yet awhile, + Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.- + Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me + That I have given no answer all this while; + My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. + The cause why I have brought this army hither + Is to remove proud Somerset from the King, + Seditious to his Grace and to the state. + BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part; + But if thy arms be to no other end, + The King hath yielded unto thy demand: + The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. + YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. + YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my pow'rs. + Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; + Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, + You shall have pay and everything you wish. + And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, + Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, + As pledges of my fealty and love. + I'll send them all as willing as I live: + Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have, + Is his to use, so Somerset may die. + BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission. + We twain will go into his Highness' tent. + + Enter the KING, and attendants + + KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, + That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? + YORK. In all submission and humility + York doth present himself unto your Highness. + KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring? + YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence, + And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, + Who since I heard to be discomfited. + + Enter IDEN, with CADE's head + + IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition + May pass into the presence of a king, + Lo, I present your Grace a traitor's head, + The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. + KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou! + O, let me view his visage, being dead, + That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. + Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? + IDEN. I was, an't like your Majesty. + KING HENRY. How art thou call'd? And what is thy degree? + IDEN. Alexander Iden, that's my name; + A poor esquire of Kent that loves his king. + BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss + He were created knight for his good service. + KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels] Rise up a knight. + We give thee for reward a thousand marks, + And will that thou thenceforth attend on us. + IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, + And never live but true unto his liege! + + Enter the QUEEN and SOMERSET + + KING HENRY. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with th' Queen: + Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke. + QUEEN. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, + But boldly stand and front him to his face. + YORK. How now! Is Somerset at liberty? + Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts + And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. + Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? + False king, why hast thou broken faith with me, + Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? + King did I call thee? No, thou art not king; + Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, + Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. + That head of thine doth not become a crown; + Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, + And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. + That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, + Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, + Is able with the change to kill and cure. + Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, + And with the same to act controlling laws. + Give place. By heaven, thou shalt rule no more + O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. + SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, + Of capital treason 'gainst the King and crown. + Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. + YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these, + If they can brook I bow a knee to man. + Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail: Exit attendant + I know, ere thy will have me go to ward, + They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. + QUEEN. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, + To say if that the bastard boys of York + Shall be the surety for their traitor father. + Exit BUCKINGHAM + YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, + Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! + The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, + Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those + That for my surety will refuse the boys! + + Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET + + See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make it good. + + Enter CLIFFORD and his SON + + QUEEN. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail. + CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King! + [Kneels] + YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee? + Nay, do not fright us with an angry look. + We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; + For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. + CLIFFORD. This is my King, York, I do not mistake; + But thou mistakes me much to think I do. + To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad? + KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour + Makes him oppose himself against his king. + CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, + And chop away that factious pate of his. + QUEEN. He is arrested, but will not obey; + His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. + YORK. Will you not, sons? + EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. + RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. + CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! + YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so: + I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. + Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, + That with the very shaking of their chains + They may astonish these fell-lurking curs. + Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. + + Enter the EARLS OF WARWICK and SALISBURY + + CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We'll bait thy bears to death, + And manacle the berard in their chains, + If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. + RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o'er weening cur + Run back and bite, because he was withheld; + Who, being suffer'd, with the bear's fell paw, + Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried; + And such a piece of service will you do, + If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. + CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, + As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! + YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. + CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves. + KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? + Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, + Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son! + What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian + And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? + O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? + If it be banish'd from the frosty head, + Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? + Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war + And shame thine honourable age with blood? + Why art thou old, and want'st experience? + Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? + For shame! In duty bend thy knee to me, + That bows unto the grave with mickle age. + SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself + The tide of this most renowned duke, + And in my conscience do repute his Grace + The rightful heir to England's royal seat. + KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? + SALISBURY. I have. + KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath? + SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin; + But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. + Who can be bound by any solemn vow + To do a murd'rous deed, to rob a man, + To force a spotless virgin's chastity, + To reave the orphan of his patrimony, + To wring the widow from her custom'd right, + And have no other reason for this wrong + But that he was bound by a solemn oath? + QUEEN. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. + KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. + YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, + I am resolv'd for death or dignity. + CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. + WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again + To keep thee from the tempest of the field. + CLIFFORD. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm + Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; + And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, + Might I but know thee by thy household badge. + WARWICK. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, + The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, + This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, + As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, + That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, + Even to affright thee with the view thereof. + CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear + And tread it under foot with all contempt, + Despite the berard that protects the bear. + YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father, + To quell the rebels and their complices. + RICHARD. Fie! charity, for shame! Speak not in spite, + For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. + YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell. + RICHARD. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. + Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE II. +Saint Albans + +Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls; + And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, + Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum + And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, + Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me. + Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, + WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms. + + Enter YORK + + How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot? + YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; + But match to match I have encount'red him, + And made a prey for carrion kites and crows + Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. + + Enter OLD CLIFFORD + + WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come. + YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, + For I myself must hunt this deer to death. + WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st. + As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, + It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. Exit + CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause? + YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love + But that thou art so fast mine enemy. + CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem + But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. + YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword, + As I in justice and true right express it! + CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both! + YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly. + [They fight and CLIFFORD falls] + CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies] + YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still. + Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! Exit + + Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD + + YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout; + Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds + Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, + Whom angry heavens do make their minister, + Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part + Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. + He that is truly dedicate to war + Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself + Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, + The name of valour. [Sees his father's body] + O, let the vile world end + And the premised flames of the last day + Knit earth and heaven together! + Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, + Particularities and petty sounds + To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, + To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve + The silver livery of advised age, + And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus + To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight + My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine + It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; + No more will I their babes. Tears virginal + Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; + And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, + Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. + Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: + Meet I an infant of the house of York, + Into as many gobbets will I cut it + As wild Medea young Absyrtus did; + In cruelty will I seek out my fame. + Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; + As did Aeneas old Anchises bear, + So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; + But then Aeneas bare a living load, + Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. + Exit with the body + + Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed + + RICHARD. So, lie thou there; + For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, + The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset + Hath made the wizard famous in his death. + Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: + Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. Exit + + Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others + + QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away! + KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay. + QUEEN. What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly. + Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, + To give the enemy way, and to secure us + By what we can, which can no more but fly. + [Alarum afar off] + If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom + Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape- + As well we may, if not through your neglect- + We shall to London get, where you are lov'd, + And where this breach now in our fortunes made + May readily be stopp'd. + + Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD + + YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart's on future mischief set, + I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; + But fly you must; uncurable discomfit + Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. + Away, for your relief! and we will live + To see their day and them our fortune give. + Away, my lord, away! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Fields near Saint Albans + +Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and soldiers, +with drum and colours + + YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, + That winter lion, who in rage forgets + Aged contusions and all brush of time + And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, + Repairs him with occasion? This happy day + Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, + If Salisbury be lost. + RICHARD. My noble father, + Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, + Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, + Persuaded him from any further act; + But still where danger was, still there I met him; + And like rich hangings in a homely house, + So was his will in his old feeble body. + But, noble as he is, look where he comes. + + Enter SALISBURY + + SALISBURY. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day! + By th' mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard: + God knows how long it is I have to live, + And it hath pleas'd Him that three times to-day + You have defended me from imminent death. + Well, lords, we have not got that which we have; + 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, + Being opposites of such repairing nature. + YORK. I know our safety is to follow them; + For, as I hear, the King is fled to London + To call a present court of Parliament. + Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. + What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them? + WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can. + Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: + Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York, + Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. + Sound drum and trumpets and to London all; + And more such days as these to us befall! Exeunt + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1591 + +THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, his son + LEWIS XI, King of France DUKE OF SOMERSET + DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND + LORD CLIFFORD + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK + EDWARD, EARL OF MARCH, afterwards KING EDWARD IV, his son + EDMUND, EARL OF RUTLAND, his son + GEORGE, afterwards DUKE OF CLARENCE, his son + RICHARD, afterwards DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his son + DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE + EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE + LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD + SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York + SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York + HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, a youth + LORD RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey + SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY + SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE TUTOR, to Rutland + MAYOR OF YORK LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER + A NOBLEMAN TWO KEEPERS + A HUNTSMAN + A SON that has killed his father + A FATHER that has killed his son + + QUEEN MARGARET + LADY GREY, afterwards QUEEN to Edward IV + BONA, sister to the French Queen + + Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +England and France + +ACT I. SCENE I. +London. The Parliament House + +Alarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, +and soldiers, with white roses in their hats + + WARWICK. I wonder how the King escap'd our hands. + YORK. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north, + He slily stole away and left his men; + Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, + Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, + Cheer'd up the drooping army, and himself, + Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast, + Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, + Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. + EDWARD. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, + Is either slain or wounded dangerous; + I cleft his beaver with a downright blow. + That this is true, father, behold his blood. + MONTAGUE. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, + Whom I encount'red as the battles join'd. + RICHARD. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. + [Throwing down SOMERSET'S head] + YORK. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. + But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? + NORFOLK. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! + RICHARD. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. + WARWICK. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, + Before I see thee seated in that throne + Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, + I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. + This is the palace of the fearful King, + And this the regal seat. Possess it, York; + For this is thine, and not King Henry's heirs'. + YORK. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will; + For hither we have broken in by force. + NORFOLK. We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. + YORK. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords; + And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. + [They go up] + WARWICK. And when the King comes, offer him no violence. + Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. + YORK. The Queen this day here holds her parliament, + But little thinks we shall be of her council. + By words or blows here let us win our right. + RICHARD. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. + WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, + Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King, + And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice + Hath made us by-words to our enemies. + YORK. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute: + I mean to take possession of my right. + WARWICK. Neither the King, nor he that loves him best, + The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, + Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells. + I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares. + Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. + [YORK occupies the throne] + + Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, + WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in + their hats + + KING HENRY. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, + Even in the chair of state! Belike he means, + Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, + To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. + Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; + And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge + On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. + NORTHUMBERLAND. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me! + CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. + WESTMORELAND. What, shall we suffer this? Let's pluck him down; + My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. + KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. + CLIFFORD. Patience is for poltroons such as he; + He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. + My gracious lord, here in the parliament + Let us assail the family of York. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. + KING HENRY. Ah, know you not the city favours them, + And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? + EXETER. But when the Duke is slain they'll quickly fly. + KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, + To make a shambles of the parliament house! + Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, + Shall be the war that Henry means to use. + Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne + And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; + I am thy sovereign. + YORK. I am thine. + EXETER. For shame, come down; he made thee Duke of York. + YORK. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. + EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. + WARWICK. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown + In following this usurping Henry. + CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king? + WARWICK. True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. + KING HENRY. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? + YORK. It must and shall be so; content thyself. + WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be King. + WESTMORELAND. He is both King and Duke of Lancaster; + And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. + WARWICK. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget + That we are those which chas'd you from the field, + And slew your fathers, and with colours spread + March'd through the city to the palace gates. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; + And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. + WESTMORELAND. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, + Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives + Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. + CLIFFORD. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words + I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger + As shall revenge his death before I stir. + WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats! + YORK. Will you we show our title to the crown? + If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. + KING HENRY. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? + Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; + Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: + I am the son of Henry the Fifth, + Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, + And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. + WARWICK. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. + KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I: + When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. + RICHARD. You are old enough now, and yet methinks you lose. + Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. + EDWARD. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. + MONTAGUE. Good brother, as thou lov'st and honourest arms, + Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. + RICHARD. Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly. + YORK. Sons, peace! + KING HENRY. Peace thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. + WARWICK. Plantagenet shall speak first. Hear him, lords; + And be you silent and attentive too, + For he that interrupts him shall not live. + KING HENRY. Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, + Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? + No; first shall war unpeople this my realm; + Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, + And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, + Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? + My title's good, and better far than his. + WARWICK. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King. + KING HENRY. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. + YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. + KING HENRY. [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.- + Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? + YORK. What then? + KING HENRY. An if he may, then am I lawful King; + For Richard, in the view of many lords, + Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, + Whose heir my father was, and I am his. + YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign, + And made him to resign his crown perforce. + WARWICK. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, + Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? + EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his crown + But that the next heir should succeed and reign. + KING HENRY. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? + EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. + YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? + EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful King. + KING HENRY. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, + Think not that Henry shall be so depos'd. + WARWICK. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Thou art deceiv'd. 'Tis not thy southern power + Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, + Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, + Can set the Duke up in despite of me. + CLIFFORD. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, + Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence. + May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, + Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! + KING HENRY. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! + YORK. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. + What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? + WARWICK. Do right unto this princely Duke of York; + Or I will fill the house with armed men, + And over the chair of state, where now he sits, + Write up his title with usurping blood. + [He stamps with his foot and the + soldiers show themselves] + KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, hear but one word: + Let me for this my life-time reign as king. + YORK. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, + And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. + KING HENRY. I am content. Richard Plantagenet, + Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. + CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son! + WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself! + WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! + CLIFFORD. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and or us! + WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nor I. + CLIFFORD. Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news. + WESTMORELAND. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, + In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Be thou a prey unto the house of York + And die in bands for this unmanly deed! + CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, + Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd! + Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, + and WESTMORELAND + WARWICK. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. + EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. + KING HENRY. Ah, Exeter! + WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord? + KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, + Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. + But be it as it may. [To YORK] I here entail + The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; + Conditionally, that here thou take an oath + To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, + To honour me as thy king and sovereign, + And neither by treason nor hostility + To seek to put me down and reign thyself. + YORK. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. + [Coming from the throne] + WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him. + KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons! + YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. + EXETER. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes! + [Sennet. Here they come down] + YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. + WARWICK. And I'll keep London with my soldiers. + NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers. + MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. + Exeunt the YORKISTS + KING HENRY. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. + + Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES + + EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger. + I'll steal away. + KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. + KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. + QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes? + Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid, + And never seen thee, never borne thee son, + Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father! + Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? + Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I, + Or felt that pain which I did for him once, + Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, + Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there + Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir, + And disinherited thine only son. + PRINCE OF WALES. Father, you cannot disinherit me. + If you be King, why should not I succeed? + KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son. + The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me. + QUEEN MARGARET. Enforc'd thee! Art thou King and wilt be + forc'd? + I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! + Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; + And giv'n unto the house of York such head + As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. + To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, + What is it but to make thy sepulchre + And creep into it far before thy time? + Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais; + Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; + The Duke is made Protector of the realm; + And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds + The trembling lamb environed with wolves. + Had I been there, which am a silly woman, + The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes + Before I would have granted to that act. + But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour; + And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, + Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, + Until that act of parliament be repeal'd + Whereby my son is disinherited. + The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours + Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; + And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace + And utter ruin of the house of York. + Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; + Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. + KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone. + KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. + PRINCE OF WALES. When I return with victory from the field + I'll see your Grace; till then I'll follow her. + QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. + Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE + KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son + Hath made her break out into terms of rage! + Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke, + Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, + Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle + Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! + The loss of those three lords torments my heart. + I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; + Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. + EXETER. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire + +Flourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE + + RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. + EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator. + MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible. + + Enter the DUKE OF YORK + + YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? + What is your quarrel? How began it first? + EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention. + YORK. About what? + RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us- + The crown of England, father, which is yours. + YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead. + RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death. + EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now. + By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, + It will outrun you, father, in the end. + YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. + EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: + I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. + RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn. + YORK. I shall be, if I claim by open war. + RICHARD. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. + YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. + RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took + Before a true and lawful magistrate + That hath authority over him that swears. + Henry had none, but did usurp the place; + Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, + Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. + Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think + How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, + Within whose circuit is Elysium + And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. + Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest + Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd + Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. + YORK. Richard, enough; I will be King, or die. + Brother, thou shalt to London presently + And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. + Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk + And tell him privily of our intent. + You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, + With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise; + In them I trust, for they are soldiers, + Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. + While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more + But that I seek occasion how to rise, + And yet the King not privy to my drift, + Nor any of the house of Lancaster? + + Enter a MESSENGER + + But, stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post? + MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords + Intend here to besiege you in your castle. + She is hard by with twenty thousand men; + And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. + YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? + Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; + My brother Montague shall post to London. + Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, + Whom we have left protectors of the King, + With pow'rful policy strengthen themselves + And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. + MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not. + And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit + + Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER + + YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles! + You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; + The army of the Queen mean to besiege us. + SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. + YORK. What, with five thousand men? + RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. + A woman's general; what should we fear? + [A march afar off] + EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order, + And issue forth and bid them battle straight. + YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great, + I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. + Many a battle have I won in France, + When as the enemy hath been ten to one; + Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield + +Alarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR + + RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? + Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! + + Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers + + CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life. + As for the brat of this accursed duke, + Whose father slew my father, he shall die. + TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company. + CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him! + TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, + Lest thou be hated both of God and man. + Exit, forced off by soldiers + CLIFFORD. How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear + That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. + RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch + That trembles under his devouring paws; + And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, + And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. + Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, + And not with such a cruel threat'ning look! + Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. + I am too mean a subject for thy wrath; + Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. + CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood + Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. + RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again: + He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. + CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine + Were not revenge sufficient for me; + No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves + And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, + It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. + The sight of any of the house of York + Is as a fury to torment my soul; + And till I root out their accursed line + And leave not one alive, I live in hell. + Therefore- + RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death! + To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me. + CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. + RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me? + CLIFFORD. Thy father hath. + RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born. + Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, + Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, + He be as miserably slain as I. + Ah, let me live in prison all my days; + And when I give occasion of offence + Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. + CLIFFORD. No cause! + Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him] + RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies] + CLIFFORD. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet; + And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade + Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, + Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK + + YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field. + My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; + And all my followers to the eager foe + Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind, + Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. + My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them; + But this I know- they have demean'd themselves + Like men born to renown by life or death. + Three times did Richard make a lane to me, + And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.' + And full as oft came Edward to my side + With purple falchion, painted to the hilt + In blood of those that had encount'red him. + And when the hardiest warriors did retire, + Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!' + And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! + A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' + With this we charg'd again; but out alas! + We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan + With bootless labour swim against the tide + And spend her strength with over-matching waves. + [A short alarum within] + Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue, + And I am faint and cannot fly their fury; + And were I strong, I would not shun their fury. + The sands are numb'red that make up my life; + Here must I stay, and here my life must end. + + Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, + the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers + + Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, + I dare your quenchless fury to more rage; + I am your butt, and I abide your shot. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. + CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm + With downright payment show'd unto my father. + Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, + And made an evening at the noontide prick. + YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth + A bird that will revenge upon you all; + And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, + Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. + Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear? + CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further; + So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; + So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, + Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. + YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, + And in thy thought o'errun my former time; + And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, + And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice + Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! + CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word, + But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes + I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. + Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much + To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart. + What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, + For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, + When he might spurn him with his foot away? + It is war's prize to take all vantages; + And ten to one is no impeach of valour. + [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles] + CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. + NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net. + YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; + So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. + NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now? + QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, + Come, make him stand upon this molehill here + That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, + Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. + What, was it you that would be England's king? + Was't you that revell'd in our parliament + And made a preachment of your high descent? + Where are your mess of sons to back you now? + The wanton Edward and the lusty George? + And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, + Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice + Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? + Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? + Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood + That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point + Made issue from the bosom of the boy; + And if thine eyes can water for his death, + I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. + Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, + I should lament thy miserable state. + I prithee grieve to make me merry, York. + What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails + That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? + Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad; + And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus. + Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. + Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; + York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. + A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him. + Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on. + [Putting a paper crown on his head] + Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! + Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, + And this is he was his adopted heir. + But how is it that great Plantagenet + Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath? + As I bethink me, you should not be King + Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. + And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, + And rob his temples of the diadem, + Now in his life, against your holy oath? + O, 'tis a fault too too + Off with the crown and with the crown his head; + And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. + CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father's sake. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. + YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, + Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! + How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex + To triumph like an Amazonian trull + Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! + But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging, + Made impudent with use of evil deeds, + I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. + To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, + Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. + Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, + Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, + Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. + Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? + It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; + Unless the adage must be verified, + That beggars mounted run their horse to death. + 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; + But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small. + 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd; + The contrary doth make thee wond'red at. + 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; + The want thereof makes thee abominable. + Thou art as opposite to every good + As the Antipodes are unto us, + Or as the south to the septentrion. + O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide! + How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, + To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, + And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? + Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible: + Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. + Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish; + Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will; + For raging wind blows up incessant showers, + And when the rage allays, the rain begins. + These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; + And every drop cries vengeance for his death + 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so + That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. + YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals + Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood; + But you are more inhuman, more inexorable- + O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania. + See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears. + This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, + And I with tears do wash the blood away. + Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this; + And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, + Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; + Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears + And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' + There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; + And in thy need such comfort come to thee + As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! + Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; + My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! + NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, + I should not for my life but weep with him, + To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? + Think but upon the wrong he did us all, + And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. + CLIFFORD. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. + [Stabbing him] + QUEEN MARGARET. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. + [Stabbing him] + YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! + My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. + [Dies] + QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; + So York may overlook the town of York. + Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire + +A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power + + EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap'd, + Or whether he be scap'd away or no + From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. + Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; + Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; + Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard + The happy tidings of his good escape. + How fares my brother? Why is he so sad? + RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd + Where our right valiant father is become. + I saw him in the battle range about, + And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. + Methought he bore him in the thickest troop + As doth a lion in a herd of neat; + Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, + Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, + The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. + So far'd our father with his enemies; + So fled his enemies my warlike father. + Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son. + See how the morning opes her golden gates + And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. + How well resembles it the prime of youth, + Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! + EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? + RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; + Not separated with the racking clouds, + But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. + See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, + As if they vow'd some league inviolable. + Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. + In this the heaven figures some event. + EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. + I think it cites us, brother, to the field, + That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, + Each one already blazing by our meeds, + Should notwithstanding join our lights together + And overshine the earth, as this the world. + Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear + Upon my target three fair shining suns. + RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it, + You love the breeder better than the male. + + Enter a MESSENGER, blowing + + But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell + Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? + MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on + When as the noble Duke of York was slain, + Your princely father and my loving lord! + EDWARD. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. + RICHARD. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. + MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes, + And stood against them as the hope of Troy + Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy. + But Hercules himself must yield to odds; + And many strokes, though with a little axe, + Hews down and fells the hardest-timber'd oak. + By many hands your father was subdu'd; + But only slaught'red by the ireful arm + Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, + Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite, + Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, + The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks + A napkin steeped in the harmless blood + Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain; + And after many scorns, many foul taunts, + They took his head, and on the gates of York + They set the same; and there it doth remain, + The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. + EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, + Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. + O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain + The flow'r of Europe for his chivalry; + And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, + For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. + Now my soul's palace is become a prison. + Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body + Might in the ground be closed up in rest! + For never henceforth shall I joy again; + Never, O never, shall I see more joy. + RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture + Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; + Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden, + For self-same wind that I should speak withal + Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, + And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. + To weep is to make less the depth of grief. + Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me! + Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, + Or die renowned by attempting it. + EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; + His dukedom and his chair with me is left. + RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, + Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun; + For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say: + Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. + + March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army + + WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad? + RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount + Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance + Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told, + The words would add more anguish than the wounds. + O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! + EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet + Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption + Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. + WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; + And now, to add more measure to your woes, + I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. + After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, + Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, + Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, + Were brought me of your loss and his depart. + I, then in London, keeper of the King, + Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, + And very well appointed, as I thought, + March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen, + Bearing the King in my behalf along; + For by my scouts I was advertised + That she was coming with a full intent + To dash our late decree in parliament + Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. + Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met, + Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought; + But whether 'twas the coldness of the King, + Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, + That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, + Or whether 'twas report of her success, + Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, + Who thunders to his captives blood and death, + I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, + Their weapons like to lightning came and went: + Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight + Or like an idle thresher with a flail, + Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. + I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, + With promise of high pay and great rewards, + But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, + And we in them no hope to win the day; + So that we fled: the King unto the Queen; + Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, + In haste post-haste are come to join with you; + For in the marches here we heard you were + Making another head to fight again. + EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? + And when came George from Burgundy to England? + WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; + And for your brother, he was lately sent + From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, + With aid of soldiers to this needful war. + RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. + Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, + But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. + WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; + For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine + Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head + And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, + Were he as famous and as bold in war + As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. + RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not. + 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. + But in this troublous time what's to be done? + Shall we go throw away our coats of steel + And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, + Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? + Or shall we on the helmets of our foes + Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? + If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords. + WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; + And therefore comes my brother Montague. + Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, + With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, + And of their feather many moe proud birds, + Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax. + He swore consent to your succession, + His oath enrolled in the parliament; + And now to London all the crew are gone + To frustrate both his oath and what beside + May make against the house of Lancaster. + Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. + Now if the help of Norfolk and myself, + With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, + Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, + Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, + Why, Via! to London will we march amain, + And once again bestride our foaming steeds, + And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' + But never once again turn back and fly. + RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak. + Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day + That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay. + EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; + And when thou fail'st- as God forbid the hour!- + Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend. + WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; + The next degree is England's royal throne, + For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd + In every borough as we pass along; + And he that throws not up his cap for joy + Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. + King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, + Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, + But sound the trumpets and about our task. + RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, + As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, + I come to pierce it or to give thee mine. + EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + WARWICK. How now! what news? + MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me + The Queen is coming with a puissant host, + And craves your company for speedy counsel. + WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Before York + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD, +NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets + + QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. + Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy + That sought to be encompass'd with your crown. + Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? + KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck- + To see this sight, it irks my very soul. + Withhold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault, + Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. + CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity + And harmful pity must be laid aside. + To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? + Not to the beast that would usurp their den. + Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? + Not his that spoils her young before her face. + Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? + Not he that sets his foot upon her back, + The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, + And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. + Ambitious York did level at thy crown, + Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows. + He, but a Duke, would have his son a king, + And raise his issue like a loving sire: + Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, + Didst yield consent to disinherit him, + Which argued thee a most unloving father. + Unreasonable creatures feed their young; + And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, + Yet, in protection of their tender ones, + Who hath not seen them- even with those wings + Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight- + Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, + Offering their own lives in their young's defence + For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! + Were it not pity that this goodly boy + Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, + And long hereafter say unto his child + 'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got + My careless father fondly gave away'? + Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; + And let his manly face, which promiseth + Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart + To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. + KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, + Inferring arguments of mighty force. + But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear + That things ill got had ever bad success? + And happy always was it for that son + Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? + I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; + And would my father had left me no more! + For all the rest is held at such a rate + As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep + Than in possession any jot of pleasure. + Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know + How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! + QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, + And this soft courage makes your followers faint. + You promis'd knighthood to our forward son: + Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently. + Edward, kneel down. + KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; + And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right. + PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, + I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, + And in that quarrel use it to the death. + CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; + For with a band of thirty thousand men + Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, + And in the towns, as they do march along, + Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. + Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. + CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field: + The Queen hath best success when you are absent. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. + KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. + PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, + And hearten those that fight in your defence. + Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' + + March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, + NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers + + EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace + And set thy diadem upon my head, + Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? + QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy. + Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms + Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? + EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. + I was adopted heir by his consent: + Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, + You that are King, though he do wear the crown, + Have caus'd him by new act of parliament + To blot out me and put his own son in. + CLIFFORD. And reason too: + Who should succeed the father but the son? + RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! + CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, + Or any he, the proudest of thy sort. + RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? + CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. + RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. + WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown? + QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak? + When you and I met at Saint Albans last + Your legs did better service than your hands. + WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. + CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled. + WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. + NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. + RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. + Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain + The execution of my big-swol'n heart + Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. + CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child? + RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, + As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; + But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. + KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. + QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. + KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue: + I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. + CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here + Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. + RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword. + By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd + That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. + EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? + A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day + That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. + WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; + For York in justice puts his armour on. + PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right, + There is no wrong, but every thing is right. + RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; + For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue. + QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; + But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, + Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, + As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings. + RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, + Whose father bears the title of a king- + As if a channel should be call'd the sea- + Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, + To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? + EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns + To make this shameless callet know herself. + Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, + Although thy husband may be Menelaus; + And ne'er was Agamemmon's brother wrong'd + By that false woman as this king by thee. + His father revell'd in the heart of France, + And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; + And had he match'd according to his state, + He might have kept that glory to this day; + But when he took a beggar to his bed + And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day, + Even then that sunshine brew'd a show'r for him + That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France + And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. + For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? + Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; + And we, in pity of the gentle King, + Had slipp'd our claim until another age. + GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, + And that thy summer bred us no increase, + We set the axe to thy usurping root; + And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, + Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, + We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, + Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. + EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee; + Not willing any longer conference, + Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak. + Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave, + And either victory or else a grave! + QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward. + EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay; + These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire + +Alarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, + I lay me down a little while to breathe; + For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid + Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, + And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. + + Enter EDWARD, running + + EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; + For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. + WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good? + + Enter GEORGE + + GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair; + Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. + What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly? + EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings; + And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. + + Enter RICHARD + + RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? + Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, + Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; + And in the very pangs of death he cried, + Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, + 'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.' + So, underneath the belly of their steeds, + That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, + The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. + WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood. + I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. + Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, + Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage, + And look upon, as if the tragedy + Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? + Here on my knee I vow to God above + I'll never pause again, never stand still, + Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine + Or fortune given me measure of revenge. + EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, + And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! + And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face + I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, + Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, + Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands + That to my foes this body must be prey, + Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope + And give sweet passage to my sinful soul. + Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, + Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. + RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, + Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. + I that did never weep now melt with woe + That winter should cut off our spring-time so. + WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. + GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops, + And give them leave to fly that will not stay, + And call them pillars that will stand to us; + And if we thrive, promise them such rewards + As victors wear at the Olympian games. + This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, + For yet is hope of life and victory. + Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the field + +Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD + + RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. + Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, + And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, + Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. + CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. + This is the hand that stabbed thy father York; + And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; + And here's the heart that triumphs in their death + And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother + To execute the like upon thyself; + And so, have at thee! [They fight] + + Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies + + RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; + For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone + + KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning's war, + When dying clouds contend with growing light, + What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, + Can neither call it perfect day nor night. + Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea + Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; + Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea + Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind. + Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; + Now one the better, then another best; + Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, + Yet neither conqueror nor conquered. + So is the equal poise of this fell war. + Here on this molehill will I sit me down. + To whom God will, there be the victory! + For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, + Have chid me from the battle, swearing both + They prosper best of all when I am thence. + Would I were dead, if God's good will were so! + For what is in this world but grief and woe? + O God! methinks it were a happy life + To be no better than a homely swain; + To sit upon a hill, as I do now, + To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, + Thereby to see the minutes how they run- + How many makes the hour full complete, + How many hours brings about the day, + How many days will finish up the year, + How many years a mortal man may live. + When this is known, then to divide the times- + So many hours must I tend my flock; + So many hours must I take my rest; + So many hours must I contemplate; + So many hours must I sport myself; + So many days my ewes have been with young; + So many weeks ere the poor fools will can; + So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: + So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, + Pass'd over to the end they were created, + Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. + Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! + Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade + To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, + Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy + To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? + O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. + And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds, + His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, + His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, + All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, + Is far beyond a prince's delicates- + His viands sparkling in a golden cup, + His body couched in a curious bed, + When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. + + Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at + one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at + another door + + SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. + This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight + May be possessed with some store of crowns; + And I, that haply take them from him now, + May yet ere night yield both my life and them + To some man else, as this dead man doth me. + Who's this? O God! It is my father's face, + Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. + O heavy times, begetting such events! + From London by the King was I press'd forth; + My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, + Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; + And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, + Have by my hands of life bereaved him. + Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did. + And pardon, father, for I knew not thee. + My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; + And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. + KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! + Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, + Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. + Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear; + And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, + Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief. + + Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON + + FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me, + Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; + For I have bought it with an hundred blows. + But let me see. Is this our foeman's face? + Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son! + Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, + Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise, + Blown with the windy tempest of my heart + Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart! + O, pity, God, this miserable age! + What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, + Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, + This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! + O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, + And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! + KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! + O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! + O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! + The red rose and the white are on his face, + The fatal colours of our striving houses: + The one his purple blood right well resembles; + The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth. + Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! + If you contend, a thousand lives must perish. + SON. How will my mother for a father's death + Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied! + FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son + Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied! + KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances + Misthink the King, and not be satisfied! + SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death? + FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? + KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? + Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. + SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. + Exit with the body + FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; + My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, + For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; + My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; + And so obsequious will thy father be, + Even for the loss of thee, having no more, + As Priam was for all his valiant sons. + I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, + For I have murdered where I should not kill. + Exit with the body + KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, + Here sits a king more woeful than you are. + + Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, + PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER + + PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled, + And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. + Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. + QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain. + Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds + Having the fearful flying hare in sight, + With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, + And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, + Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. + EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them. + Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; + Or else come after. I'll away before. + KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter. + Not that I fear to stay, but love to go + Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +Another part of the field + +A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded + + CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, + Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. + O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow + More than my body's parting with my soul! + My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee; + And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts, + Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York. + The common people swarm like summer flies; + And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? + And who shines now but Henry's enemies? + O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent + That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, + Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! + And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, + Or as thy father and his father did, + Giving no ground unto the house of York, + They never then had sprung like summer flies; + I and ten thousand in this luckless realm + Had left no mourning widows for our death; + And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. + For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? + And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? + Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds. + No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. + The foe is merciless and will not pity; + For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. + The air hath got into my deadly wounds, + And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. + Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; + I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast. + [He faints] + + Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD + MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers + + EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause + And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. + Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen + That led calm Henry, though he were a king, + As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, + Command an argosy to stern the waves. + But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? + WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; + For, though before his face I speak the words, + Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; + And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead. + [CLIFFORD groans, and dies] + RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? + A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. + See who it is. + EDWARD. And now the battle's ended, + If friend or foe, let him be gently used. + RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; + Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch + In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, + But set his murd'ring knife unto the root + From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring- + I mean our princely father, Duke of York. + WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, + Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; + Instead whereof let this supply the room. + Measure for measure must be answered. + EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, + That nothing sung but death to us and ours. + Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound, + And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. + WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft. + Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? + Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, + And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. + RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth. + 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, + Because he would avoid such bitter taunts + Which in the time of death he gave our father. + GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. + RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. + EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. + WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. + GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. + RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. + EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. + GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? + WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont. + RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard + When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. + I know by that he's dead; and by my soul, + If this right hand would buy two hours' life, + That I in all despite might rail at him, + This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood + Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst + York and young Rutland could not satisfy. + WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head, + And rear it in the place your father's stands. + And now to London with triumphant march, + There to be crowned England's royal King; + From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, + And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen. + So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; + And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread + The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again; + For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, + Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. + First will I see the coronation; + And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea + To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. + EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; + For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, + And never will I undertake the thing + Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. + Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester; + And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself, + Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. + RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; + For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. + WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation. + Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London + To see these honours in possession. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +A chase in the north of England + +Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands + + FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves, + For through this laund anon the deer will come; + And in this covert will we make our stand, + Culling the principal of all the deer. + SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. + FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow + Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. + Here stand we both, and aim we at the best; + And, for the time shall not seem tedious, + I'll tell thee what befell me on a day + In this self-place where now we mean to stand. + SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. + + Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book + + KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, + To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. + No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; + Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, + Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed. + No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, + No humble suitors press to speak for right, + No, not a man comes for redress of thee; + For how can I help them and not myself? + FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee. + This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him. + KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, + For wise men say it is the wisest course. + SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. + FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. + KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid; + And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick + Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister + To wife for Edward. If this news be true, + Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; + For Warwick is a subtle orator, + And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. + By this account, then, Margaret may win him; + For she's a woman to be pitied much. + Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast; + Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; + The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; + And Nero will be tainted with remorse + To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. + Ay, but she's come to beg: Warwick, to give. + She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry: + He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. + She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd: + He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; + That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; + Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, + Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, + And in conclusion wins the King from her + With promise of his sister, and what else, + To strengthen and support King Edward's place. + O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, + Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! + SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? + KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to: + A man at least, for less I should not be; + And men may talk of kings, and why not I? + SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. + KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that's enough. + SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? + KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; + Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, + Not to be seen. My crown is call'd content; + A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. + SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, + Your crown content and you must be contented + To go along with us; for as we think, + You are the king King Edward hath depos'd; + And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, + Will apprehend you as his enemy. + KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath? + SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now. + KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England? + SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain. + KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old; + My father and my grandfather were kings; + And you were sworn true subjects unto me; + And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? + FIRST KEEPER. No; + For we were subjects but while you were king. + KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man? + Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! + Look, as I blow this feather from my face, + And as the air blows it to me again, + Obeying with my wind when I do blow, + And yielding to another when it blows, + Commanded always by the greater gust, + Such is the lightness of you common men. + But do not break your oaths; for of that sin + My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. + Go where you will, the King shall be commanded; + And be you kings: command, and I'll obey. + FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward. + KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry, + If he were seated as King Edward is. + FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's, + To go with us unto the officers. + KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd; + And what God will, that let your King perform; + And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE II. +London. The palace + +Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY + + KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field + This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, + His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror. + Her suit is now to repossess those lands; + Which we in justice cannot well deny, + Because in quarrel of the house of York + The worthy gentleman did lose his life. + GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit; + It were dishonour to deny it her. + KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? + I see the lady hath a thing to grant, + Before the King will grant her humble suit. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he + keeps the wind! + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! + KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit; + And come some other time to know our mind. + LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay. + May it please your Highness to resolve me now; + And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your + lands, + An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. + Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance + to fall. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take + vantages. + KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of + her. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather + give her two. + LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him. + KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. + LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then. + KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have + leave + Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. + [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw] + KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? + LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. + KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good? + LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm. + KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. + LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty. + KING EDWARD. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. + LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service. + KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them? + LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do. + KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon. + LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. + KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. + LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands. + GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. + CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt. + LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task? + KING EDWARD. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. + LADY GREY. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. + KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. + LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. + GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. + KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis the fruits of love I mean. + LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. + KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. + What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get? + LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; + That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. + KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. + LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. + KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind. + LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive + Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright. + KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. + LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. + KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. + LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; + For by that loss I will not purchase them. + KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. + LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me. + But, mighty lord, this merry inclination + Accords not with the sadness of my suit. + Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no. + KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request; + No, if thou dost say no to my demand. + LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. + GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows. + CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. + KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty; + Her words doth show her wit incomparable; + All her perfections challenge sovereignty. + One way or other, she is for a king; + And she shall be my love, or else my queen. + Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? + LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord. + I am a subject fit to jest withal, + But far unfit to be a sovereign. + KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee + I speak no more than what my soul intends; + And that is to enjoy thee for my love. + LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto. + I know I am too mean to be your queen, + And yet too good to be your concubine. + KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. + LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father. + KING EDWARD.No more than when my daughters call thee mother. + Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; + And, by God's Mother, I, being but a bachelor, + Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing + To be the father unto many sons. + Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. + GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. + CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift. + KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. + GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. + KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her. + CLARENCE. To who, my lord? + KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself. + GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least. + CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. + GLOUCESTER. By so much is the wonder in extremes. + KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both + Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. + + Enter a NOBLEMAN + + NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken + And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. + KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower. + And go we, brothers, to the man that took him + To question of his apprehension. + Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. + Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, + That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring + To cross me from the golden time I look for! + And yet, between my soul's desire and me- + The lustful Edward's title buried- + Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, + And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, + To take their rooms ere I can place myself. + A cold premeditation for my purpose! + Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; + Like one that stands upon a promontory + And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, + Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; + And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, + Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way- + So do I wish the crown, being so far off; + And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; + And so I say I'll cut the causes off, + Flattering me with impossibilities. + My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, + Unless my hand and strength could equal them. + Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; + What other pleasure can the world afford? + I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, + And deck my body in gay ornaments, + And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. + O miserable thought! and more unlikely + Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. + Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; + And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, + She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe + To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub + To make an envious mountain on my back, + Where sits deformity to mock my body; + To shape my legs of an unequal size; + To disproportion me in every part, + Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp + That carries no impression like the dam. + And am I, then, a man to be belov'd? + O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! + Then, since this earth affords no joy to me + But to command, to check, to o'erbear such + As are of better person than myself, + I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, + And whiles I live t' account this world but hell, + Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head + Be round impaled with a glorious crown. + And yet I know not how to get the crown, + For many lives stand between me and home; + And I- like one lost in a thorny wood + That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns, + Seeking a way and straying from the way + Not knowing how to find the open air, + But toiling desperately to find it out- + Torment myself to catch the English crown; + And from that torment I will free myself + Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. + Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, + And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart, + And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, + And frame my face to all occasions. + I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; + I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; + I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, + Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, + And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. + I can add colours to the chameleon, + Change shapes with Protheus for advantages, + And set the murderous Machiavel to school. + Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? + Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +France. The KING'S palace + +Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA, +his Admiral call'd BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET, +and the EARL of OXFORD. LEWIS sits, and riseth up again + + LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, + Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state + And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit. + QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret + Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve + Where kings command. I was, I must confess, + Great Albion's Queen in former golden days; + But now mischance hath trod my title down + And with dishonour laid me on the ground, + Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, + And to my humble seat conform myself. + LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair? + QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears + And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. + LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, + And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him] Yield not thy neck + To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind + Still ride in triumph over all mischance. + Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; + It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. + QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts + And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. + Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis + That Henry, sole possessor of my love, + Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, + And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; + While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York + Usurps the regal title and the seat + Of England's true-anointed lawful King. + This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, + With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, + Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; + And if thou fail us, all our hope is done. + Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; + Our people and our peers are both misled, + Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, + And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. + LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm, + While we bethink a means to break it off. + QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. + LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee. + QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. + And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow! + + Enter WARWICK + + LEWIS. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? + QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend. + LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France? + [He descends. She ariseth] + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; + For this is he that moves both wind and tide. + WARWICK. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, + My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, + I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, + First to do greetings to thy royal person, + And then to crave a league of amity, + And lastly to confirm that amity + With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant + That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, + To England's King in lawful marriage. + QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. + WARWICK. [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf, + I am commanded, with your leave and favour, + Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue + To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; + Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears, + Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue. + QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak + Before you answer Warwick. His demand + Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, + But from deceit bred by necessity; + For how can tyrants safely govern home + Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? + To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, + That Henry liveth still; but were he dead, + Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. + Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage + Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; + For though usurpers sway the rule a while + Yet heav'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. + WARWICK. Injurious Margaret! + PRINCE OF WALES. And why not Queen? + WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp; + And thou no more art prince than she is queen. + OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, + Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; + And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, + Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; + And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, + Who by his prowess conquered all France. + From these our Henry lineally descends. + WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse + You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost + All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? + Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. + But for the rest: you tell a pedigree + Of threescore and two years- a silly time + To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. + OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, + Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, + And not betray thy treason with a blush? + WARWICK. Can Oxford that did ever fence the right + Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? + For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king. + OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom + My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, + Was done to death; and more than so, my father, + Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, + When nature brought him to the door of death? + No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, + This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. + WARWICK. And I the house of York. + LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford, + Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside + While I use further conference with Warwick. + [They stand aloof] + QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not! + LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, + Is Edward your true king? for I were loath + To link with him that were not lawful chosen. + WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. + LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people's eye? + WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate. + LEWIS. Then further: all dissembling set aside, + Tell me for truth the measure of his love + Unto our sister Bona. + WARWICK. Such it seems + As may beseem a monarch like himself. + Myself have often heard him say and swear + That this his love was an eternal plant + Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, + The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, + Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, + Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. + LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. + BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine. + [To WARWICK] Yet I confess that often ere this day, + When I have heard your king's desert recounted, + Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. + LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's. + And now forthwith shall articles be drawn + Touching the jointure that your king must make, + Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd. + Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness + That Bona shall be wife to the English king. + PRINCE OF WALES. To Edward, but not to the English king. + QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device + By this alliance to make void my suit. + Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. + LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret. + But if your title to the crown be weak, + As may appear by Edward's good success, + Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd + From giving aid which late I promised. + Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand + That your estate requires and mine can yield. + WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland at his case, + Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. + And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, + You have a father able to maintain you, + And better 'twere you troubled him than France. + QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, + Proud setter up and puller down of kings! + I will not hence till with my talk and tears, + Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold + Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; + For both of you are birds of self-same feather. + [POST blowing a horn within] + LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. + + Enter the POST + + POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, + Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague. + These from our King unto your Majesty. + And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not. + [They all read their letters] + OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress + Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. + PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled. + I hope all's for the best. + LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen? + QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys. + WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. + LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey? + And now, to soothe your forgery and his, + Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? + Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France? + Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? + QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before. + This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. + WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven, + And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, + That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's- + No more my king, for he dishonours me, + But most himself, if he could see his shame. + Did I forget that by the house of York + My father came untimely to his death? + Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece? + Did I impale him with the regal crown? + Did I put Henry from his native right? + And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? + Shame on himself! for my desert is honour; + And to repair my honour lost for him + I here renounce him and return to Henry. + My noble Queen, let former grudges pass, + And henceforth I am thy true servitor. + I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, + And replant Henry in his former state. + QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; + And I forgive and quite forget old faults, + And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend. + WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, + That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us + With some few bands of chosen soldiers, + I'll undertake to land them on our coast + And force the tyrant from his seat by war. + 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him; + And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, + He's very likely now to fall from him + For matching more for wanton lust than honour + Or than for strength and safety of our country. + BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd + But by thy help to this distressed queen? + QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live + Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? + BONA. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. + WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours. + LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. + Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd + You shall have aid. + QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. + LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post + And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, + That Lewis of France is sending over masquers + To revel it with him and his new bride. + Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal. + BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, + I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake. + QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside, + And I am ready to put armour on. + WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, + And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. + There's thy reward; be gone. Exit POST + LEWIS. But, Warwick, + Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, + Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle: + And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen + And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply. + Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt: + What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? + WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty: + That if our Queen and this young Prince agree, + I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy + To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. + QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. + Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, + Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick; + And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable + That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. + PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; + And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. + [He gives his hand to WARWICK] + LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied; + And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral, + Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. + I long till Edward fall by war's mischance + For mocking marriage with a dame of France. + Exeunt all but WARWICK + WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador, + But I return his sworn and mortal foe. + Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, + But dreadful war shall answer his demand. + Had he none else to make a stale but me? + Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. + I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, + And I'll be chief to bring him down again; + Not that I pity Henry's misery, + But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +London. The palace + +Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE + + GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you + Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? + Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? + CLARENCE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France! + How could he stay till Warwick made return? + SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King. + + Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY + GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, + and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other + + GLOUCESTER. And his well-chosen bride. + CLARENCE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. + KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice + That you stand pensive as half malcontent? + CLARENCE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick, + Which are so weak of courage and in judgment + That they'll take no offence at our abuse. + KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause; + They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward, + Your King and Warwick's and must have my will. + GLOUCESTER. And shall have your will, because our King. + Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. + KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? + GLOUCESTER. Not I. + No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd + Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity + To sunder them that yoke so well together. + KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, + Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey + Should not become my wife and England's Queen. + And you too, Somerset and Montague, + Speak freely what you think. + CLARENCE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis + Becomes your enemy for mocking him + About the marriage of the Lady Bona. + GLOUCESTER. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, + Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. + KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd + By such invention as I can devise? + MONTAGUE. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance + Would more have strength'ned this our commonwealth + 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage. + HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself + England is safe, if true within itself? + MONTAGUE. But the safer when 'tis back'd with France. + HASTINGS. 'Tis better using France than trusting France. + Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas + Which He hath giv'n for fence impregnable, + And with their helps only defend ourselves. + In them and in ourselves our safety lies. + CLARENCE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves + To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. + KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant; + And for this once my will shall stand for law. + GLOUCESTER. And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well + To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales + Unto the brother of your loving bride. + She better would have fitted me or Clarence; + But in your bride you bury brotherhood. + CLARENCE. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir + Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, + And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. + KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence! Is it for a wife + That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. + CLARENCE. In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment, + Which being shallow, you shall give me leave + To play the broker in mine own behalf; + And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. + KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be King, + And not be tied unto his brother's will. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleas'd his Majesty + To raise my state to title of a queen, + Do me but right, and you must all confess + That I was not ignoble of descent: + And meaner than myself have had like fortune. + But as this title honours me and mine, + So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, + Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. + KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns. + What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, + So long as Edward is thy constant friend + And their true sovereign whom they must obey? + Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, + Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; + Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, + And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. + + Enter a POST + + KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news + From France? + MESSENGER. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words, + But such as I, without your special pardon, + Dare not relate. + KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief, + Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. + What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters? + MESSENGER. At my depart, these were his very words: + 'Go tell false Edward, the supposed king, + That Lewis of France is sending over masquers + To revel it with him and his new bride.' + KING EDWARD. IS Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry. + But what said Lady Bona to my marriage? + MESSENGER. These were her words, utt'red with mild disdain: + 'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, + I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.' + KING EDWARD. I blame not her: she could say little less; + She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? + For I have heard that she was there in place. + MESSENGER. 'Tell him' quoth she 'my mourning weeds are done, + And I am ready to put armour on.' + KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. + But what said Warwick to these injuries? + MESSENGER. He, more incens'd against your Majesty + Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words: + 'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong; + And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' + KING EDWARD. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words? + Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd. + They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. + But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? + MESSENGER. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship + That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. + CLARENCE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger. + Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, + For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; + That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage + I may not prove inferior to yourself. + You that love me and Warwick, follow me. + Exit, and SOMERSET follows + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Not I. + My thoughts aim at a further matter; I + Stay not for the love of Edward but the crown. + KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick! + Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; + And haste is needful in this desp'rate case. + Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf + Go levy men and make prepare for war; + They are already, or quickly will be landed. + Myself in person will straight follow you. + Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD + But ere I go, Hastings and Montague, + Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, + Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance. + Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? + If it be so, then both depart to him: + I rather wish you foes than hollow friends. + But if you mind to hold your true obedience, + Give me assurance with some friendly vow, + That I may never have you in suspect. + MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true! + HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause! + KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? + GLOUCESTER. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. + KING EDWARD. Why, so! then am I sure of victory. + Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour + Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow'r. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +A plain in Warwickshire + +Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers + + WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; + The common people by numbers swarm to us. + + Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET + + But see where Somerset and Clarence comes. + Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends? + CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord. + WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; + And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice + To rest mistrustful where a noble heart + Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; + Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, + Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. + But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. + And now what rests but, in night's coverture, + Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, + His soldiers lurking in the towns about, + And but attended by a simple guard, + We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? + Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; + That as Ulysses and stout Diomede + With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, + And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, + So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, + At unawares may beat down Edward's guard + And seize himself- I say not 'slaughter him,' + For I intend but only to surprise him. + You that will follow me to this attempt, + Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. + [They all cry 'Henry!'] + Why then, let's on our way in silent sort. + For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! Exeunt + + + +SCENE III. +Edward's camp, near Warwick + +Enter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING'S tent + + FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand; + The King by this is set him down to sleep. + SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed? + FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow + Never to lie and take his natural rest + Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. + SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, + If Warwick be so near as men report. + THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that + That with the King here resteth in his tent? + FIRST WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend. + THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King + That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, + While he himself keeps in the cold field? + SECOND WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. + THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness; + I like it better than dangerous honour. + If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, + 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. + FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. + SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent + But to defend his person from night-foes? + + Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, + and French soldiers, silent all + + WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. + Courage, my masters! Honour now or never! + But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. + FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there? + SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest. + + WARWICK and the rest cry all 'Warwick! Warwick!' and + set upon the guard, who fly, crying 'Arm! Arm!' WARWICK + and the rest following them + + The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK + and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown, + sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage + + SOMERSET. What are they that fly there? + WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke. + KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted, + Thou call'dst me King? + WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter'd. + When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, + Then I degraded you from being King, + And come now to create you Duke of York. + Alas, how should you govern any kingdom + That know not how to use ambassadors, + Nor how to be contented with one wife, + Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, + Nor how to study for the people's welfare, + Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? + KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? + Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. + Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, + Of thee thyself and all thy complices, + Edward will always bear himself as King. + Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, + My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. + WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king; + [Takes off his crown] + But Henry now shall wear the English crown + And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow. + My Lord of Somerset, at my request, + See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd + Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. + When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, + I'll follow you and tell what answer + Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. + Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York. + KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; + It boots not to resist both wind and tide. + [They lead him out forcibly] + OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do + But march to London with our soldiers? + WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; + To free King Henry from imprisonment, + And see him seated in the regal throne. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +London. The palace + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS + + RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn + What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? + RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person. + RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; + Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard + Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares; + And, as I further have to understand, + Is new committed to the Bishop of York, + Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. + RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief; + Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: + Warwick may lose that now hath won the day. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay. + And I the rather wean me from despair + For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. + This is it that makes me bridle passion + And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; + Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear + And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, + Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown + King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown. + RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform'd that he comes towards London + To set the crown once more on Henry's head. + Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down. + But to prevent the tyrant's violence- + For trust not him that hath once broken faith- + I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary + To save at least the heir of Edward's right. + There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. + Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: + If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire + +Enter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others + + GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, + Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither + Into this chiefest thicket of the park. + Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother, + Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands + He hath good usage and great liberty; + And often but attended with weak guard + Comes hunting this way to disport himself. + I have advertis'd him by secret means + That if about this hour he make this way, + Under the colour of his usual game, + He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, + To set him free from his captivity. + + Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him + + HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. + KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand. + Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, + Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer? + GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; + Your horse stands ready at the park corner. + KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then? + HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders. + GLOUCESTER. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. + KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. + GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk. + KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say'st thou? Wilt thou go along? + HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. + GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado. + KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick's frown, + And pray that I may repossess the crown. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +London. The Tower + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY, +EARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and attendants + + KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends + Have shaken Edward from the regal seat + And turn'd my captive state to liberty, + My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, + At our enlargement what are thy due fees? + LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sov'reigns; + But if an humble prayer may prevail, + I then crave pardon of your Majesty. + KING HENRY. For what, Lieutenant? For well using me? + Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, + For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; + Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds + Conceive when, after many moody thoughts, + At last by notes of household harmony + They quite forget their loss of liberty. + But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, + And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; + He was the author, thou the instrument. + Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite + By living low where fortune cannot hurt me, + And that the people of this blessed land + May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, + Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, + I here resign my government to thee, + For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. + WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous, + And now may seem as wise as virtuous + By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, + For few men rightly temper with the stars; + Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace, + For choosing me when Clarence is in place. + CLARENCE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, + To whom the heav'ns in thy nativity + Adjudg'd an olive branch and laurel crown, + As likely to be blest in peace and war; + And therefore I yield thee my free consent. + WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector. + KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands. + Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, + That no dissension hinder government. + I make you both Protectors of this land, + While I myself will lead a private life + And in devotion spend my latter days, + To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. + WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will? + CLARENCE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent, + For on thy fortune I repose myself. + WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content. + We'll yoke together, like a double shadow + To Henry's body, and supply his place; + I mean, in bearing weight of government, + While he enjoys the honour and his ease. + And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful + Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, + And all his lands and goods confiscated. + CLARENCE. What else? And that succession be determin'd. + WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. + KING HENRY. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, + Let me entreat- for I command no more- + That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward + Be sent for to return from France with speed; + For till I see them here, by doubtful fear + My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. + CLARENCE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. + KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that, + Of whom you seem to have so tender care? + SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond. + KING HENRY. Come hither, England's hope. + [Lays his hand on his head] + If secret powers + Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, + This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. + His looks are full of peaceful majesty; + His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, + His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself + Likely in time to bless a regal throne. + Make much of him, my lords; for this is he + Must help you more than you are hurt by me. + + Enter a POST + + WARWICK. What news, my friend? + POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother + And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. + WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape? + POST. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester + And the Lord Hastings, who attended him + In secret ambush on the forest side + And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him; + For hunting was his daily exercise. + WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge. + But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide + A salve for any sore that may betide. + Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD + SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's; + For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, + And we shall have more wars befor't be long. + As Henry's late presaging prophecy + Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, + So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts, + What may befall him to his harm and ours. + Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, + Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, + Till storms be past of civil enmity. + OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, + 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. + SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. + Come therefore, let's about it speedily. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +Before York + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest, + Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, + And says that once more I shall interchange + My waned state for Henry's regal crown. + Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas, + And brought desired help from Burgundy; + What then remains, we being thus arriv'd + From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, + But that we enter, as into our dukedom? + GLOUCESTER. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this; + For many men that stumble at the threshold + Are well foretold that danger lurks within. + KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us. + By fair or foul means we must enter in, + For hither will our friends repair to us. + HASTINGS. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them. + + Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and + his BRETHREN + + MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming + And shut the gates for safety of ourselves, + For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. + KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King, + Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. + MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. + KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, + As being well content with that alone. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got in his nose, + He'll soon find means to make the body follow. + HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt? + Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. + MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open'd. + [He descends] + GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded! + HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well, + So 'twere not long of him; but being ent'red, + I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade + Both him and all his brothers unto reason. + + Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN + + KING EDWARD. So, Master Mayor. These gates must not be shut + But in the night or in the time of war. + What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; + [Takes his keys] + For Edward will defend the town and thee, + And all those friends that deign to follow me. + + March. Enter MONTGOMERY with drum and soldiers + + GLOUCESTER. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, + Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. + KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir john! But why come you in arms? + MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm, + As every loyal subject ought to do. + KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget + Our title to the crown, and only claim + Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. + MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again. + I came to serve a king and not a duke. + Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. + [The drum begins to march] + KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we'll debate + By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. + MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words: + If you'll not here proclaim yourself our King, + I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone + To keep them back that come to succour you. + Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? + GLOUCESTER. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? + KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim; + Till then 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. + HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule. + GLOUCESTER. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. + Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; + The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. + KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, + And Henry but usurps the diadem. + MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself; + And now will I be Edward's champion. + HASTINGS. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd. + Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation. + [Gives him a paper. Flourish] + SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, + King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.' + MONTGOMERY. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's right, + By this I challenge him to single fight. + [Throws down gauntlet] + ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth! + KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all; + If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. + Now for this night let's harbour here in York; + And when the morning sun shall raise his car + Above the border of this horizon, + We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; + For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. + Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems the + To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! + Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick. + Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, + And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VIII. +London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, OXFORD, and EXETER + + WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, + With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, + Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas + And with his troops doth march amain to London; + And many giddy people flock to him. + KING HENRY. Let's levy men and beat him back again. + CLARENCE. A little fire is quickly trodden out, + Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. + WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, + Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; + Those will I muster up, and thou, son Clarence, + Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, + The knights and gentlemen to come with thee. + Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, + Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find + Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st. + And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, + In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. + My sovereign, with the loving citizens, + Like to his island girt in with the ocean + Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, + Shall rest in London till we come to him. + Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. + Farewell, my sovereign. + KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector and my Troy's true hope. + CLARENCE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand. + KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate! + MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave. + OXFORD. [Kissing the KING'S band] And thus I seal my truth and bid + adieu. + KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, + And all at once, once more a happy farewell. + WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry. + Exeunt all but the KING and EXETER + KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while. + Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? + Methinks the power that Edward hath in field + Should not be able to encounter mine. + EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. + KING HENRY. That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame: + I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, + Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; + My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, + My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, + My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; + I have not been desirous of their wealth, + Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, + Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd. + Then why should they love Edward more than me? + No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; + And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, + The lamb will never cease to follow him. + [Shout within 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!'] + EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord! What shouts are these? + + Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence; + And once again proclaim us King of England. + You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow. + Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, + And swell so much the higher by their ebb. + Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak. + Exeunt some with KING HENRY + And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, + Where peremptory Warwick now remains. + The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, + Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. + GLOUCESTER. Away betimes, before his forces join, + And take the great-grown traitor unawares. + Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Coventry + +Enter WARWICK, the MAYOR OF COVENTRY, two MESSENGERS, +and others upon the walls + + WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? + How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? + FIRST MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. + WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague? + Where is the post that came from Montague? + SECOND MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. + + Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE + + WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? + And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now? + SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, + And do expect him here some two hours hence. + [Drum heard] + WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum. + SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies. + The drum your Honour hears marcheth from Warwick. + WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike unlook'd for friends. + SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. + + March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, + and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. + GLOUCESTER. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall. + WARWICK. O unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come? + Where slept our scouts or how are they seduc'd + That we could hear no news of his repair? + KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, + Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee, + Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy? + And he shall pardon thee these outrages. + WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, + Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down, + Call Warwick patron, and be penitent? + And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. + GLOUCESTER. I thought, at least, he would have said the King; + Or did he make the jest against his will? + WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? + GLOUCESTER. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give. + I'll do thee service for so good a gift. + WARWICK. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother. + KING EDWARD. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift. + WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight; + And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; + And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject. + KING EDWARD. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner. + And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: + What is the body when the head is off? + GLOUCESTER. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, + But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, + The king was slily finger'd from the deck! + You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, + And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower. + KING EDWARD. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. + GLOUCESTER. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down. + Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools. + WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, + And with the other fling it at thy face, + Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. + KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, + This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, + Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, + Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood: + 'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.' + + Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours + + WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes. + OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. The gates are open, let us enter too. + KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs. + Stand we in good array, for they no doubt + Will issue out again and bid us battle; + If not, the city being but of small defence, + We'll quietly rouse the traitors in the same. + WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. + + Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours + + MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason + Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. + KING EDWARD. The harder match'd, the greater victory. + My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. + + Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours + + SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, + Have sold their lives unto the house of York; + And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. + + Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours + + WARWICK. And lo where George of Clarence sweeps along, + Of force enough to bid his brother battle; + With whom an upright zeal to right prevails + More than the nature of a brother's love. + CLARENCE. Clarence, Clarence, for Lancaster! + KING EDWARD. Et tu Brute- wilt thou stab Caesar too? + A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence. + [Sound a parley. RICHARD and CLARENCE whisper] + WARWICK. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call. + CLARENCE. [Taking the red rose from his hat and throwing + it at WARWICK] + Father of Warwick, know you what this means? + Look here, I throw my infamy at thee. + I will not ruinate my father's house, + Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, + And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick, + That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, + To bend the fatal instruments of war + Against his brother and his lawful King? + Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath. + To keep that oath were more impiety + Than Jephtha when he sacrific'd his daughter. + I am so sorry for my trespass made + That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, + I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; + With resolution whereso'er I meet thee- + As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad- + To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. + And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, + And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. + Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; + And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, + For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. + KING EDWARD. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd, + Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. + GLOUCESTER. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. + WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust! + KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave die town and fight? + Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? + WARWICK. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence! + I will away towards Barnet presently + And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. + KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares and leads the way. + Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory! + Exeunt YORKISTS + [March. WARWICK and his company follow] + + + + +SCENE II. +A field of battle near Barnet + +Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing forth WARWICK, wounded + + KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear; + For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. + Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, + That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. Exit + WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, + And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? + Why ask I that? My mangled body shows, + My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, + That I must yield my body to the earth + And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. + Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, + Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, + Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, + Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree + And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind. + These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, + Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun + To search the secret treasons of the world; + The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, + Were lik'ned oft to kingly sepulchres; + For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave? + And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? + Lo now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! + My parks, my walks, my manors, that I had, + Even now forsake me; and of all my lands + Is nothing left me but my body's length. + what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? + And live we how we can, yet die we must. + + Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET + + SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, + We might recover all our loss again. + The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power; + Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly! + WARWICK. Why then, I would not fly. Ah, Montague, + If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, + And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! + Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, + Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood + That glues my lips and will not let me speak. + Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. + SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath'd his last; + And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, + And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' + And more he would have said; and more he spoke, + Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, + That mought not be distinguish'd; but at last, + I well might hear, delivered with a groan, + 'O farewell, Warwick!' + WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves: + For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. + [Dies] + OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power! + [Here they bear away his body] + + + + +SCENE III. +Another part of the field + +Flourish. Enter KING in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest + + KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, + And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. + But in the midst of this bright-shining day + I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud + That will encounter with our glorious sun + Ere he attain his easeful western bed- + I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen + Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast + And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. + CLARENCE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud + And blow it to the source from whence it came; + Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, + For every cloud engenders not a storm. + GLOUCESTER. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong, + And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. + If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd + Her faction will be full as strong as ours. + KING EDWARD. are advertis'd by our loving friends + That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; + We, having now the best at Barnet field, + Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; + And as we march our strength will be augmented + In every county as we go along. + Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Plains wear Tewksbury + +Flourish. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, +and SOLDIERS + + QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their + loss, + But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. + What though the mast be now blown overboard, + The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, + And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood; + Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he + Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad, + With tearful eyes add water to the sea + And give more strength to that which hath too much; + Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, + Which industry and courage might have sav'd? + Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! + Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? + And Montague our top-mast; what of him? + Our slaught'red friends the tackles; what of these? + Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? + And Somerset another goodly mast? + The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? + And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I + For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? + We will not from the helm to sit and weep, + But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, + From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck, + As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. + And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? + What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? + And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? + All these the enemies to our poor bark. + Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while! + Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink. + Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, + Or else you famish- that's a threefold death. + This speak I, lords, to let you understand, + If case some one of you would fly from us, + That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers + More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. + Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided + 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. + PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit + Should, if a coward hear her speak these words, + Infuse his breast with magnanimity + And make him naked foil a man-at-arms. + I speak not this as doubting any here; + For did I but suspect a fearful man, + He should have leave to go away betimes, + Lest in our need he might infect another + And make him of the like spirit to himself. + If any such be here- as God forbid!- + Let him depart before we need his help. + OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage, + And warriors faint! Why, 'twere perpetual shame. + O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather + Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve + To bear his image and renew his glories! + SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope, + Go home to bed and, like the owl by day, + If he arise, be mock'd and wond'red at. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks. + PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand + Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. + OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy + To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. + SOMERSET. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness. + QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. + OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. + + Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, + GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood + Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, + Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. + I need not add more fuel to your fire, + For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out. + Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. + QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say + My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, + Ye see, I drink the water of my eye. + Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, + Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, + His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, + His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent; + And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. + You fight in justice. Then, in God's name, lords, + Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. + Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the field + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces, +With QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners + + KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils. + Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight; + For Somerset, off with his guilty head. + Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. + OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. + SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. + Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded + QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world, + To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. + KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward + Shall have a high reward, and he his life? + GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes. + + Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD + + KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak. + What, can so young a man begin to prick? + Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make + For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, + And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? + PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York. + Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; + Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, + Whilst I propose the self-same words to the + Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd! + GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat + And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. + PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night; + His currish riddle sorts not with this place. + GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. + GLOUCESTER. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. + PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. + KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. + CLARENCE. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. + PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful. + Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George, + And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all + I am your better, traitors as ye are; + And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. + KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. + [Stabs him] + GLOUCESTER. Sprawl'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony. + [Stabs him] + CLARENCE. And there's for twitting me with perjury. + [Stabs him] + QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too! + GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her] + KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much. + GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words? + KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery. + GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother. + I'll hence to London on a serious matter; + Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. + CLARENCE. What? what? + GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit + QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy! + Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers! + They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, + Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, + If this foul deed were by to equal it. + He was a man: this, in respect, a child; + And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. + What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? + No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak- + And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. + Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals! + How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! + You have no children, butchers, if you had, + The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse. + But if you ever chance to have a child, + Look in his youth to have him so cut off + As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince! + KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here. + Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death. + What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou. + CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. + QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. + CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it? + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself. + 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. + What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, + Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? + Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; + Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. + KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence. + QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince. + Exit, led out forcibly + KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone? + CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, + To make a bloody supper in the Tower. + KING EDWARD. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. + Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort + With pay and thanks; and let's away to London + And see our gentle queen how well she fares. + By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +London. The Tower + +Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls + + GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? + KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather. + 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better. + 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, + And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.' + GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer. + Exit LIEUTENANT + KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; + So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, + And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. + What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? + GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind: + The thief doth fear each bush an officer. + KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush + With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; + And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, + Have now the fatal object in my eye + Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete + That taught his son the office of a fowl! + And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. + KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; + Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; + The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, + Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea + Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. + Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! + My breast can better brook thy dagger's point + Than can my ears that tragic history. + But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life? + GLOUCESTER. Think'st thou I am an executioner? + KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art. + If murdering innocents be executing, + Why, then thou are an executioner. + GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. + KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume, + Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. + And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand + Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, + And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, + And many an orphan's water-standing eye- + Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, + Orphans for their parents' timeless death- + Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. + The owl shriek'd at thy birth- an evil sign; + The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; + Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; + The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, + And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung; + Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, + And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, + To wit, an indigest deformed lump, + Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. + Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, + To signify thou cam'st to bite the world; + And if the rest be true which I have heard, + Thou cam'st- + GLOUCESTER. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech. + [Stabs him] + For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. + KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. + O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee! [Dies] + GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster + Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. + See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death. + O, may such purple tears be always shed + From those that wish the downfall of our house! + If any spark of life be yet remaining, + Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither- + [Stabs him again] + I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. + Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; + For I have often heard my mother say + I came into the world with my legs forward. + Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste + And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? + The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried + 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' + And so I was, which plainly signified + That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. + Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, + Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. + I have no brother, I am like no brother; + And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, + Be resident in men like one another, + And not in me! I am myself alone. + Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light, + But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; + For I will buzz abroad such prophecies + That Edward shall be fearful of his life; + And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. + King Henry and the Prince his son are gone. + Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; + Counting myself but bad till I be best. + I'll throw thy body in another room, + And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. + Exit with the body + + + + +SCENE VII. +London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, +HASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants + + KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, + Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies. + What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, + Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride! + Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd + For hardy and undoubted champions; + Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; + And two Northumberlands- two braver men + Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound; + With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, + That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion + And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. + Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat + And made our footstool of security. + Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. + Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself + Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night, + Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, + That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace; + And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid; + For yet I am not look'd on in the world. + This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave; + And heave it shall some weight or break my back. + Work thou the way- and that shall execute. + KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen; + And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. + CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty + I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. + KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks. + GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, + Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. + [Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master + And cried 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm. + KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights, + Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. + CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret? + Reignier, her father, to the King of France + Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, + And hither have they sent it for her ransom. + KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France. + And now what rests but that we spend the time + With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, + Such as befits the pleasure of the court? + Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy! + For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. Exeunt + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1611 + +KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + +by William Shakespeare + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS + CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V + CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY + LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR + GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER + BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY + LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD + SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY + SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey + CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey + GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine + THREE GENTLEMEN + DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King + GARTER KING-AT-ARMS + SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham + BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS + DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber + PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner + A CRIER + + QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced + ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen + AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen + PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine + + Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb + Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes, + Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits + + SCENE: + + London; Westminster; Kimbolton + + + + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + + THE PROLOGUE. + + I come no more to make you laugh; things now + That bear a weighty and a serious brow, + Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, + Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, + We now present. Those that can pity here + May, if they think it well, let fall a tear: + The subject will deserve it. Such as give + Their money out of hope they may believe + May here find truth too. Those that come to see + Only a show or two, and so agree + The play may pass, if they be still and willing, + I'll undertake may see away their shilling + Richly in two short hours. Only they + That come to hear a merry bawdy play, + A noise of targets, or to see a fellow + In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, + Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know, + To rank our chosen truth with such a show + As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting + Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring + To make that only true we now intend, + Will leave us never an understanding friend. + Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known + The first and happiest hearers of the town, + Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see + The very persons of our noble story + As they were living; think you see them great, + And follow'd with the general throng and sweat + Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see + How soon this mightiness meets misery. + And if you can be merry then, I'll say + A man may weep upon his wedding-day. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, +the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY + + BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done + Since last we saw in France? + NORFOLK. I thank your Grace, + Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer + Of what I saw there. + BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague + Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when + Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, + Met in the vale of Andren. + NORFOLK. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde- + I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; + Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung + In their embracement, as they grew together; + Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd + Such a compounded one? + BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time + I was my chamber's prisoner. + NORFOLK. Then you lost + The view of earthly glory; men might say, + Till this time pomp was single, but now married + To one above itself. Each following day + Became the next day's master, till the last + Made former wonders its. To-day the French, + All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, + Shone down the English; and to-morrow they + Made Britain India: every man that stood + Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were + As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too, + Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear + The pride upon them, that their very labour + Was to them as a painting. Now this masque + Was cried incomparable; and th' ensuing night + Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, + Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, + As presence did present them: him in eye + still him in praise; and being present both, + 'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner + Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns- + For so they phrase 'em-by their heralds challeng'd + The noble spirits to arms, they did perform + Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story, + Being now seen possible enough, got credit, + That Bevis was believ'd. + BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far! + NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect + In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything + Would by a good discourser lose some life + Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal: + To the disposing of it nought rebell'd; + Order gave each thing view. The office did + Distinctly his full function. + BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide- + I mean, who set the body and the limbs + Of this great sport together, as you guess? + NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element + In such a business. + BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord? + NORFOLK. All this was ord'red by the good discretion + Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. + BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed + From his ambitious finger. What had he + To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder + That such a keech can with his very bulk + Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun, + And keep it from the earth. + NORFOLK. Surely, sir, + There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; + For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace + Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon + For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied + To eminent assistants, but spider-like, + Out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note + The force of his own merit makes his way- + A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys + A place next to the King. + ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell + What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye + Pierce into that; but I can see his pride + Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that? + If not from hell, the devil is a niggard + Or has given all before, and he begins + A new hell in himself. + BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil, + Upon this French going out, took he upon him- + Without the privity o' th' King-t' appoint + Who should attend on him? He makes up the file + Of all the gentry; for the most part such + To whom as great a charge as little honour + He meant to lay upon; and his own letter, + The honourable board of council out, + Must fetch him in he papers. + ABERGAVENNY. I do know + Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have + By this so sicken'd their estates that never + They shall abound as formerly. + BUCKINGHAM. O, many + Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em + For this great journey. What did this vanity + But minister communication of + A most poor issue? + NORFOLK. Grievingly I think + The peace between the French and us not values + The cost that did conclude it. + BUCKINGHAM. Every man, + After the hideous storm that follow'd, was + A thing inspir'd, and, not consulting, broke + Into a general prophecy-that this tempest, + Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded + The sudden breach on't. + NORFOLK. Which is budded out; + For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd + Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux. + ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore + Th' ambassador is silenc'd? + NORFOLK. Marry, is't. + ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd + At a superfluous rate! + BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business + Our reverend Cardinal carried. + NORFOLK. Like it your Grace, + The state takes notice of the private difference + Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you- + And take it from a heart that wishes towards you + Honour and plenteous safety-that you read + The Cardinal's malice and his potency + Together; to consider further, that + What his high hatred would effect wants not + A minister in his power. You know his nature, + That he's revengeful; and I know his sword + Hath a sharp edge-it's long and't may be said + It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, + Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel + You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock + That I advise your shunning. + + Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before + him, certain of the guard, and two SECRETARIES + with papers. The CARDINAL in his passage fixeth his + eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, + both full of disdain + + WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha! + Where's his examination? + SECRETARY. Here, so please you. + WOLSEY. Is he in person ready? + SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace. + WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham + shall lessen this big look. + Exeunt WOLSEY and his train + BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I + Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best + Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book + Outworths a noble's blood. + NORFOLK. What, are you chaf'd? + Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only + Which your disease requires. + BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks + Matter against me, and his eye revil'd + Me as his abject object. At this instant + He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King; + I'll follow, and outstare him. + NORFOLK. Stay, my lord, + And let your reason with your choler question + What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills + Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like + A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way, + Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England + Can advise me like you; be to yourself + As you would to your friend. + BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King, + And from a mouth of honour quite cry down + This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim + There's difference in no persons. + NORFOLK. Be advis'd: + Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot + That it do singe yourself. We may outrun + By violent swiftness that which we run at, + And lose by over-running. Know you not + The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er + In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd. + I say again there is no English soul + More stronger to direct you than yourself, + If with the sap of reason you would quench + Or but allay the fire of passion. + BUCKINGHAM. Sir, + I am thankful to you, and I'll go along + By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow- + Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but + From sincere motions, by intelligence, + And proofs as clear as founts in July when + We see each grain of gravel-I do know + To be corrupt and treasonous. + NORFOLK. Say not treasonous. + BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong + As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox, + Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav'nous + As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief + As able to perform't, his mind and place + Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally- + Only to show his pomp as well in France + As here at home, suggests the King our master + To this last costly treaty, th' interview + That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass + Did break i' th' wrenching. + NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did. + BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal + The articles o' th' combination drew + As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified + As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end + As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal + Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, + Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, + Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy + To th' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor, + Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt- + For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came + To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation- + His fears were that the interview betwixt + England and France might through their amity + Breed him some prejudice; for from this league + Peep'd harms that menac'd him-privily + Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow- + Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor + Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted + Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made, + And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd, + That he would please to alter the King's course, + And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know, + As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal + Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, + And for his own advantage. + NORFOLK. I am sorry + To hear this of him, and could wish he were + Something mistaken in't. + BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable: + I do pronounce him in that very shape + He shall appear in proof. + + Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him, + and two or three of the guard + + BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it. + SERGEANT. Sir, + My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl + Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I + Arrest thee of high treason, in the name + Of our most sovereign King. + BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord, + The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish + Under device and practice. + BRANDON. I am sorry + To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on + The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure + You shall to th' Tower. + BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing + To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me + Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n + Be done in this and all things! I obey. + O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well! + BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company. + [To ABERGAVENNY] The King + Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know + How he determines further. + ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said, + The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure + By me obey'd. + BRANDON. Here is warrant from + The King t' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies + Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car, + One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor- + BUCKINGHAM. So, so! + These are the limbs o' th' plot; no more, I hope. + BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux. + BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins? + BRANDON. He. + BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal + Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already. + I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, + Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on + By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell. + Exeunt + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 2. + +London. The Council Chamber + +Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the NOBLES, +and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself +under the KING'S feet on his right side + + KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it, + Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level + Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks + To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us + That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person + I'll hear his confessions justify; + And point by point the treasons of his master + He shall again relate. + + A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' + Enter the QUEEN, usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK + and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING riseth + from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her + by him + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor. + KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit + Never name to us: you have half our power. + The other moiety ere you ask is given; + Repeat your will, and take it. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty. + That you would love yourself, and in that love + Not unconsidered leave your honour nor + The dignity of your office, is the point + Of my petition. + KING. Lady mine, proceed. + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few, + And those of true condition, that your subjects + Are in great grievance: there have been commissions + Sent down among 'em which hath flaw'd the heart + Of all their loyalties; wherein, although, + My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches + Most bitterly on you as putter-on + Of these exactions, yet the King our master- + Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not + Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks + The sides of loyalty, and almost appears + In loud rebellion. + NORFOLK. Not almost appears- + It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, + The clothiers all, not able to maintain + The many to them 'longing, have put of + The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who + Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger + And lack of other means, in desperate manner + Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar, + And danger serves among them. + KING. Taxation! + Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal, + You that are blam'd for it alike with us, + Know you of this taxation? + WOLSEY. Please you, sir, + I know but of a single part in aught + Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file + Where others tell steps with me. + QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord! + You know no more than others! But you frame + Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome + To those which would not know them, and yet must + Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, + Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are + Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em + The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say + They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer + Too hard an exclamation. + KING. Still exaction! + The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, + Is this exaction? + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous + In tempting of your patience, but am bold'ned + Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief + Comes through commissions, which compels from each + The sixth part of his substance, to be levied + Without delay; and the pretence for this + Is nam'd your wars in France. This makes bold mouths; + Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze + Allegiance in them; their curses now + Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass + This tractable obedience is a slave + To each incensed will. I would your Highness + Would give it quick consideration, for + There is no primer business. + KING. By my life, + This is against our pleasure. + WOLSEY. And for me, + I have no further gone in this than by + A single voice; and that not pass'd me but + By learned approbation of the judges. If I am + Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know + My faculties nor person, yet will be + The chronicles of my doing, let me say + 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake + That virtue must go through. We must not stint + Our necessary actions in the fear + To cope malicious censurers, which ever + As rav'nous fishes do a vessel follow + That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further + Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, + By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is + Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft + Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up + For our best act. If we shall stand still, + In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, + We should take root here where we sit, or sit + State-statues only. + KING. Things done well + And with a care exempt themselves from fear: + Things done without example, in their issue + Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent + Of this commission? I believe, not any. + We must not rend our subjects from our laws, + And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? + A trembling contribution! Why, we take + From every tree lop, bark, and part o' th' timber; + And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, + The air will drink the sap. To every county + Where this is question'd send our letters with + Free pardon to each man that has denied + The force of this commission. Pray, look tot; + I put it to your care. + WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you. + Let there be letters writ to every shire + Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons + Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois'd + That through our intercession this revokement + And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you + Further in the proceeding. Exit SECRETARY + + Enter SURVEYOR + + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham + Is run in your displeasure. + KING. It grieves many. + The gentleman is learn'd and a most rare speaker; + To nature none more bound; his training such + That he may furnish and instruct great teachers + And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, + When these so noble benefits shall prove + Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, + They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly + Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, + Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, + Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find + His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady, + Hath into monstrous habits put the graces + That once were his, and is become as black + As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear- + This was his gentleman in trust-of him + Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount + The fore-recited practices, whereof + We cannot feel too little, hear too much. + WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, + Most like a careful subject, have collected + Out of the Duke of Buckingham. + KING. Speak freely. + SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day + It would infect his speech-that if the King + Should without issue die, he'll carry it so + To make the sceptre his. These very words + I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, + Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd + Revenge upon the Cardinal. + WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note + This dangerous conception in this point: + Not friended by his wish, to your high person + His will is most malignant, and it stretches + Beyond you to your friends. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal, + Deliver all with charity. + KING. Speak on. + How grounded he his title to the crown + Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him + At any time speak aught? + SURVEYOR. He was brought to this + By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton. + KING. What was that Henton? + SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar, + His confessor, who fed him every minute + With words of sovereignty. + KING. How know'st thou this? + SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France, + The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish + Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand + What was the speech among the Londoners + Concerning the French journey. I replied + Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, + To the King's danger. Presently the Duke + Said 'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted + 'Twould prove the verity of certain words + Spoke by a holy monk 'that oft' says he + 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit + John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour + To hear from him a matter of some moment; + Whom after under the confession's seal + He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke + My chaplain to no creature living but + To me should utter, with demure confidence + This pausingly ensu'd: "Neither the King nor's heirs, + Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive + To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke + Shall govern England."' + QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well, + You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office + On the complaint o' th' tenants. Take good heed + You charge not in your spleen a noble person + And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed; + Yes, heartily beseech you. + KING. Let him on. + Go forward. + SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. + I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions + The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous + for him + To ruminate on this so far, until + It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, + It was much like to do. He answer'd 'Tush, + It can do me no damage'; adding further + That, had the King in his last sickness fail'd, + The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads + Should have gone off. + KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! + There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further? + SURVEYOR. I can, my liege. + KING. Proceed. + SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich, + After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke + About Sir William Bulmer- + KING. I remember + Of such a time: being my sworn servant, + The Duke retain'd him his. But on: what hence? + SURVEYOR. 'If' quoth he 'I for this had been committed- + As to the Tower I thought-I would have play'd + The part my father meant to act upon + Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, + Made suit to come in's presence, which if granted, + As he made semblance of his duty, would + Have put his knife into him.' + KING. A giant traitor! + WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom, + And this man out of prison? + QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all! + KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st? + SURVEYOR. After 'the Duke his father' with the 'knife,' + He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, + Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes, + He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour + Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo + His father by as much as a performance + Does an irresolute purpose. + KING. There's his period, + To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; + Call him to present trial. If he may + Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, + Let him not seek't of us. By day and night! + He's traitor to th' height. Exeunt + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS + + CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle + Men into such strange mysteries? + SANDYS. New customs, + Though they be never so ridiculous, + Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. + CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English + Have got by the late voyage is but merely + A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones; + For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly + Their very noses had been counsellors + To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. + SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it, + That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin + Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. + CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord, + Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't, + That sure th' have worn out Christendom. + + Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL + + How now? + What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? + LOVELL. Faith, my lord, + I hear of none but the new proclamation + That's clapp'd upon the court gate. + CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for? + LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, + That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. + CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs + To think an English courtier may be wise, + And never see the Louvre. + LOVELL. They must either, + For so run the conditions, leave those remnants + Of fool and feather that they got in France, + With all their honourable points of ignorance + Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks; + Abusing better men than they can be, + Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean + The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, + Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel + And understand again like honest men, + Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it, + They may, cum privilegio, wear away + The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. + SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases + Are grown so catching. + CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies + Will have of these trim vanities! + LOVELL. Ay, marry, + There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons + Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies. + A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. + SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, + For sure there's no converting 'em. Now + An honest country lord, as I am, beaten + A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong + And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady, + Held current music too. + CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys; + Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. + SANDYS. No, my lord, + Nor shall not while I have a stamp. + CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas, + Whither were you a-going? + LOVELL. To the Cardinal's; + Your lordship is a guest too. + CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true; + This night he makes a supper, and a great one, + To many lords and ladies; there will be + The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. + LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, + A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; + His dews fall everywhere. + CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble; + He had a black mouth that said other of him. + SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him + Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: + Men of his way should be most liberal, + They are set here for examples. + CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so; + But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; + Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, + We shall be late else; which I would not be, + For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford, + This night to be comptrollers. + SANDYS. I am your lordship's. Exeunt + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 4. + +London. The Presence Chamber in York Place + +Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, +a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, +and divers other LADIES and GENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; +at another door enter SIR HENRY GUILDFORD + + GUILDFORD. Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace + Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates + To fair content and you. None here, he hopes, + In all this noble bevy, has brought with her + One care abroad; he would have all as merry + As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, + Can make good people. + + Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR + THOMAS LOVELL + + O, my lord, y'are tardy, + The very thought of this fair company + Clapp'd wings to me. + CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. + SANDYS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal + But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these + Should find a running banquet ere they rested + I think would better please 'em. By my life, + They are a sweet society of fair ones. + LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor + To one or two of these! + SANDYS. I would I were; + They should find easy penance. + LOVELL. Faith, how easy? + SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it. + CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, + Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this. + His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze: + Two women plac'd together makes cold weather. + My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking: + Pray sit between these ladies. + SANDYS. By my faith, + And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies. + [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady] + If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; + I had it from my father. + ANNE. Was he mad, sir? + SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too. + But he would bite none; just as I do now, + He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her] + CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord. + So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen, + The penance lies on you if these fair ladies + Pass away frowning. + SANDYS. For my little cure, + Let me alone. + + Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and + takes his state + + WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady + Or gentleman that is not freely merry + Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome- + And to you all, good health! [Drinks] + SANDYS. Your Grace is noble. + Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks + And save me so much talking. + WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys, + I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours. + Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen, + Whose fault is this? + SANDYS. The red wine first must rise + In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em + Talk us to silence. + ANNE. You are a merry gamester, + My Lord Sandys. + SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play. + Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam, + For 'tis to such a thing- + ANNE. You cannot show me. + SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon. + [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg'd] + WOLSEY. What's that? + CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a SERVANT + WOLSEY. What warlike voice, + And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not: + By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd. + + Re-enter SERVANT + + CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't? + SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers- + For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed, + And hither make, as great ambassadors + From foreign princes. + WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain, + Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; + And pray receive 'em nobly and conduct 'em + Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty + Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. + Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov'd + You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it. + A good digestion to you all; and once more + I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all. + + Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers, + habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN. + They pass directly before the CARDINAL, + and gracefully salute him + + A noble company! What are their pleasures? + CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd + To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame + Of this so noble and so fair assembly + This night to meet here, they could do no less, + Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, + But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct, + Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat + An hour of revels with 'em. + WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain, + They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em + A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. + [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN] + KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, + Till now I never knew thee! [Music. Dance] + WOLSEY. My lord! + CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace? + WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me: + There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, + More worthy this place than myself; to whom, + If I but knew him, with my love and duty + I would surrender it. + CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord. + [He whispers to the maskers] + WOLSEY. What say they? + CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess, + There is indeed; which they would have your Grace + Find out, and he will take it. + WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his state] + By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make + My royal choice. + KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal. + You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord. + You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal, + I should judge now unhappily. + WOLSEY. I am glad + Your Grace is grown so pleasant. + KING. My Lord Chamberlain, + Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that? + CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's + daughter- + The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women. + KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart, + I were unmannerly to take you out + And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! + Let it go round. + WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready + I' th' privy chamber? + LOVELL. Yes, my lord. + WOLSEY. Your Grace, + I fear, with dancing is a little heated. + KING. I fear, too much. + WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord, + In the next chamber. + KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet partner, + I must not yet forsake you. Let's be merry: + Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths + To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure + To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream + Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. + Exeunt, with trumpets + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Westminster. A street + +Enter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye! + Ev'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become + Of the great Duke of Buckingham. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll save you + That labour, sir. All's now done but the ceremony + Of bringing back the prisoner. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen'd. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for't. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass'd it? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke. + Came to the bar; where to his accusations + He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged + Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. + The King's attorney, on the contrary, + Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions, + Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir'd + To have brought, viva voce, to his face; + At which appear'd against him his surveyor, + Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car, + Confessor to him, with that devil-monk, + Hopkins, that made this mischief. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he + That fed him with his prophecies? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same. + All these accus'd him strongly, which he fain + Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not; + And so his peers, upon this evidence, + Have found him guilty of high treason. Much + He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all + Was either pitied in him or forgotten. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self + FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th' bar to hear + His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd + With such an agony he sweat extremely, + And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty; + But he fell to himself again, and sweetly + In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not; + He never was so womanish; the cause + He may a little grieve at. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly + The Cardinal is the end of this. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis likely, + By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, + Then deputy of Ireland, who remov'd, + Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, + Lest he should help his father. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state + Was a deep envious one. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return + No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, + And generally: whoever the King favours + The Cardinal instantly will find employment, + And far enough from court too. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons + Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, + Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much + They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, + The mirror of all courtesy- + + Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves + before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds + on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS + LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS, + and common people, etc. + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir, + And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let's stand close, and behold him. + BUCKINGHAM. All good people, + You that thus far have come to pity me, + Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. + I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, + And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness, + And if I have a conscience, let it sink me + Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! + The law I bear no malice for my death: + 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice. + But those that sought it I could wish more Christians. + Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em; + Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief + Nor build their evils on the graves of great men, + For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. + For further life in this world I ne'er hope + Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies + More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me + And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, + His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave + Is only bitter to him, only dying, + Go with me like good angels to my end; + And as the long divorce of steel falls on me + Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, + And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God's name. + LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity, + If ever any malice in your heart + Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. + BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you + As I would be forgiven. I forgive all. + There cannot be those numberless offences + 'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy + Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace; + And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him + You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers + Yet are the King's, and, till my soul forsake, + Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live + Longer than I have time to tell his years; + Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be; + And when old time Shall lead him to his end, + Goodness and he fill up one monument! + LOVELL. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace; + Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, + Who undertakes you to your end. + VAUX. Prepare there; + The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready; + And fit it with such furniture as suits + The greatness of his person. + BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas, + Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. + When I came hither I was Lord High Constable + And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun. + Yet I am richer than my base accusers + That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it; + And with that blood will make 'em one day groan fort. + My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, + Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, + Flying for succour to his servant Banister, + Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd + And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! + Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying + My father's loss, like a most royal prince, + Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins + Made my name once more noble. Now his son, + Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all + That made me happy, at one stroke has taken + For ever from the world. I had my trial, + And must needs say a noble one; which makes me + A little happier than my wretched father; + Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both + Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most- + A most unnatural and faithless service. + Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me, + This from a dying man receive as certain: + Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, + Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends + And give your hearts to, when they once perceive + The least rub in your fortunes, fall away + Like water from ye, never found again + But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, + Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour + Of my long weary life is come upon me. + Farewell; + And when you would say something that is sad, + Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train + FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, + I fear, too many curses on their heads + That were the authors. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless, + 'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling + Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, + Greater than this. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us! + What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require + A strong faith to conceal it. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it; + I do not talk much. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident. + You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear + A buzzing of a separation + Between the King and Katharine? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not; + For when the King once heard it, out of anger + He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight + To stop the rumour and allay those tongues + That durst disperse it. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir, + Is found a truth now; for it grows again + Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain + The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal + Or some about him near have, out of malice + To the good Queen, possess'd him with a scruple + That will undo her. To confirm this too, + Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd and lately; + As all think, for this business. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal; + And merely to revenge him on the Emperor + For not bestowing on him at his asking + The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't + not cruel + That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal + Will have his will, and she must fall. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful. + We are too open here to argue this; + Let's think in private more. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter + + CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord, + 'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care + had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were + young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. + When they were ready to set out for London, a man of + my Lord Cardinal's, by commission, and main power, took + 'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv'd + before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd + our mouths, sir.' + + I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them. + He will have all, I think. + + Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK + + NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. + CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces. + SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd? + CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private, + Full of sad thoughts and troubles. + NORFOLK. What's the cause? + CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife + Has crept too near his conscience. + SUFFOLK. No, his conscience + Has crept too near another lady. + NORFOLK. 'Tis so; + This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal, + That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, + Turns what he list. The King will know him one day. + SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else. + NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business! + And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league + Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew, + He dives into the King's soul and there scatters + Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, + Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage; + And out of all these to restore the King, + He counsels a divorce, a loss of her + That like a jewel has hung twenty years + About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; + Of her that loves him with that excellence + That angels love good men with; even of her + That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, + Will bless the King-and is not this course pious? + CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true + These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em, + And every true heart weeps for 't. All that dare + Look into these affairs see this main end- + The French King's sister. Heaven will one day open + The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon + This bold bad man. + SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery. + NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance; + Or this imperious man will work us an + From princes into pages. All men's honours + Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd + Into what pitch he please. + SUFFOLK. For me, my lords, + I love him not, nor fear him-there's my creed; + As I am made without him, so I'll stand, + If the King please; his curses and his blessings + Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in. + I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him + To him that made him proud-the Pope. + NORFOLK. Let's in; + And with some other business put the King + From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him. + My lord, you'll bear us company? + CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me, + The King has sent me otherwhere; besides, + You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him. + Health to your lordships! + NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain. + Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws + the curtain and sits reading pensively + SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted. + KING. Who's there, ha? + NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry. + KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves + Into my private meditations? + Who am I, ha? + NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences + Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way + Is business of estate, in which we come + To know your royal pleasure. + KING. Ye are too bold. + Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business. + Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? + + Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission + + Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey, + The quiet of my wounded conscience, + Thou art a cure fit for a King. [To CAMPEIUS] You're + welcome, + Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom. + Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care + I be not found a talker. + WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot. + I would your Grace would give us but an hour + Of private conference. + KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. + NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him! + SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of! + I would not be so sick though for his place. + But this cannot continue. + NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, + I'll venture one have-at-him. + SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. + Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK + WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom + Above all princes, in committing freely + Your scruple to the voice of Christendom. + Who can be angry now? What envy reach you? + The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, + Must now confess, if they have any goodness, + The trial just and noble. All the clerks, + I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms + Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment, + Invited by your noble self, hath sent + One general tongue unto us, this good man, + This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius, + Whom once more I present unto your Highness. + KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, + And thank the holy conclave for their loves. + They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. + CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves, + You are so noble. To your Highness' hand + I tender my commission; by whose virtue- + The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord + Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant + In the unpartial judging of this business. + KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted + Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? + WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her + So dear in heart not to deny her that + A woman of less place might ask by law- + Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. + KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour + To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal, + Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; + I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY + + Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER + + WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much + joy and favour to you; + You are the King's now. + GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded + For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me. + KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers] + CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace + In this man's place before him? + WOLSEY. Yes, he was. + CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man? + WOLSEY. Yes, surely. + CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then, + Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal. + WOLSEY. How! Of me? + CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him + And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, + Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him + That he ran mad and died. + WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him! + That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers + There's places of rebuke. He was a fool, + For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, + If I command him, follows my appointment. + I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, + We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. + KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen. + Exit GARDINER + The most convenient place that I can think of + For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars; + There ye shall meet about this weighty business- + My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, + Would it not grieve an able man to leave + So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! + O, 'tis a tender place! and I must leave her. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY + + ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches: + His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she + So good a lady that no tongue could ever + Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life, + She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after + So many courses of the sun enthroned, + Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which + To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than + 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process, + To give her the avaunt, it is a pity + Would move a monster. + OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper + Melt and lament for her. + ANNE. O, God's will! much better + She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal, + Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce + It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging + As soul and body's severing. + OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady! + She's a stranger now again. + ANNE. So much the more + Must pity drop upon her. Verily, + I swear 'tis better to be lowly born + And range with humble livers in content + Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief + And wear a golden sorrow. + OLD LADY. Our content + Is our best having. + ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead, + I would not be a queen. + OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would, + And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you, + For all this spice of your hypocrisy. + You that have so fair parts of woman on you + Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet + Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; + Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, + Saving your mincing, the capacity + Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive + If you might please to stretch it. + ANNE. Nay, good troth. + OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen! + ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven. + OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me, + Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you, + What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs + To bear that load of title? + ANNE. No, in truth. + OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little; + I would not be a young count in your way + For more than blushing comes to. If your back + Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak + Ever to get a boy. + ANNE. How you do talk! + I swear again I would not be a queen + For all the world. + OLD LADY. In faith, for little England + You'd venture an emballing. I myself + Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd + No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here? + + Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know + The secret of your conference? + ANNE. My good lord, + Not your demand; it values not your asking. + Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. + CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming + The action of good women; there is hope + All will be well. + ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen! + CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings + Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, + Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes + Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty + Commends his good opinion of you to you, and + Does purpose honour to you no less flowing + Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide + A thousand pound a year, annual support, + Out of his grace he adds. + ANNE. I do not know + What kind of my obedience I should tender; + More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers + Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes + More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes + Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, + Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, + As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness; + Whose health and royalty I pray for. + CHAMBERLAIN. Lady, + I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit + The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus'd her well: + Beauty and honour in her are so mingled + That they have caught the King; and who knows yet + But from this lady may proceed a gem + To lighten all this isle?-I'll to the King + And say I spoke with you. + ANNE. My honour'd lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN + OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see! + I have been begging sixteen years in court- + Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could + Come pat betwixt too early and too late + For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! + A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon + This compell'd fortune!-have your mouth fill'd up + Before you open it. + ANNE. This is strange to me. + OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no. + There was a lady once-'tis an old story- + That would not be a queen, that would she not, + For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it? + ANNE. Come, you are pleasant. + OLD LADY. With your theme I could + O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! + A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! + No other obligation! By my life, + That promises moe thousands: honour's train + Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time + I know your back will bear a duchess. Say, + Are you not stronger than you were? + ANNE. Good lady, + Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, + And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, + If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me + To think what follows. + The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful + In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver + What here y' have heard to her. + OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 4. + +London. A hall in Blackfriars + +Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands; +next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, +the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY, +ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance, +follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, +and a Cardinal's hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; +then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS +bearing a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars; +after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; +two NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN +and their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; +the two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place +some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side +of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. +The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand +in convenient order about the stage + + WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, + Let silence be commanded. + KING. What's the need? + It hath already publicly been read, + And on all sides th' authority allow'd; + You may then spare that time. + WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed. + SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.' + CRIER. Henry King of England, &c. + KING. Here. + SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.' + CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c. + + The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair, + goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels + at his feet; then speaks + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, + And to bestow your pity on me; for + I am a most poor woman and a stranger, + Born out of your dominions, having here + No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance + Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, + In what have I offended you? What cause + Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure + That thus you should proceed to put me of + And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, + I have been to you a true and humble wife, + At all times to your will conformable, + Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, + Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry + As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour + I ever contradicted your desire + Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends + Have I not strove to love, although I knew + He were mine enemy? What friend of mine + That had to him deriv'd your anger did + Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice + He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind + That I have been your wife in this obedience + Upward of twenty years, and have been blest + With many children by you. If, in the course + And process of this time, you can report, + And prove it too against mine honour, aught, + My bond to wedlock or my love and duty, + Against your sacred person, in God's name, + Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt + Shut door upon me, and so give me up + To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir, + The King, your father, was reputed for + A prince most prudent, of an excellent + And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand, + My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one + The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many + A year before. It is not to be question'd + That they had gather'd a wise council to them + Of every realm, that did debate this business, + Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly + Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may + Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel + I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God, + Your pleasure be fulfill'd! + WOLSEY. You have here, lady, + And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men + Of singular integrity and learning, + Yea, the elect o' th' land, who are assembled + To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless + That longer you desire the court, as well + For your own quiet as to rectify + What is unsettled in the King. + CAMPEIUS. His Grace + Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam, + It's fit this royal session do proceed + And that, without delay, their arguments + Be now produc'd and heard. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal, + To you I speak. + WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam? + QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, + I am about to weep; but, thinking that + We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain + The daughter of a king, my drops of tears + I'll turn to sparks of fire. + WOLSEY. Be patient yet. + QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before + Or God will punish me. I do believe, + Induc'd by potent circumstances, that + You are mine enemy, and make my challenge + You shall not be my judge; for it is you + Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me- + Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, + I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul + Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more + I hold my most malicious foe and think not + At all a friend to truth. + WOLSEY. I do profess + You speak not like yourself, who ever yet + Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects + Of disposition gentle and of wisdom + O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong: + I have no spleen against you, nor injustice + For you or any; how far I have proceeded, + Or how far further shall, is warranted + By a commission from the Consistory, + Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me + That I have blown this coal: I do deny it. + The King is present; if it be known to him + That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, + And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much + As you have done my truth. If he know + That I am free of your report, he knows + I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him + It lies to cure me, and the cure is to + Remove these thoughts from you; the which before + His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech + You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking + And to say so no more. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord, + I am a simple woman, much too weak + T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd; + You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, + With meekness and humility; but your heart + Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. + You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours, + Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted + Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words, + Domestics to you, serve your will as't please + Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you + You tender more your person's honour than + Your high profession spiritual; that again + I do refuse you for my judge and here, + Before you all, appeal unto the Pope, + To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness + And to be judg'd by him. + [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart] + CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate, + Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and + Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well. + She's going away. + KING. Call her again. + CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. + GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back. + QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way; + When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help! + They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on. + I will not tarry; no, nor ever more + Upon this business my appearance make + In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants + KING. Go thy ways, Kate. + That man i' th' world who shall report he has + A better wife, let him in nought be trusted + For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone- + If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, + Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, + Obeying in commanding, and thy parts + Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out- + The queen of earthly queens. She's noble born; + And like her true nobility she has + Carried herself towards me. + WOLSEY. Most gracious sir, + In humblest manner I require your Highness + That it shall please you to declare in hearing + Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound, + There must I be unloos'd, although not there + At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I + Did broach this business to your Highness, or + Laid any scruple in your way which might + Induce you to the question on't, or ever + Have to you, but with thanks to God for such + A royal lady, spake one the least word that might + Be to the prejudice of her present state, + Or touch of her good person? + KING. My Lord Cardinal, + I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, + I free you from't. You are not to be taught + That you have many enemies that know not + Why they are so, but, like to village curs, + Bark when their fellows do. By some of these + The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd. + But will you be more justified? You ever + Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd + It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, oft, + The passages made toward it. On my honour, + I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point, + And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, + I will be bold with time and your attention. + Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't: + My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, + Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd + By th' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador, + Who had been hither sent on the debating + A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and + Our daughter Mary. I' th' progress of this business, + Ere a determinate resolution, he- + I mean the Bishop-did require a respite + Wherein he might the King his lord advertise + Whether our daughter were legitimate, + Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, + Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook + The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, + Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble + The region of my breast, which forc'd such way + That many maz'd considerings did throng + And press'd in with this caution. First, methought + I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had + Commanded nature that my lady's womb, + If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should + Do no more offices of life to't than + The grave does to the dead; for her male issue + Or died where they were made, or shortly after + This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought + This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom, + Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not + Be gladded in't by me. Then follows that + I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in + By this my issue's fail, and that gave to me + Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in + The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer + Toward this remedy, whereupon we are + Now present here together; that's to say + I meant to rectify my conscience, which + I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, + By all the reverend fathers of the land + And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private + With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember + How under my oppression I did reek, + When I first mov'd you. + LINCOLN. Very well, my liege. + KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say + How far you satisfied me. + LINCOLN. So please your Highness, + The question did at first so stagger me- + Bearing a state of mighty moment in't + And consequence of dread-that I committed + The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt, + And did entreat your Highness to this course + Which you are running here. + KING. I then mov'd you, + My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave + To make this present summons. Unsolicited + I left no reverend person in this court, + But by particular consent proceeded + Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on, + For no dislike i' th' world against the person + Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points + Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward. + Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life + And kingly dignity, we are contented + To wear our moral state to come with her, + Katharine our queen, before the primest creature + That's paragon'd o' th' world. + CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness, + The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness + That we adjourn this court till further day; + Meanwhile must be an earnest motion + Made to the Queen to call back her appeal + She intends unto his Holiness. + KING. [Aside] I may perceive + These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor + This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. + My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, + Prithee return. With thy approach I know + My comfort comes along. -Break up the court; + I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. The QUEEN'S apartments + +Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows + sad with troubles; + Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working. + + SONG + + Orpheus with his lute made trees, + And the mountain tops that freeze, + Bow themselves when he did sing; + To his music plants and flowers + Ever sprung, as sun and showers + There had made a lasting spring. + + Every thing that heard him play, + Even the billows of the sea, + Hung their heads and then lay by. + In sweet music is such art, + Killing care and grief of heart + Fall asleep or hearing die. + + Enter a GENTLEMAN + + QUEEN KATHARINE. How now? + GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals + Wait in the presence. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me? + GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces + To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business + With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? + I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, + They should be good men, their affairs as righteous; + But all hoods make not monks. + + Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS + + WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness! + QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife; + I would be all, against the worst may happen. + What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? + WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw + Into your private chamber, we shall give you + The full cause of our coming. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here; + There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, + Deserves a corner. Would all other women + Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! + My lords, I care not-so much I am happy + Above a number-if my actions + Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em, + Envy and base opinion set against 'em, + I know my life so even. If your business + Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, + Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing. + WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima- + QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin! + I am not such a truant since my coming, + As not to know the language I have liv'd in; + A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; + Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you, + If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake: + Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal, + The willing'st sin I ever yet committed + May be absolv'd in English. + WOLSEY. Noble lady, + I am sorry my integrity should breed, + And service to his Majesty and you, + So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant + We come not by the way of accusation + To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, + Nor to betray you any way to sorrow- + You have too much, good lady; but to know + How you stand minded in the weighty difference + Between the King and you, and to deliver, + Like free and honest men, our just opinions + And comforts to your cause. + CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam, + My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, + Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace, + Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure + Both of his truth and him-which was too far- + Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, + His service and his counsel. + QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.- + My lords, I thank you both for your good wins; + Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so! + But how to make ye suddenly an answer, + In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, + More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit, + And to such men of gravity and learning, + In truth I know not. I was set at work + Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking + Either for such men or such business. + For her sake that I have been-for I feel + The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces, + Let me have time and counsel for my cause. + Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! + WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears; + Your hopes and friends are infinite. + QUEEN KATHARINE. In England + But little for my profit; can you think, lords, + That any Englishman dare give me counsel? + Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure- + Though he be grown so desperate to be honest- + And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, + They that must weigh out my afflictions, + They that my trust must grow to, live not here; + They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, + In mine own country, lords. + CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace + Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. + QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir? + CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection; + He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much + Both for your honour better and your cause; + For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye + You'll part away disgrac'd. + WOLSEY. He tells you rightly. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin. + Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye! + Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge + That no king can corrupt. + CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us. + QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, + Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; + But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye. + Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? + The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady- + A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? + I will not wish ye half my miseries: + I have more charity; but say I warned ye. + Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once + The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. + WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction; + You turn the good we offer into envy. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, + And all such false professors! Would you have me- + If you have any justice, any pity, + If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits- + Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? + Alas! has banish'd me his bed already, + His love too long ago! I am old, my lords, + And all the fellowship I hold now with him + Is only my obedience. What can happen + To me above this wretchedness? All your studies + Make me a curse like this. + CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself, + Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one? + A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, + Never yet branded with suspicion? + Have I with all my full affections + Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him, + Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him, + Almost forgot my prayers to content him, + And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords. + Bring me a constant woman to her husband, + One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, + And to that woman, when she has done most, + Yet will I add an honour-a great patience. + WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, + To give up willingly that noble title + Your master wed me to: nothing but death + Shall e'er divorce my dignities. + WOLSEY. Pray hear me. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth, + Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! + Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. + What will become of me now, wretched lady? + I am the most unhappy woman living. + [To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now + your fortunes? + Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, + No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; + Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My, + That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, + I'll hang my head and perish. + WOLSEY. If your Grace + Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, + You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady, + Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places, + The way of our profession is against it; + We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. + For goodness' sake, consider what you do; + How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly + Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage. + The hearts of princes kiss obedience, + So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits + They swell and grow as terrible as storms. + I know you have a gentle, noble temper, + A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us + Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. + CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues + With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, + As yours was put into you, ever casts + Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you; + Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please + To trust us in your business, we are ready + To use our utmost studies in your service. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray + forgive me + If I have us'd myself unmannerly; + You know I am a woman, lacking wit + To make a seemly answer to such persons. + Pray do my service to his Majesty; + He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers + While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, + Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs + That little thought, when she set footing here, + She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt + + + +ACT III.SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, +and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints + And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal + Cannot stand under them: if you omit + The offer of this time, I cannot promise + But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces + With these you bear already. + SURREY. I am joyful + To meet the least occasion that may give me + Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke, + To be reveng'd on him. + SUFFOLK. Which of the peers + Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least + Strangely neglected? When did he regard + The stamp of nobleness in any person + Out of himself? + CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures. + What he deserves of you and me I know; + What we can do to him-though now the time + Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot + Bar his access to th' King, never attempt + Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft + Over the King in's tongue. + NORFOLK. O, fear him not! + His spell in that is out; the King hath found + Matter against him that for ever mars + The honey of his language. No, he's settled, + Not to come off, in his displeasure. + SURREY. Sir, + I should be glad to hear such news as this + Once every hour. + NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true: + In the divorce his contrary proceedings + Are all unfolded; wherein he appears + As I would wish mine enemy. + SURREY. How came + His practices to light? + SUFFOLK. Most Strangely. + SURREY. O, how, how? + SUFFOLK. The Cardinal's letters to the Pope miscarried, + And came to th' eye o' th' King; wherein was read + How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness + To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; for if + It did take place, 'I do' quoth he 'perceive + My king is tangled in affection to + A creature of the Queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' + SURREY. Has the King this? + SUFFOLK. Believe it. + SURREY. Will this work? + CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts + And hedges his own way. But in this point + All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic + After his patient's death: the King already + Hath married the fair lady. + SURREY. Would he had! + SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord! + For, I profess, you have it. + SURREY. Now, all my joy + Trace the conjunction! + SUFFOLK. My amen to't! + NORFOLK. An men's! + SUFFOLK. There's order given for her coronation; + Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left + To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, + She is a gallant creature, and complete + In mind and feature. I persuade me from her + Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall + In it be memoriz'd. + SURREY. But will the King + Digest this letter of the Cardinal's? + The Lord forbid! + NORFOLK. Marry, amen! + SUFFOLK. No, no; + There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose + Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius + Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; + Has left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and + Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal, + To second all his plot. I do assure you + The King cried 'Ha!' at this. + CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him, + And let him cry 'Ha!' louder! + NORFOLK. But, my lord, + When returns Cranmer? + SUFFOLK. He is return'd in his opinions; which + Have satisfied the King for his divorce, + Together with all famous colleges + Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe, + His second marriage shall be publish'd, and + Her coronation. Katharine no more + Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager + And widow to Prince Arthur. + NORFOLK. This same Cranmer's + A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain + In the King's business. + SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him + For it an archbishop. + NORFOLK. So I hear. + SUFFOLK. 'Tis so. + + Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL + + The Cardinal! + NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he's moody. + WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell, + Gave't you the King? + CROMWELL. To his own hand, in's bedchamber. + WOLSEY. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper? + CROMWELL. Presently + He did unseal them; and the first he view'd, + He did it with a serious mind; a heed + Was in his countenance. You he bade + Attend him here this morning. + WOLSEY. Is he ready + To come abroad? + CROMWELL. I think by this he is. + WOLSEY. Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL + [Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, + The French King's sister; he shall marry her. + Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him; + There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! + No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish + To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! + NORFOLK. He's discontented. + SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King + Does whet his anger to him. + SURREY. Sharp enough, + Lord, for thy justice! + WOLSEY. [Aside] The late Queen's gentlewoman, a knight's + daughter, + To be her mistress' mistress! The Queen's queen! + This candle burns not clear. 'Tis I must snuff it; + Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous + And well deserving? Yet I know her for + A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to + Our cause that she should lie i' th' bosom of + Our hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung up + An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one + Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King, + And is his oracle. + NORFOLK. He is vex'd at something. + + Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL + + SURREY. I would 'twere something that would fret the string, + The master-cord on's heart! + SUFFOLK. The King, the King! + KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated + To his own portion! And what expense by th' hour + Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift, + Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords, + Saw you the Cardinal? + NORFOLK. My lord, we have + Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion + Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts, + Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, + Then lays his finger on his temple; straight + Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, + Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts + His eye against the moon. In most strange postures + We have seen him set himself. + KING. It may well be + There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning + Papers of state he sent me to peruse, + As I requir'd; and wot you what I found + There-on my conscience, put unwittingly? + Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing + The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, + Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which + I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks + Possession of a subject. + NORFOLK. It's heaven's will; + Some spirit put this paper in the packet + To bless your eye withal. + KING. If we did think + His contemplation were above the earth + And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still + dwell in his musings; but I am afraid + His thinkings are below the moon, not worth + His serious considering. + [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL, + who goes to the CARDINAL] + WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me! + Ever God bless your Highness! + KING. Good, my lord, + You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory + Of your best graces in your mind; the which + You were now running o'er. You have scarce time + To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span + To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that + I deem you an ill husband, and am glad + To have you therein my companion. + WOLSEY. Sir, + For holy offices I have a time; a time + To think upon the part of business which + I bear i' th' state; and nature does require + Her times of preservation, which perforce + I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, + Must give my tendance to. + KING. You have said well. + WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together, + As I will lend you cause, my doing well + With my well saying! + KING. 'Tis well said again; + And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well; + And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you: + He said he did; and with his deed did crown + His word upon you. Since I had my office + I have kept you next my heart; have not alone + Employ'd you where high profits might come home, + But par'd my present havings to bestow + My bounties upon you. + WOLSEY. [Aside] What should this mean? + SURREY. [Aside] The Lord increase this business! + KING. Have I not made you + The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me + If what I now pronounce you have found true; + And, if you may confess it, say withal + If you are bound to us or no. What say you? + WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, + Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could + My studied purposes requite; which went + Beyond all man's endeavours. My endeavours, + Have ever come too short of my desires, + Yet fil'd with my abilities; mine own ends + Have been mine so that evermore they pointed + To th' good of your most sacred person and + The profit of the state. For your great graces + Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I + Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; + My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty, + Which ever has and ever shall be growing, + Till death, that winter, kill it. + KING. Fairly answer'd! + A loyal and obedient subject is + Therein illustrated; the honour of it + Does pay the act of it, as, i' th' contrary, + The foulness is the punishment. I presume + That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, + My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, more + On you than any, so your hand and heart, + Your brain, and every function of your power, + Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, + As 'twere in love's particular, be more + To me, your friend, than any. + WOLSEY. I do profess + That for your Highness' good I ever labour'd + More than mine own; that am, have, and will be- + Though all the world should crack their duty to you, + And throw it from their soul; though perils did + Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and + Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty, + As doth a rock against the chiding flood, + Should the approach of this wild river break, + And stand unshaken yours. + KING. 'Tis nobly spoken. + Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, + For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this; + [Giving him papers] + And after, this; and then to breakfast with + What appetite you have. + Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES + throng after him, smiling and whispering + WOLSEY. What should this mean? + What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it? + He parted frowning from me, as if ruin + Leap'd from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion + Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him- + Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; + I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so; + This paper has undone me. 'Tis th' account + Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together + For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom, + And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, + Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil + Made me put this main secret in the packet + I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this? + No new device to beat this from his brains? + I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know + A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, + Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To th' Pope.' + The letter, as I live, with all the business + I writ to's Holiness. Nay then, farewell! + I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, + And from that full meridian of my glory + I haste now to my setting. I shall fall + Like a bright exhalation in the evening, + And no man see me more. + + Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and + SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD + CHAMBERLAIN + + NORFOLK. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you + To render up the great seal presently + Into our hands, and to confine yourself + To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's, + Till you hear further from his Highness. + WOLSEY. Stay: + Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry + Authority so weighty. + SUFFOLK. Who dares cross 'em, + Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly? + WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it- + I mean your malice-know, officious lords, + I dare and must deny it. Now I feel + Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy; + How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, + As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton + Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin! + Follow your envious courses, men of malice; + You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt + In time will find their fit rewards. That seal + You ask with such a violence, the King- + Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me; + Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, + During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, + Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who'll take it? + SURREY. The King, that gave it. + WOLSEY. It must be himself then. + SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. + WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest. + Within these forty hours Surrey durst better + Have burnt that tongue than said so. + SURREY. Thy ambition, + Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land + Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law. + The heads of all thy brother cardinals, + With thee and all thy best parts bound together, + Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy! + You sent me deputy for Ireland; + Far from his succour, from the King, from all + That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him; + Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, + Absolv'd him with an axe. + WOLSEY. This, and all else + This talking lord can lay upon my credit, + I answer is most false. The Duke by law + Found his deserts; how innocent I was + From any private malice in his end, + His noble jury and foul cause can witness. + If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you + You have as little honesty as honour, + That in the way of loyalty and truth + Toward the King, my ever royal master, + Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be + And an that love his follies. + SURREY. By my soul, + Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel + My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords + Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? + And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, + To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, + Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward + And dare us with his cap like larks. + WOLSEY. All goodness + Is poison to thy stomach. + SURREY. Yes, that goodness + Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, + Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion; + The goodness of your intercepted packets + You writ to th' Pope against the King; your goodness, + Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. + My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, + As you respect the common good, the state + Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, + Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen- + Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles + Collected from his life. I'll startle you + Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench + Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal. + WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, + But that I am bound in charity against it! + NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand; + But, thus much, they are foul ones. + WOLSEY. So much fairer + And spotless shall mine innocence arise, + When the King knows my truth. + SURREY. This cannot save you. + I thank my memory I yet remember + Some of these articles; and out they shall. + Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal, + You'll show a little honesty. + WOLSEY. Speak on, sir; + I dare your worst objections. If I blush, + It is to see a nobleman want manners. + SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you! + First, that without the King's assent or knowledge + You wrought to be a legate; by which power + You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. + NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else + To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus' + Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King + To be your servant. + SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge + Either of King or Council, when you went + Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold + To carry into Flanders the great seal. + SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission + To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude, + Without the King's will or the state's allowance, + A league between his Highness and Ferrara. + SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd + Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin. + SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance, + By what means got I leave to your own conscience, + To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways + You have for dignities, to the mere undoing + Of all the kingdom. Many more there are, + Which, since they are of you, and odious, + I will not taint my mouth with. + CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord, + Press not a falling man too far! 'Tis virtue. + His faults lie open to the laws; let them, + Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him + So little of his great self. + SURREY. I forgive him. + SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is- + Because all those things you have done of late, + By your power legatine within this kingdom, + Fall into th' compass of a praemunire- + That therefore such a writ be sued against you: + To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, + Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be + Out of the King's protection. This is my charge. + NORFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations + How to live better. For your stubborn answer + About the giving back the great seal to us, + The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. + So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal. + Exeunt all but WOLSEY + WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me. + Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! + This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth + The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms + And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; + The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, + And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely + His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, + And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, + Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, + This many summers in a sea of glory; + But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride + At length broke under me, and now has left me, + Weary and old with service, to the mercy + Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. + Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; + I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched + Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! + There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, + That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin + More pangs and fears than wars or women have; + And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, + Never to hope again. + + Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed + + Why, how now, Cromwell! + CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir. + WOLSEY. What, amaz'd + At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder + A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, + I am fall'n indeed. + CROMWELL. How does your Grace? + WOLSEY. Why, well; + Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. + I know myself now, and I feel within me + A peace above all earthly dignities, + A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd me, + I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders, + These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken + A load would sink a navy-too much honour. + O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden + Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven! + CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it. + WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks, + Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, + To endure more miseries and greater far + Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. + What news abroad? + CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst + Is your displeasure with the King. + WOLSEY. God bless him! + CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen + Lord Chancellor in your place. + WOLSEY. That's somewhat sudden. + But he's a learned man. May he continue + Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice + For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones + When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, + May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him! + What more? + CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, + Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. + WOLSEY. That's news indeed. + CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne, + Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, + This day was view'd in open as his queen, + Going to chapel; and the voice is now + Only about her coronation. + WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull'd me down. + O Cromwell, + The King has gone beyond me. All my glories + In that one woman I have lost for ever. + No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, + Or gild again the noble troops that waited + Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell; + I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now + To be thy lord and master. Seek the King; + That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him + What and how true thou art. He will advance thee; + Some little memory of me will stir him- + I know his noble nature-not to let + Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, + Neglect him not; make use now, and provide + For thine own future safety. + CROMWELL. O my lord, + Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo + So good, so noble, and so true a master? + Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, + With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. + The King shall have my service; but my prayers + For ever and for ever shall be yours. + WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear + In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, + Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. + Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, + And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, + And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention + Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee- + Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, + And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, + Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in- + A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. + Mark but my fall and that that ruin'd me. + Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: + By that sin fell the angels. How can man then, + The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? + Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee; + Corruption wins not more than honesty. + Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace + To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; + Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, + Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, + Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! + Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in. + There take an inventory of all I have + To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe, + And my integrity to heaven, is all + I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! + Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal + I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age + Have left me naked to mine enemies. + CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience. + WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell + The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +A street in Westminster + +Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and + behold + The Lady Anne pass from her coronation? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter + The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd + sorrow; + This, general joy. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis well. The citizens, + I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds- + As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward- + In celebration of this day with shows, + Pageants, and sights of honour. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater, + Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains, + That paper in your hand? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; 'tis the list + Of those that claim their offices this day, + By custom of the coronation. + The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims + To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk, + He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known + those customs, + I should have been beholding to your paper. + But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, + The Princess Dowager? How goes her business? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop + Of Canterbury, accompanied with other + Learned and reverend fathers of his order, + Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of + From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which + She was often cited by them, but appear'd not. + And, to be short, for not appearance and + The King's late scruple, by the main assent + Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd, + And the late marriage made of none effect; + Since which she was removed to Kimbolton, + Where she remains now sick. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady! [Trumpets] + The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming. +[Hautboys] + + THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION. + + 1. A lively flourish of trumpets. + 2. Then two JUDGES. + 3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him. + 4. CHORISTERS singing. [Music] + 5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in + his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper + crown. + 6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a + demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY, + bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an + earl's coronet. Collars of Esses. + 7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on + his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward. + With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of + marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses. + 8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it + the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with + pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON + and WINCHESTER. + 9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold + wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train. + 10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold + without flowers. + + Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state, + and then a great flourish of trumpets + + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know. + Who's that that bears the sceptre? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset; + And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be + The Duke of Suffolk? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same-High Steward. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven + bless thee! + Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. + Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; + Our king has all the Indies in his arms, + And more and richer, when he strains that lady; + I cannot blame his conscience. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear + The cloth of honour over her are four barons + Of the Cinque-ports. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all + are near her. + I take it she that carries up the train + Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed, + And sometimes falling ones. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that. + Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets + + Enter a third GENTLEMAN + + God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger + Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled + With the mere rankness of their joy. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw + The ceremony? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream + Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen + To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of + A distance from her, while her Grace sat down + To rest awhile, some half an hour or so, + In a rich chair of state, opposing freely + The beauty of her person to the people. + Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman + That ever lay by man; which when the people + Had the full view of, such a noise arose + As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, + As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks- + Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces + Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy + I never saw before. Great-bellied women, + That had not half a week to go, like rams + In the old time of war, would shake the press, + And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living + Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven + So strangely in one piece. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with + modest paces + Came to the altar, where she kneel'd, and saintlike + Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. + Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people; + When by the Archbishop of Canterbury + She had all the royal makings of a queen: + As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, + The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems + Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir, + With all the choicest music of the kingdom, + Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted, + And with the same full state pac'd back again + To York Place, where the feast is held. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir, + You must no more call it York Place: that's past: + For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost. + 'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it; + But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name + Is fresh about me. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops + Were those that went on each side of the Queen? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester, + Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary; + The other, London. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester + Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's, + The virtuous Cranmer. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that; + However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes, + Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell, + A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly + A worthy friend. The King has made him Master + O' th' jewel House, + And one, already, of the Privy Council. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt. + Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which + Is to th' court, and there ye shall be my guests: + Something I can command. As I walk thither, + I'll tell ye more. + BOTH. You may command us, sir. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 2. + +Kimbolton + +Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman Usher, +and PATIENCE, her woman + + GRIFFITH. How does your Grace? + KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death! + My legs like loaden branches bow to th' earth, + Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. + So-now, methinks, I feel a little ease. + Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, + That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, + Was dead? + GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace, + Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. + KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died. + If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, + For my example. + GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam; + For after the stout Earl Northumberland + Arrested him at York and brought him forward, + As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, + He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill + He could not sit his mule. + KATHARINE. Alas, poor man! + GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, + Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, + With all his covent, honourably receiv'd him; + To whom he gave these words: 'O father Abbot, + An old man, broken with the storms of state, + Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; + Give him a little earth for charity!' + So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness + Pursu'd him still And three nights after this, + About the hour of eight-which he himself + Foretold should be his last-full of repentance, + Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, + He gave his honours to the world again, + His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. + KATHARINE. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! + Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, + And yet with charity. He was a man + Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking + Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion, + Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play; + His own opinion was his law. I' th' presence + He would say untruths, and be ever double + Both in his words and meaning. He was never, + But where he meant to ruin, pitiful. + His promises were, as he then was, mighty; + But his performance, as he is now, nothing. + Of his own body he was ill, and gave + The clergy ill example. + GRIFFITH. Noble madam, + Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues + We write in water. May it please your Highness + To hear me speak his good now? + KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith; + I were malicious else. + GRIFFITH. This Cardinal, + Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly + Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. + He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; + Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; + Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not, + But to those men that sought him sweet as summer. + And though he were unsatisfied in getting- + Which was a sin-yet in bestowing, madam, + He was most princely: ever witness for him + Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you, + Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him, + Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; + The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, + So excellent in art, and still so rising, + That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. + His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; + For then, and not till then, he felt himself, + And found the blessedness of being little. + And, to add greater honours to his age + Than man could give him, he died fearing God. + KATHARINE. After my death I wish no other herald, + No other speaker of my living actions, + To keep mine honour from corruption, + But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. + Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, + With thy religious truth and modesty, + Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him! + patience, be near me still, and set me lower: + I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, + Cause the musicians play me that sad note + I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating + On that celestial harmony I go to. + [Sad and solemn music] + GRIFFITH. She is asleep. Good wench, let's sit down quiet, + For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience. + + THE VISION. + + Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six + PERSONAGES clad in white robes, wearing on their + heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their + faces; branches of bays or palm in their hands. They + first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain + changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her + head, at which the other four make reverent curtsies. + Then the two that held the garland deliver the + same to the other next two, who observe the same + order in their changes, and holding the garland over + her head; which done, they deliver the same garland + to the last two, who likewise observe the same order; + at which, as it were by inspiration, she makes + in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her + hands to heaven. And so in their dancing vanish, + carrying the garland with them. The music continues + + KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? + And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? + GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here. + KATHARINE. It is not you I call for. + Saw ye none enter since I slept? + GRIFFITH. None, madam. + KATHARINE. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop + Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces + Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? + They promis'd me eternal happiness, + And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel + I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredly. + GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams + Possess your fancy. + KATHARINE. Bid the music leave, + They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases] + PATIENCE. Do you note + How much her Grace is alter'd on the sudden? + How long her face is drawn! How pale she looks, + And of an earthly cold! Mark her eyes. + GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray. + PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. An't like your Grace- + KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow. + Deserve we no more reverence? + GRIFFITH. You are to blame, + Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, + To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel. + MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon; + My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying + A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you. + KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow + Let me ne'er see again. Exit MESSENGER + + Enter LORD CAPUCIUS + + If my sight fail not, + You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor, + My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. + CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant. + KATHARINE. O, my Lord, + The times and titles now are alter'd strangely + With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you, + What is your pleasure with me? + CAPUCIUS. Noble lady, + First, mine own service to your Grace; the next, + The King's request that I would visit you, + Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me + Sends you his princely commendations + And heartily entreats you take good comfort. + KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, + 'Tis like a pardon after execution: + That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; + But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. + How does his Highness? + CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health. + KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish + When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name + Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter + I caus'd you write yet sent away? + PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE] + KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver + This to my lord the King. + CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam. + KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness + The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter- + The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!- + Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding- + She is young, and of a noble modest nature; + I hope she will deserve well-and a little + To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, + Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition + Is that his noble Grace would have some pity + Upon my wretched women that so long + Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully; + Of which there is not one, I dare avow- + And now I should not lie-but will deserve, + For virtue and true beauty of the soul, + For honesty and decent carriage, + A right good husband, let him be a noble; + And sure those men are happy that shall have 'em. + The last is for my men-they are the poorest, + But poverty could never draw 'em from me- + That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, + And something over to remember me by. + If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life + And able means, we had not parted thus. + These are the whole contents; and, good my lord, + By that you love the dearest in this world, + As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, + Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the King + To do me this last right. + CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will, + Or let me lose the fashion of a man! + KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me + In all humility unto his Highness; + Say his long trouble now is passing + Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless'd him, + For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell, + My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience, + You must not leave me yet. I must to bed; + Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench, + Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over + With maiden flowers, that all the world may know + I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me, + Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like + A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. + I can no more. Exeunt, leading KATHARINE + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +London. A gallery in the palace + +Enter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him, +met by SIR THOMAS LOVELL + + GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? + BOY. It hath struck. + GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities, + Not for delights; times to repair our nature + With comforting repose, and not for us + To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas! + Whither so late? + LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord? + GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero + With the Duke of Suffolk. + LOVELL. I must to him too, + Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. + GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? + It seems you are in haste. An if there be + No great offence belongs to't, give your friend + Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk- + As they say spirits do-at midnight, have + In them a wilder nature than the business + That seeks despatch by day. + LOVELL. My lord, I love you; + And durst commend a secret to your ear + Much weightier than this work. The Queen's in labour, + They say in great extremity, and fear'd + She'll with the labour end. + GARDINER. The fruit she goes with + I pray for heartily, that it may find + Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas, + I wish it grubb'd up now. + LOVELL. Methinks I could + Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says + She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does + Deserve our better wishes. + GARDINER. But, sir, sir- + Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y'are a gentleman + Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; + And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well- + 'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me- + Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, + Sleep in their graves. + LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two + The most remark'd i' th' kingdom. As for Cromwell, + Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master + O' th' Rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir, + Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, + With which the time will load him. Th' Archbishop + Is the King's hand and tongue, and who dare speak + One syllable against him? + GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, + There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd + To speak my mind of him; and indeed this day, + Sir-I may tell it you-I think I have + Incens'd the lords o' th' Council, that he is- + For so I know he is, they know he is- + A most arch heretic, a pestilence + That does infect the land; with which they moved + Have broken with the King, who hath so far + Given ear to our complaint-of his great grace + And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs + Our reasons laid before him-hath commanded + To-morrow morning to the Council board + He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas, + And we must root him out. From your affairs + I hinder you too long-good night, Sir Thomas. + LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant. + Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE + + Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK + + KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night; + My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me. + SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before. + KING. But little, Charles; + Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. + Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news? + LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her + What you commanded me, but by her woman + I sent your message; who return'd her thanks + In the great'st humbleness, and desir'd your Highness + Most heartily to pray for her. + KING. What say'st thou, ha? + To pray for her? What, is she crying out? + LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made + Almost each pang a death. + KING. Alas, good lady! + SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and + With gentle travail, to the gladding of + Your Highness with an heir! + KING. 'Tis midnight, Charles; + Prithee to bed; and in thy pray'rs remember + Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone, + For I must think of that which company + Will not be friendly to. + SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness + A quiet night, and my good mistress will + Remember in my prayers. + KING. Charles, good night. Exit SUFFOLK + + Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY + + Well, sir, what follows? + DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop, + As you commanded me. + KING. Ha! Canterbury? + DENNY. Ay, my good lord. + KING. 'Tis true. Where is he, Denny? + DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure. + KING. Bring him to us. Exit DENNY + LOVELL. [Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake. + I am happily come hither. + + Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER + + KING. Avoid the gallery. [LOVELL seems to stay] + Ha! I have said. Be gone. + What! Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY + CRANMER. [Aside] I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus? + 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. + KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know + Wherefore I sent for you. + CRANMER. [Kneeling] It is my duty + T'attend your Highness' pleasure. + KING. Pray you, arise, + My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. + Come, you and I must walk a turn together; + I have news to tell you; come, come, me your hand. + Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, + And am right sorry to repeat what follows. + I have, and most unwillingly, of late + Heard many grievous-I do say, my lord, + Grievous-complaints of you; which, being consider'd, + Have mov'd us and our Council that you shall + This morning come before us; where I know + You cannot with such freedom purge yourself + But that, till further trial in those charges + Which will require your answer, you must take + Your patience to you and be well contented + To make your house our Tow'r. You a brother of us, + It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness + Would come against you. + CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness + And am right glad to catch this good occasion + Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff + And corn shall fly asunder; for I know + There's none stands under more calumnious tongues + Than I myself, poor man. + KING. Stand up, good Canterbury; + Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted + In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up; + Prithee let's walk. Now, by my holidame, + What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd + You would have given me your petition that + I should have ta'en some pains to bring together + Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you + Without indurance further. + CRANMER. Most dread liege, + The good I stand on is my truth and honesty; + If they shall fail, I with mine enemies + Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, + Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing + What can be said against me. + KING. Know you not + How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world? + Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices + Must bear the same proportion; and not ever + The justice and the truth o' th' question carries + The due o' th' verdict with it; at what ease + Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt + To swear against you? Such things have been done. + You are potently oppos'd, and with a malice + Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, + I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, + Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv'd + Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to; + You take a precipice for no leap of danger, + And woo your own destruction. + CRANMER. God and your Majesty + Protect mine innocence, or I fall into + The trap is laid for me! + KING. Be of good cheer; + They shall no more prevail than we give way to. + Keep comfort to you, and this morning see + You do appear before them; if they shall chance, + In charging you with matters, to commit you, + The best persuasions to the contrary + Fail not to use, and with what vehemency + Th' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties + Will render you no remedy, this ring + Deliver them, and your appeal to us + There make before them. Look, the good man weeps! + He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest Mother! + I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul + None better in my kingdom. Get you gone, + And do as I have bid you. + Exit CRANMER + He has strangled his language in his tears. + + Enter OLD LADY + + GENTLEMAN. [Within] Come back; what mean you? + OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring + Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels + Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person + Under their blessed wings! + KING. Now, by thy looks + I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd? + Say ay, and of a boy. + OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege; + And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven + Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl, + Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen + Desires your visitation, and to be + Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you + As cherry is to cherry. + KING. Lovell! + + Enter LOVELL + + LOVELL. Sir? + KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen. Exit + OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I'll ha' more! + An ordinary groom is for such payment. + I will have more, or scold it out of him. + Said I for this the girl was like to him! I'll + Have more, or else unsay't; and now, while 'tis hot, + I'll put it to the issue. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 2. + +Lobby before the Council Chamber + +Enter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + + CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman + That was sent to me from the Council pray'd me + To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho! + Who waits there? Sure you know me? + + Enter KEEPER + + KEEPER. Yes, my lord; + But yet I cannot help you. + CRANMER. Why? + KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for. + + Enter DOCTOR BUTTS + + CRANMER. So. + BUTTS. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad + I came this way so happily; the King + Shall understand it presently. Exit + CRANMER. [Aside] 'Tis Butts, + The King's physician; as he pass'd along, + How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me! + Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain, + This is of purpose laid by some that hate me- + God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice- + To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me + Wait else at door, a fellow councillor, + 'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures + Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. + + Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above + + BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight- + KING. What's that, Butts? + BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day. + KING. Body a me, where is it? + BUTTS. There my lord: + The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury; + Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, + Pages, and footboys. + KING. Ha, 'tis he indeed. + Is this the honour they do one another? + 'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought + They had parted so much honesty among 'em- + At least good manners-as not thus to suffer + A man of his place, and so near our favour, + To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, + And at the door too, like a post with packets. + By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery! + Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close; + We shall hear more anon. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 3. + +The Council Chamber + +A Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed +under the state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end +of the table on the left band, a seat being left void above him, +as for Canterbury's seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY, +LORD CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side; +CROMWELL at lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door + + CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary; + Why are we met in council? + CROMWELL. Please your honours, + The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury. + GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it? + CROMWELL. Yes. + NORFOLK. Who waits there? + KEEPER. Without, my noble lords? + GARDINER. Yes. + KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop; + And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. + CHANCELLOR. Let him come in. + KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now. + + CRANMER approaches the Council table + + CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry + To sit here at this present, and behold + That chair stand empty; but we all are men, + In our own natures frail and capable + Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty + And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, + Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, + Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling + The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains- + For so we are inform'd-with new opinions, + Divers and dangerous; which are heresies, + And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. + GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too, + My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses + Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, + But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em + Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, + Out of our easiness and childish pity + To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, + Farewell all physic; and what follows then? + Commotions, uproars, with a general taint + Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours, + The upper Germany, can dearly witness, + Yet freshly pitied in our memories. + CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress + Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, + And with no little study, that my teaching + And the strong course of my authority + Might go one way, and safely; and the end + Was ever to do well. Nor is there living- + I speak it with a single heart, my lords- + A man that more detests, more stirs against, + Both in his private conscience and his place, + Defacers of a public peace than I do. + Pray heaven the King may never find a heart + With less allegiance in it! Men that make + Envy and crooked malice nourishment + Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships + That, in this case of justice, my accusers, + Be what they will, may stand forth face to face + And freely urge against me. + SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord, + That cannot be; you are a councillor, + And by that virtue no man dare accuse you. + GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment, + We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure + And our consent, for better trial of you, + From hence you be committed to the Tower; + Where, being but a private man again, + You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, + More than, I fear, you are provided for. + CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you; + You are always my good friend; if your will pass, + I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, + You are so merciful. I see your end- + 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, + Become a churchman better than ambition; + Win straying souls with modesty again, + Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, + Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, + I make as little doubt as you do conscience + In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, + But reverence to your calling makes me modest. + GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary; + That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers, + To men that understand you, words and weakness. + CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little, + By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, + However faulty, yet should find respect + For what they have been; 'tis a cruelty + To load a falling man. + GARDINER. Good Master Secretary, + I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst + Of all this table, say so. + CROMWELL. Why, my lord? + GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer + Of this new sect? Ye are not sound. + CROMWELL. Not sound? + GARDINER. Not sound, I say. + CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest! + Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. + GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language. + CROMWELL. Do. + Remember your bold life too. + CHANCELLOR. This is too much; + Forbear, for shame, my lords. + GARDINER. I have done. + CROMWELL. And I. + CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed, + I take it, by all voices, that forthwith + You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner; + There to remain till the King's further pleasure + Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords? + ALL. We are. + CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy, + But I must needs to th' Tower, my lords? + GARDINER. What other + Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. + Let some o' th' guard be ready there. + + Enter the guard + + CRANMER. For me? + Must I go like a traitor thither? + GARDINER. Receive him, + And see him safe i' th' Tower. + CRANMER. Stay, good my lords, + I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; + By virtue of that ring I take my cause + Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it + To a most noble judge, the King my master. + CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring. + SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit. + SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heav'n. I told ye all, + When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling, + 'Twould fall upon ourselves. + NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords, + The King will suffer but the little finger + Of this man to be vex'd? + CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain; + How much more is his life in value with him! + Would I were fairly out on't! + CROMWELL. My mind gave me, + In seeking tales and informations + Against this man-whose honesty the devil + And his disciples only envy at- + Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye! + + Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat + + GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven + In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; + Not only good and wise but most religious; + One that in all obedience makes the church + The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen + That holy duty, out of dear respect, + His royal self in judgment comes to hear + The cause betwixt her and this great offender. + KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations, + Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not + To hear such flattery now, and in my presence + They are too thin and bare to hide offences. + To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel, + And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; + But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure + Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody. + [To CRANMER] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest + He that dares most but wag his finger at thee. + By all that's holy, he had better starve + Than but once think this place becomes thee not. + SURREY. May it please your Grace- + KING. No, sir, it does not please me. + I had thought I had had men of some understanding + And wisdom of my Council; but I find none. + Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, + This good man-few of you deserve that title- + This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy + At chamber door? and one as great as you are? + Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission + Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye + Power as he was a councillor to try him, + Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see, + More out of malice than integrity, + Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; + Which ye shall never have while I live. + CHANCELLOR. Thus far, + My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace + To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd + concerning his imprisonment was rather- + If there be faith in men-meant for his trial + And fair purgation to the world, than malice, + I'm sure, in me. + KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him; + Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. + I will say thus much for him: if a prince + May be beholding to a subject, + Am for his love and service so to him. + Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; + Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury, + I have a suit which you must not deny me: + That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism; + You must be godfather, and answer for her. + CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory + In such an honour; how may I deserve it, + That am a poor and humble subject to you? + KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You + shall have + Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk + And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you? + Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, + Embrace and love this man. + GARDINER. With a true heart + And brother-love I do it. + CRANMER. And let heaven + Witness how dear I hold this confirmation. + KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. + The common voice, I see, is verified + Of thee, which says thus: 'Do my Lord of Canterbury + A shrewd turn and he's your friend for ever.' + Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long + To have this young one made a Christian. + As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; + So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 4. + +The palace yard + +Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN + + PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you + take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your + gaping. + [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.] + PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is + this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, + and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch + your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look + for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? + MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible, + Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons, + To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep + On May-day morning; which will never be. + We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em. + PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd? + MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in? + As much as one sound cudgel of four foot- + You see the poor remainder-could distribute, + I made no spare, sir. + PORTER. You did nothing, sir. + MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, + To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any + That had a head to hit, either young or old, + He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, + Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again; + And that I would not for a cow, God save her! + [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?] + PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. + Keep the door close, sirrah. + MAN. What would you have me do? + PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th' + dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some + strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the + women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication + is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening + will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather, + and all together. + MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow + somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his + face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now + reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, + they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three + times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged + against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us. + There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that + rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, + for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the + meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!' + when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw + to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where + she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place. + At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em + still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, + deliver'd such a show'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw + mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was + amongst 'em, I think surely. + PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse + and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation + of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear + brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo + Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; + besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come. + + Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! + They grow still too; from all parts they are coming, + As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, + These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows. + There's a trim rabble let in: are all these + Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have + Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, + When they pass back from the christening. + PORTER. An't please your honour, + We are but men; and what so many may do, + Not being torn a pieces, we have done. + An army cannot rule 'em. + CHAMBERLAIN. As I live, + If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye an + By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads + Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves; + And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when + Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound; + Th' are come already from the christening. + Go break among the press and find a way out + To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find + A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months. + PORTER. Make way there for the Princess. + MAN. You great fellow, + Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache. + PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail; + I'll peck you o'er the pales else. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 5. + +The palace + +Enter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, CRANMER, +DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, +two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; +then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, +godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc., +train borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, +the other godmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage, +and GARTER speaks + + GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous + life, long and ever-happy, to the high and mighty + Princess of England, Elizabeth! + + Flourish. Enter KING and guard + + CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the + good Queen! + My noble partners and myself thus pray: + All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, + Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, + May hourly fall upon ye! + KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop. + What is her name? + CRANMER. Elizabeth. + KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child] + With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! + Into whose hand I give thy life. + CRANMER. Amen. + KING. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal; + I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady, + When she has so much English. + CRANMER. Let me speak, sir, + For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter + Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth. + This royal infant-heaven still move about her!- + Though in her cradle, yet now promises + Upon this land a thousand blessings, + Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be- + But few now living can behold that goodness- + A pattern to all princes living with her, + And all that shall succeed. Saba was never + More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue + Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces + That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, + With all the virtues that attend the good, + Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her, + Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her; + She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her: + Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, + And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her; + In her days every man shall eat in safety + Under his own vine what he plants, and sing + The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. + God shall be truly known; and those about her + From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, + And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. + Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when + The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix + Her ashes new create another heir + As great in admiration as herself, + So shall she leave her blessedness to one- + When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness- + Who from the sacred ashes of her honour + Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, + And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, + That were the servants to this chosen infant, + Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; + Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, + His honour and the greatness of his name + Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish, + And like a mountain cedar reach his branches + To all the plains about him; our children's children + Shall see this and bless heaven. + KING. Thou speakest wonders. + CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England, + An aged princess; many days shall see her, + And yet no day without a deed to crown it. + Would I had known no more! But she must die- + She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin; + A most unspotted lily shall she pass + To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her. + KING. O Lord Archbishop, + Thou hast made me now a man; never before + This happy child did I get anything. + This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me + That when I am in heaven I shall desire + To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. + I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor, + And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; + I have receiv'd much honour by your presence, + And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; + Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye, + She will be sick else. This day, no man think + Has business at his house; for all shall stay. + This little one shall make it holiday. Exeunt + +KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE + THE EPILOGUE. + + 'Tis ten to one this play can never please + All that are here. Some come to take their ease + And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, + W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, + They'll say 'tis nought; others to hear the city + Abus'd extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!' + Which we have not done neither; that, I fear, + All the expected good w'are like to hear + For this play at this time is only in + The merciful construction of good women; + For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile + And say 'twill do, I know within a while + All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap + If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1597 + +KING JOHN + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING JOHN + PRINCE HENRY, his son + ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of + Britaine, the elder brother of King John + EARL OF PEMBROKE + EARL OF ESSEX + EARL OF SALISBURY + LORD BIGOT + HUBERT DE BURGH + ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge + PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother + JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge + PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet + + KING PHILIP OF FRANCE + LEWIS, the Dauphin + LYMOGES, Duke of Austria + CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's legate + MELUN, a French lord + CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John + + QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to + King John + CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur + BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile + and niece to King John + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge + + Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, + Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +England and France + + + +ACT I. SCENE 1 + +KING JOHN's palace + +Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, +with CHATILLON + + KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? + CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France + In my behaviour to the majesty, + The borrowed majesty, of England here. + ELINOR. A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'! + KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. + CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf + Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, + Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim + To this fair island and the territories, + To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, + Desiring thee to lay aside the sword + Which sways usurpingly these several titles, + And put the same into young Arthur's hand, + Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. + KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this? + CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, + To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. + KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood, + Controlment for controlment- so answer France. + CHATILLON. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth- + The farthest limit of my embassy. + KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace; + Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; + For ere thou canst report I will be there, + The thunder of my cannon shall be heard. + So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath + And sullen presage of your own decay. + An honourable conduct let him have- + Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. + Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE + ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said + How that ambitious Constance would not cease + Till she had kindled France and all the world + Upon the right and party of her son? + This might have been prevented and made whole + With very easy arguments of love, + Which now the manage of two kingdoms must + With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. + KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us! + ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right, + Or else it must go wrong with you and me; + So much my conscience whispers in your ear, + Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. + + Enter a SHERIFF + + ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy + Come from the country to be judg'd by you + That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men? + KING JOHN. Let them approach. Exit SHERIFF + Our abbeys and our priories shall pay + This expedition's charge. + + Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard + brother + + What men are you? + BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman + Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son, + As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge- + A soldier by the honour-giving hand + Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. + KING JOHN. What art thou? + ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. + KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? + You came not of one mother then, it seems. + BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king- + That is well known- and, as I think, one father; + But for the certain knowledge of that truth + I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother. + Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. + ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother, + And wound her honour with this diffidence. + BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it- + That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; + The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out + At least from fair five hundred pound a year. + Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! + KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, + Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? + BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land. + But once he slander'd me with bastardy; + But whe'er I be as true begot or no, + That still I lay upon my mother's head; + But that I am as well begot, my liege- + Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!- + Compare our faces and be judge yourself. + If old Sir Robert did beget us both + And were our father, and this son like him- + O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee + I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! + KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! + ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; + The accent of his tongue affecteth him. + Do you not read some tokens of my son + In the large composition of this man? + KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts + And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, + What doth move you to claim your brother's land? + BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father. + With half that face would he have all my land: + A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year! + ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, + Your brother did employ my father much- + BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: + Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. + ROBERT. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy + To Germany, there with the Emperor + To treat of high affairs touching that time. + Th' advantage of his absence took the King, + And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's; + Where how he did prevail I shame to speak- + But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores + Between my father and my mother lay, + As I have heard my father speak himself, + When this same lusty gentleman was got. + Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd + His lands to me, and took it on his death + That this my mother's son was none of his; + And if he were, he came into the world + Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. + Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, + My father's land, as was my father's will. + KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate: + Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, + And if she did play false, the fault was hers; + Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands + That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, + Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, + Had of your father claim'd this son for his? + In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept + This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world; + In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's, + My brother might not claim him; nor your father, + Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes: + My mother's son did get your father's heir; + Your father's heir must have your father's land. + ROBERT. Shall then my father's will be of no force + To dispossess that child which is not his? + BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, + Than was his will to get me, as I think. + ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge, + And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, + Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, + Lord of thy presence and no land beside? + BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape + And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him; + And if my legs were two such riding-rods, + My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin + That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose + Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!' + And, to his shape, were heir to all this land- + Would I might never stir from off this place, + I would give it every foot to have this face! + I would not be Sir Nob in any case. + ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, + Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? + I am a soldier and now bound to France. + BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. + Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, + Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear. + Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. + ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. + BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way. + KING JOHN. What is thy name? + BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun: + Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son. + KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest: + Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great- + Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet. + BASTARD. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand; + My father gave me honour, yours gave land. + Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, + When I was got, Sir Robert was away! + ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet! + I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so. + BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though? + Something about, a little from the right, + In at the window, or else o'er the hatch; + Who dares not stir by day must walk by night; + And have is have, however men do catch. + Near or far off, well won is still well shot; + And I am I, howe'er I was begot. + KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire: + A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. + Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed + For France, for France, for it is more than need. + BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee! + For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty. + Exeunt all but the BASTARD + A foot of honour better than I was; + But many a many foot of land the worse. + Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. + 'Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!' + And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; + For new-made honour doth forget men's names: + 'Tis too respective and too sociable + For your conversion. Now your traveller, + He and his toothpick at my worship's mess- + And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, + Why then I suck my teeth and catechize + My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' + Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin + 'I shall beseech you'-That is question now; + And then comes answer like an Absey book: + 'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command, + At your employment, at your service, sir!' + 'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.' + And so, ere answer knows what question would, + Saving in dialogue of compliment, + And talking of the Alps and Apennines, + The Pyrenean and the river Po- + It draws toward supper in conclusion so. + But this is worshipful society, + And fits the mounting spirit like myself; + For he is but a bastard to the time + That doth not smack of observation- + And so am I, whether I smack or no; + And not alone in habit and device, + Exterior form, outward accoutrement, + But from the inward motion to deliver + Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth; + Which, though I will not practise to deceive, + Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; + For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. + But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? + What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband + That will take pains to blow a horn before her? + + Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY + + O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady! + What brings you here to court so hastily? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother? + Where is he + That holds in chase mine honour up and down? + BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son? + Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? + Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, + Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert? + He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou. + BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? + GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip. + BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James, + There's toys abroad-anon I'll tell thee more. + Exit GURNEY + Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son; + Sir Robert might have eat his part in me + Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast. + Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess- + Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: + We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother, + To whom am I beholding for these limbs? + Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, + That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? + What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? + BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. + What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. + But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son: + I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land; + Legitimation, name, and all is gone. + Then, good my mother, let me know my father- + Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? + BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil. + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father. + By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd + To make room for him in my husband's bed. + Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! + Thou art the issue of my dear offence, + Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence. + BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again, + Madam, I would not wish a better father. + Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, + And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly; + Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, + Subjected tribute to commanding love, + Against whose fury and unmatched force + The aweless lion could not wage the fight + Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. + He that perforce robs lions of their hearts + May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, + With all my heart I thank thee for my father! + Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well + When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. + Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; + And they shall say when Richard me begot, + If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin. + Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1 + +France. Before Angiers + +Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF FRANCE, +LEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces + + KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. + Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, + Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart + And fought the holy wars in Palestine, + By this brave duke came early to his grave; + And for amends to his posterity, + At our importance hither is he come + To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; + And to rebuke the usurpation + Of thy unnatural uncle, English John. + Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. + ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death + The rather that you give his offspring life, + Shadowing their right under your wings of war. + I give you welcome with a powerless hand, + But with a heart full of unstained love; + Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke. + KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? + AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss + As seal to this indenture of my love: + That to my home I will no more return + Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, + Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, + Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides + And coops from other lands her islanders- + Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, + That water-walled bulwark, still secure + And confident from foreign purposes- + Even till that utmost corner of the west + Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy, + Will I not think of home, but follow arms. + CONSTANCE. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, + Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength + To make a more requital to your love! + AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords + In such a just and charitable war. + KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent + Against the brows of this resisting town; + Call for our chiefest men of discipline, + To cull the plots of best advantages. + We'll lay before this town our royal bones, + Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, + But we will make it subject to this boy. + CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy, + Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood; + My Lord Chatillon may from England bring + That right in peace which here we urge in war, + And then we shall repent each drop of blood + That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. + + Enter CHATILLON + + KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish, + Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. + What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; + We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak. + CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege + And stir them up against a mightier task. + England, impatient of your just demands, + Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds, + Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time + To land his legions all as soon as I; + His marches are expedient to this town, + His forces strong, his soldiers confident. + With him along is come the mother-queen, + An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; + With her the Lady Blanch of Spain; + With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd; + And all th' unsettled humours of the land- + Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, + With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens- + Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, + Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, + To make a hazard of new fortunes here. + In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits + Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er + Did never float upon the swelling tide + To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats] + The interruption of their churlish drums + Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand; + To parley or to fight, therefore prepare. + KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd for is this expedition! + AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much + We must awake endeavour for defence, + For courage mounteth with occasion. + Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd. + + Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, + PEMBROKE, and others + + KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit + Our just and lineal entrance to our own! + If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, + Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct + Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven! + KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return + From France to England, there to live in peace! + England we love, and for that England's sake + With burden of our armour here we sweat. + This toil of ours should be a work of thine; + But thou from loving England art so far + That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, + Cut off the sequence of posterity, + Outfaced infant state, and done a rape + Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. + Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face: + These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his; + This little abstract doth contain that large + Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time + Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. + That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, + And this his son; England was Geffrey's right, + And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God, + How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, + When living blood doth in these temples beat + Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest? + KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France, + To draw my answer from thy articles? + KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts + In any breast of strong authority + To look into the blots and stains of right. + That judge hath made me guardian to this boy, + Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong, + And by whose help I mean to chastise it. + KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. + KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down. + ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? + CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son. + ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king, + That thou mayst be a queen and check the world! + CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true + As thine was to thy husband; and this boy + Liker in feature to his father Geffrey + Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke + As rain to water, or devil to his dam. + My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think + His father never was so true begot; + It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. + ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. + CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. + AUSTRIA. Peace! + BASTARD. Hear the crier. + AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou? + BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, + An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. + You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, + Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; + I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right; + Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith. + BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion's robe + That did disrobe the lion of that robe! + BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him + As great Alcides' shows upon an ass; + But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back, + Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. + AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears + With this abundance of superfluous breath? + King Philip, determine what we shall do straight. + KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference. + King John, this is the very sum of all: + England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, + In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee; + Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? + KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France. + Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand, + And out of my dear love I'll give thee more + Than e'er the coward hand of France can win. + Submit thee, boy. + ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child. + CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child; + Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will + Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig. + There's a good grandam! + ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace! + I would that I were low laid in my grave: + I am not worth this coil that's made for me. + ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. + CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe'er she does or no! + His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, + Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, + Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; + Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd + To do him justice and revenge on you. + ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! + CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth, + Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp + The dominations, royalties, and rights, + Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son, + Infortunate in nothing but in thee. + Thy sins are visited in this poor child; + The canon of the law is laid on him, + Being but the second generation + Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. + KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done. + CONSTANCE. I have but this to say- + That he is not only plagued for her sin, + But God hath made her sin and her the plague + On this removed issue, plagued for her + And with her plague; her sin his injury, + Her injury the beadle to her sin; + All punish'd in the person of this child, + And all for her-a plague upon her! + ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce + A will that bars the title of thy son. + CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will; + A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will! + KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate. + It ill beseems this presence to cry aim + To these ill-tuned repetitions. + Some trumpet summon hither to the walls + These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak + Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. + + Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls + + CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? + KING PHILIP. 'Tis France, for England. + KING JOHN. England for itself. + You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects- + KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, + Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle- + KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first. + These flags of France, that are advanced here + Before the eye and prospect of your town, + Have hither march'd to your endamagement; + The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, + And ready mounted are they to spit forth + Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls; + All preparation for a bloody siege + And merciless proceeding by these French + Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates; + And but for our approach those sleeping stones + That as a waist doth girdle you about + By the compulsion of their ordinance + By this time from their fixed beds of lime + Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made + For bloody power to rush upon your peace. + But on the sight of us your lawful king, + Who painfully with much expedient march + Have brought a countercheck before your gates, + To save unscratch'd your city's threat'ned cheeks- + Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle; + And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, + To make a shaking fever in your walls, + They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, + To make a faithless error in your cars; + Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, + And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits, + Forwearied in this action of swift speed, + Craves harbourage within your city walls. + KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both. + Lo, in this right hand, whose protection + Is most divinely vow'd upon the right + Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, + Son to the elder brother of this man, + And king o'er him and all that he enjoys; + For this down-trodden equity we tread + In warlike march these greens before your town, + Being no further enemy to you + Than the constraint of hospitable zeal + In the relief of this oppressed child + Religiously provokes. Be pleased then + To pay that duty which you truly owe + To him that owes it, namely, this young prince; + And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, + Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; + Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent + Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven; + And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, + With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd, + We will bear home that lusty blood again + Which here we came to spout against your town, + And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. + But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, + 'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls + Can hide you from our messengers of war, + Though all these English and their discipline + Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. + Then tell us, shall your city call us lord + In that behalf which we have challeng'd it; + Or shall we give the signal to our rage, + And stalk in blood to our possession? + CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects; + For him, and in his right, we hold this town. + KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. + CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King, + To him will we prove loyal. Till that time + Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. + KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King? + And if not that, I bring you witnesses: + Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed- + BASTARD. Bastards and else. + KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives. + KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those- + BASTARD. Some bastards too. + KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. + CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, + We for the worthiest hold the right from both. + KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls + That to their everlasting residence, + Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet + In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! + KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms! + BASTARD. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since + Sits on's horse back at mine hostess' door, + Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA] Sirrah, were I at home, + At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, + I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, + And make a monster of you. + AUSTRIA. Peace! no more. + BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar! + KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth + In best appointment all our regiments. + BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field. + KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill + Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt + + Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE, + with trumpets, to the gates + + FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates + And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in, + Who by the hand of France this day hath made + Much work for tears in many an English mother, + Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; + Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, + Coldly embracing the discoloured earth; + And victory with little loss doth play + Upon the dancing banners of the French, + Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed, + To enter conquerors, and to proclaim + Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours. + + Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet + + ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: + King John, your king and England's, doth approach, + Commander of this hot malicious day. + Their armours that march'd hence so silver-bright + Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood. + There stuck no plume in any English crest + That is removed by a staff of France; + Our colours do return in those same hands + That did display them when we first march'd forth; + And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come + Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, + Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes. + Open your gates and give the victors way. + CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold + From first to last the onset and retire + Of both your armies, whose equality + By our best eyes cannot be censured. + Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows; + Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power; + Both are alike, and both alike we like. + One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even, + We hold our town for neither, yet for both. + + Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors + + KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? + Say, shall the current of our right run on? + Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, + Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell + With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, + Unless thou let his silver water keep + A peaceful progress to the ocean. + KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood + In this hot trial more than we of France; + Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, + That sways the earth this climate overlooks, + Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, + We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, + Or add a royal number to the dead, + Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss + With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. + BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs + When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! + O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; + The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; + And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, + In undetermin'd differences of kings. + Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? + Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, + You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! + Then let confusion of one part confirm + The other's peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death! + KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? + KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? + CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King. + KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right. + KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy + And bear possession of our person here, + Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. + CITIZEN. A greater pow'r than we denies all this; + And till it be undoubted, we do lock + Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; + King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd, + Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. + BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, + And stand securely on their battlements + As in a theatre, whence they gape and point + At your industrious scenes and acts of death. + Your royal presences be rul'd by me: + Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, + Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend + Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. + By east and west let France and England mount + Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths, + Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down + The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city. + I'd play incessantly upon these jades, + Even till unfenced desolation + Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. + That done, dissever your united strengths + And part your mingled colours once again, + Turn face to face and bloody point to point; + Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth + Out of one side her happy minion, + To whom in favour she shall give the day, + And kiss him with a glorious victory. + How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? + Smacks it not something of the policy? + KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, + I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs + And lay this Angiers even with the ground; + Then after fight who shall be king of it? + BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, + Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, + Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, + As we will ours, against these saucy walls; + And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, + Why then defy each other, and pell-mell + Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. + KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? + KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction + Into this city's bosom. + AUSTRIA. I from the north. + KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south + Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. + BASTARD. [Aside] O prudent discipline! From north to south, + Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth. + I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away! + CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, + And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league; + Win you this city without stroke or wound; + Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds + That here come sacrifices for the field. + Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. + KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. + CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, + Is niece to England; look upon the years + Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid. + If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, + Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? + If zealous love should go in search of virtue, + Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? + If love ambitious sought a match of birth, + Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? + Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, + Is the young Dauphin every way complete- + If not complete of, say he is not she; + And she again wants nothing, to name want, + If want it be not that she is not he. + He is the half part of a blessed man, + Left to be finished by such as she; + And she a fair divided excellence, + Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. + O, two such silver currents, when they join, + Do glorify the banks that bound them in; + And two such shores to two such streams made one, + Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings, + To these two princes, if you marry them. + This union shall do more than battery can + To our fast-closed gates; for at this match + With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, + The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope + And give you entrance; but without this match, + The sea enraged is not half so deaf, + Lions more confident, mountains and rocks + More free from motion-no, not Death himself + In mortal fury half so peremptory + As we to keep this city. + BASTARD. Here's a stay + That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death + Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, + That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas; + Talks as familiarly of roaring lions + As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! + What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? + He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce; + He gives the bastinado with his tongue; + Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his + But buffets better than a fist of France. + Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words + Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. + ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; + Give with our niece a dowry large enough; + For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie + Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown + That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe + The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. + I see a yielding in the looks of France; + Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls + Are capable of this ambition, + Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath + Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, + Cool and congeal again to what it was. + CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties + This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town? + KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first + To speak unto this city: what say you? + KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, + Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' + Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen; + For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, + And all that we upon this side the sea- + Except this city now by us besieg'd- + Find liable to our crown and dignity, + Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich + In titles, honours, and promotions, + As she in beauty, education, blood, + Holds hand with any princess of the world. + KING PHILIP. What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face. + LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find + A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, + The shadow of myself form'd in her eye; + Which, being but the shadow of your son, + Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow. + I do protest I never lov'd myself + Till now infixed I beheld myself + Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. + [Whispers with BLANCH] + BASTARD. [Aside] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye, + Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow, + And quarter'd in her heart-he doth espy + Himself love's traitor. This is pity now, + That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be + In such a love so vile a lout as he. + BLANCH. My uncle's will in this respect is mine. + If he see aught in you that makes him like, + That anything he sees which moves his liking + I can with ease translate it to my will; + Or if you will, to speak more properly, + I will enforce it eas'ly to my love. + Further I will not flatter you, my lord, + That all I see in you is worthy love, + Than this: that nothing do I see in you- + Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge- + That I can find should merit any hate. + KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece? + BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do + What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. + KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? + LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; + For I do love her most unfeignedly. + KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, + Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, + With her to thee; and this addition more, + Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. + Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, + Command thy son and daughter to join hands. + KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. + AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd + That I did so when I was first assur'd. + KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, + Let in that amity which you have made; + For at Saint Mary's chapel presently + The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. + Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? + I know she is not; for this match made up + Her presence would have interrupted much. + Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows. + LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent. + KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made + Will give her sadness very little cure. + Brother of England, how may we content + This widow lady? In her right we came; + Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, + To our own vantage. + KING JOHN. We will heal up all, + For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine, + And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town + We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; + Some speedy messenger bid her repair + To our solemnity. I trust we shall, + If not fill up the measure of her will, + Yet in some measure satisfy her so + That we shall stop her exclamation. + Go we as well as haste will suffer us + To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp. + Exeunt all but the BASTARD + BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! + John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole, + Hath willingly departed with a part; + And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, + Whom zeal and charity brought to the field + As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear + With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, + That broker that still breaks the pate of faith, + That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, + Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, + Who having no external thing to lose + But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that; + That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity, + Commodity, the bias of the world- + The world, who of itself is peised well, + Made to run even upon even ground, + Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, + This sway of motion, this commodity, + Makes it take head from all indifferency, + From all direction, purpose, course, intent- + And this same bias, this commodity, + This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, + Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, + Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, + From a resolv'd and honourable war, + To a most base and vile-concluded peace. + And why rail I on this commodity? + But for because he hath not woo'd me yet; + Not that I have the power to clutch my hand + When his fair angels would salute my palm, + But for my hand, as unattempted yet, + Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich. + Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail + And say there is no sin but to be rich; + And being rich, my virtue then shall be + To say there is no vice but beggary. + Since kings break faith upon commodity, + Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +France. The FRENCH KING'S camp + +Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY + + CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace! + False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! + Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? + It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; + Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again. + It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so; + I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word + Is but the vain breath of a common man: + Believe me I do not believe thee, man; + I have a king's oath to the contrary. + Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, + For I am sick and capable of fears, + Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; + A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; + A woman, naturally born to fears; + And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, + With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, + But they will quake and tremble all this day. + What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? + Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? + What means that hand upon that breast of thine? + Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, + Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? + Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? + Then speak again-not all thy former tale, + But this one word, whether thy tale be true. + SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false + That give you cause to prove my saying true. + CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, + Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; + And let belief and life encounter so + As doth the fury of two desperate men + Which in the very meeting fall and die! + Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou? + France friend with England; what becomes of me? + Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight; + This news hath made thee a most ugly man. + SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done + But spoke the harm that is by others done? + CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is + As it makes harmful all that speak of it. + ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content. + CONSTANCE. If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim, + Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, + Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains, + Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, + Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks, + I would not care, I then would be content; + For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou + Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. + But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, + Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: + Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, + And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O! + She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee; + Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John, + And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France + To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, + And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. + France is a bawd to Fortune and King John- + That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John! + Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? + Envenom him with words, or get thee gone + And leave those woes alone which I alone + Am bound to under-bear. + SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam, + I may not go without you to the kings. + CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee; + I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, + For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. + To me, and to the state of my great grief, + Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great + That no supporter but the huge firm earth + Can hold it up. [Seats herself on the ground] + Here I and sorrows sit; + Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. + + Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, + ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants + + KING PHILIP. 'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day + Ever in France shall be kept festival. + To solemnize this day the glorious sun + Stays in his course and plays the alchemist, + Turning with splendour of his precious eye + The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold. + The yearly course that brings this day about + Shall never see it but a holiday. + CONSTANCE. [Rising] A wicked day, and not a holy day! + What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done + That it in golden letters should be set + Among the high tides in the calendar? + Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, + This day of shame, oppression, perjury; + Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child + Pray that their burdens may not fall this day, + Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd; + But on this day let seamen fear no wreck; + No bargains break that are not this day made; + This day, all things begun come to ill end, + Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! + KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause + To curse the fair proceedings of this day. + Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? + CONSTANCE. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit + Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried, + Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn; + You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, + But now in arms you strengthen it with yours. + The grappling vigour and rough frown of war + Is cold in amity and painted peace, + And our oppression hath made up this league. + Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! + A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens! + Let not the hours of this ungodly day + Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, + Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings! + Hear me, O, hear me! + AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace! + CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war. + O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame + That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward! + Thou little valiant, great in villainy! + Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! + Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight + But when her humorous ladyship is by + To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur'd too, + And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, + A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear + Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave, + Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side, + Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend + Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength, + And dost thou now fall over to my foes? + Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame, + And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me! + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. + + Enter PANDULPH + + KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope. + PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven! + To thee, King John, my holy errand is. + I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, + And from Pope Innocent the legate here, + Do in his name religiously demand + Why thou against the Church, our holy mother, + So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce + Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop + Of Canterbury, from that holy see? + This, in our foresaid holy father's name, + Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. + KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories + Can task the free breath of a sacred king? + Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name + So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, + To charge me to an answer, as the Pope. + Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England + Add thus much more, that no Italian priest + Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; + But as we under heaven are supreme head, + So, under Him that great supremacy, + Where we do reign we will alone uphold, + Without th' assistance of a mortal hand. + So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart + To him and his usurp'd authority. + KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. + KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom + Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, + Dreading the curse that money may buy out, + And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, + Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, + Who in that sale sells pardon from himself- + Though you and all the rest, so grossly led, + This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; + Yet I alone, alone do me oppose + Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes. + PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have + Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate; + And blessed shall he be that doth revolt + From his allegiance to an heretic; + And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, + Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, + That takes away by any secret course + Thy hateful life. + CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be + That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! + Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen' + To my keen curses; for without my wrong + There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. + PANDULPH. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. + CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right, + Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong; + Law cannot give my child his kingdom here, + For he that holds his kingdom holds the law; + Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, + How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? + PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, + Let go the hand of that arch-heretic, + And raise the power of France upon his head, + Unless he do submit himself to Rome. + ELINOR. Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand. + CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent + And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul. + AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal. + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, + Because- + BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them. + KING JOHN. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal? + CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal? + LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference + Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome + Or the light loss of England for a friend. + Forgo the easier. + BLANCH. That's the curse of Rome. + CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here + In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. + BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith, + But from her need. + CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need, + Which only lives but by the death of faith, + That need must needs infer this principle- + That faith would live again by death of need. + O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up: + Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down! + KING JOHN. The King is mov'd, and answers not to this. + CONSTANCE. O be remov'd from him, and answer well! + AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt. + BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. + KING PHILIP. I am perplex'd and know not what to say. + PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more, + If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd? + KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours, + And tell me how you would bestow yourself. + This royal hand and mine are newly knit, + And the conjunction of our inward souls + Married in league, coupled and link'd together + With all religious strength of sacred vows; + The latest breath that gave the sound of words + Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, + Between our kingdoms and our royal selves; + And even before this truce, but new before, + No longer than we well could wash our hands, + To clap this royal bargain up of peace, + Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd + With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint + The fearful difference of incensed kings. + And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, + So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, + Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet? + Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, + Make such unconstant children of ourselves, + As now again to snatch our palm from palm, + Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed + Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, + And make a riot on the gentle brow + Of true sincerity? O, holy sir, + My reverend father, let it not be so! + Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose, + Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest + To do your pleasure, and continue friends. + PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless, + Save what is opposite to England's love. + Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church, + Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse- + A mother's curse-on her revolting son. + France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, + A chafed lion by the mortal paw, + A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, + Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. + KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. + PANDULPH. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; + And like. a civil war set'st oath to oath. + Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow + First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd, + That is, to be the champion of our Church. + What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself + And may not be performed by thyself, + For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss + Is not amiss when it is truly done; + And being not done, where doing tends to ill, + The truth is then most done not doing it; + The better act of purposes mistook + Is to mistake again; though indirect, + Yet indirection thereby grows direct, + And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire + Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd. + It is religion that doth make vows kept; + But thou hast sworn against religion + By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st, + And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth + Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure + To swear swears only not to be forsworn; + Else what a mockery should it be to swear! + But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; + And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear. + Therefore thy later vows against thy first + Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; + And better conquest never canst thou make + Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts + Against these giddy loose suggestions; + Upon which better part our pray'rs come in, + If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know + The peril of our curses fight on thee + So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off, + But in despair die under the black weight. + AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion! + BASTARD. Will't not be? + Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? + LEWIS. Father, to arms! + BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day? + Against the blood that thou hast married? + What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men? + Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, + Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? + O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new + Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name, + Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, + Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms + Against mine uncle. + CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee, + Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, + Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom + Forethought by heaven! + BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may + Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? + CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, + His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! + LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold, + When such profound respects do pull you on. + PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head. + KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee. + CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish'd majesty! + ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy! + KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. + BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, + Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue. + BLANCH. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu! + Which is the side that I must go withal? + I am with both: each army hath a hand; + And in their rage, I having hold of both, + They whirl asunder and dismember me. + Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win; + Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; + Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; + Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive. + Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose: + Assured loss before the match be play'd. + LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. + BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. + KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. + Exit BASTARD + France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath, + A rage whose heat hath this condition + That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, + The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France. + KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn + To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire. + Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. + KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie! + Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE 2. + +France. Plains near Angiers + +Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA'S head + + BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; + Some airy devil hovers in the sky + And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, + While Philip breathes. + + Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT + + KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up: + My mother is assailed in our tent, + And ta'en, I fear. + BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her; + Her Highness is in safety, fear you not; + But on, my liege, for very little pains + Will bring this labour to an happy end. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +France. Plains near Angiers + +Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, +the BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS + + KING JOHN. [To ELINOR] So shall it be; your Grace shall stay + behind, + So strongly guarded. [To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad; + Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will + As dear be to thee as thy father was. + ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief! + KING JOHN. [To the BASTARD] Cousin, away for England! haste + before, + And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags + Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels + Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace + Must by the hungry now be fed upon. + Use our commission in his utmost force. + BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, + When gold and silver becks me to come on. + I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray, + If ever I remember to be holy, + For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand. + ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin. + KING JOHN. Coz, farewell. + Exit BASTARD + ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. + KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, + We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh + There is a soul counts thee her creditor, + And with advantage means to pay thy love; + And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath + Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. + Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say- + But I will fit it with some better time. + By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd + To say what good respect I have of thee. + HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty. + KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet, + But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, + Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. + I had a thing to say-but let it go: + The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, + Attended with the pleasures of the world, + Is all too wanton and too full of gawds + To give me audience. If the midnight bell + Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth + Sound on into the drowsy race of night; + If this same were a churchyard where we stand, + And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; + Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, + Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick, + Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, + Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes + And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, + A passion hateful to my purposes; + Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, + Hear me without thine cars, and make reply + Without a tongue, using conceit alone, + Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words- + Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, + I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. + But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well; + And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. + HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake, + Though that my death were adjunct to my act, + By heaven, I would do it. + KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst? + Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye + On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend, + He is a very serpent in my way; + And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, + He lies before me. Dost thou understand me? + Thou art his keeper. + HUBERT. And I'll keep him so + That he shall not offend your Majesty. + KING JOHN. Death. + HUBERT. My lord? + KING JOHN. A grave. + HUBERT. He shall not live. + KING JOHN. Enough! + I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee. + Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee. + Remember. Madam, fare you well; + I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty. + ELINOR. My blessing go with thee! + KING JOHN. [To ARTHUR] For England, cousin, go; + Hubert shall be your man, attend on you + With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +France. The FRENCH KING's camp + +Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants + + KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood + A whole armado of convicted sail + Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship. + PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well. + KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill. + Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? + Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain? + And bloody England into England gone, + O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? + LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified; + So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, + Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, + Doth want example; who hath read or heard + Of any kindred action like to this? + KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise, + So we could find some pattern of our shame. + + Enter CONSTANCE + + Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul; + Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will, + In the vile prison of afflicted breath. + I prithee, lady, go away with me. + CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace! + KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance! + CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, + But that which ends all counsel, true redress- + Death, death; O amiable lovely death! + Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! + Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, + Thou hate and terror to prosperity, + And I will kiss thy detestable bones, + And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows, + And ring these fingers with thy household worms, + And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, + And be a carrion monster like thyself. + Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st, + And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love, + O, come to me! + KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace! + CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry. + O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! + Then with a passion would I shake the world, + And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy + Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, + Which scorns a modern invocation. + PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow. + CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so. + I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine; + My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; + Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost. + I am not mad-I would to heaven I were! + For then 'tis like I should forget myself. + O, if I could, what grief should I forget! + Preach some philosophy to make me mad, + And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal; + For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, + My reasonable part produces reason + How I may be deliver'd of these woes, + And teaches me to kill or hang myself. + If I were mad I should forget my son, + Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. + I am not mad; too well, too well I feel + The different plague of each calamity. + KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note + In the fair multitude of those her hairs! + Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall'n, + Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends + Do glue themselves in sociable grief, + Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, + Sticking together in calamity. + CONSTANCE. To England, if you will. + KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs. + CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? + I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud + 'O that these hands could so redeem my son, + As they have given these hairs their liberty!' + But now I envy at their liberty, + And will again commit them to their bonds, + Because my poor child is a prisoner. + And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say + That we shall see and know our friends in heaven; + If that be true, I shall see my boy again; + For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, + To him that did but yesterday suspire, + There was not such a gracious creature born. + But now will canker sorrow eat my bud + And chase the native beauty from his cheek, + And he will look as hollow as a ghost, + As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; + And so he'll die; and, rising so again, + When I shall meet him in the court of heaven + I shall not know him. Therefore never, never + Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. + PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. + CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son. + KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. + CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, + Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, + Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, + Remembers me of all his gracious parts, + Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; + Then have I reason to be fond of grief. + Fare you well; had you such a loss as I, + I could give better comfort than you do. + I will not keep this form upon my head, + [Tearing her hair] + When there is such disorder in my wit. + O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! + My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world! + My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! Exit + KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. Exit + LEWIS. There's nothing in this world can make me joy. + Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale + Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; + And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, + That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. + PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease, + Even in the instant of repair and health, + The fit is strongest; evils that take leave + On their departure most of all show evil; + What have you lost by losing of this day? + LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. + PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had. + No, no; when Fortune means to men most good, + She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye. + 'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost + In this which he accounts so clearly won. + Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? + LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. + PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. + Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; + For even the breath of what I mean to speak + Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, + Out of the path which shall directly lead + Thy foot to England's throne. And therefore mark: + John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be + That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, + The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, + One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. + A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand + Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd, + And he that stands upon a slipp'ry place + Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up; + That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall; + So be it, for it cannot be but so. + LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? + PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, + May then make all the claim that Arthur did. + LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. + PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world! + John lays you plots; the times conspire with you; + For he that steeps his safety in true blood + Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. + This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts + Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, + That none so small advantage shall step forth + To check his reign but they will cherish it; + No natural exhalation in the sky, + No scope of nature, no distemper'd day, + No common wind, no customed event, + But they will pluck away his natural cause + And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, + Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, + Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. + LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life, + But hold himself safe in his prisonment. + PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach, + If that young Arthur be not gone already, + Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts + Of all his people shall revolt from him, + And kiss the lips of unacquainted change, + And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath + Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john. + Methinks I see this hurly all on foot; + And, O, what better matter breeds for you + Than I have nam'd! The bastard Faulconbridge + Is now in England ransacking the Church, + Offending charity; if but a dozen French + Were there in arms, they would be as a can + To train ten thousand English to their side; + Or as a little snow, tumbled about, + Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, + Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful + What may be wrought out of their discontent, + Now that their souls are topful of offence. + For England go; I will whet on the King. + LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go; + If you say ay, the King will not say no. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +England. A castle + +Enter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS + + HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand + Within the arras. When I strike my foot + Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth + And bind the boy which you shall find with me + Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch. + EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. + HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to't. + Exeunt EXECUTIONERS + Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. + + Enter ARTHUR + + ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert. + HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince. + ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide + To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. + HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier. + ARTHUR. Mercy on me! + Methinks no body should be sad but I; + Yet, I remember, when I was in France, + Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, + Only for wantonness. By my christendom, + So I were out of prison and kept sheep, + I should be as merry as the day is long; + And so I would be here but that I doubt + My uncle practises more harm to me; + He is afraid of me, and I of him. + Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? + No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven + I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. + HUBERT. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate + He will awake my mercy, which lies dead; + Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. + ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day; + In sooth, I would you were a little sick, + That I might sit all night and watch with you. + I warrant I love you more than you do me. + HUBERT. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.- + Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper] + [Aside] How now, foolish rheum! + Turning dispiteous torture out of door! + I must be brief, lest resolution drop + Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.- + Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ? + ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. + Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? + HUBERT. Young boy, I must. + ARTHUR. And will you? + HUBERT. And I will. + ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, + I knit my handkerchief about your brows- + The best I had, a princess wrought it me- + And I did never ask it you again; + And with my hand at midnight held your head; + And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, + Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, + Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?' + Or 'What good love may I perform for you?' + Many a poor man's son would have lyen still, + And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; + But you at your sick service had a prince. + Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, + And call it cunning. Do, an if you will. + If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, + Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes, + These eyes that never did nor never shall + So much as frown on you? + HUBERT. I have sworn to do it; + And with hot irons must I burn them out. + ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it! + The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, + Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, + And quench his fiery indignation + Even in the matter of mine innocence; + Nay, after that, consume away in rust + But for containing fire to harm mine eye. + Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? + An if an angel should have come to me + And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, + I would not have believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's. + HUBERT. [Stamps] Come forth. + + Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc. + + Do as I bid you do. + ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out + Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. + HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. + ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough? + I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. + For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! + Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away, + And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; + I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, + Nor look upon the iron angrily; + Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, + Whatever torment you do put me to. + HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. + EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. + Exeunt EXECUTIONERS + ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend! + He hath a stern look but a gentle heart. + Let him come back, that his compassion may + Give life to yours. + HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself. + ARTHUR. Is there no remedy? + HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes. + ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours, + A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, + Any annoyance in that precious sense! + Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, + Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. + HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue. + ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues + Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes. + Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert; + Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, + So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes, + Though to no use but still to look on you! + Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold + And would not harm me. + HUBERT. I can heat it, boy. + ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, + Being create for comfort, to be us'd + In undeserved extremes. See else yourself: + There is no malice in this burning coal; + The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, + And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. + HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. + ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush + And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. + Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes, + And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, + Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. + All things that you should use to do me wrong + Deny their office; only you do lack + That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, + Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. + HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye + For all the treasure that thine uncle owes. + Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, + With this same very iron to burn them out. + ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while + You were disguis'd. + HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu. + Your uncle must not know but you are dead: + I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports; + And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure + That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, + Will not offend thee. + ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. + HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me. + Much danger do I undergo for thee. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +England. KING JOHN'S palace + +Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS + + KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, + And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. + PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd, + Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, + And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off, + The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; + Fresh expectation troubled not the land + With any long'd-for change or better state. + SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, + To guard a title that was rich before, + To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, + To throw a perfume on the violet, + To smooth the ice, or add another hue + Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light + To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, + Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. + PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done, + This act is as an ancient tale new told + And, in the last repeating, troublesome, + Being urged at a time unseasonable. + SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face + Of plain old form is much disfigured; + And like a shifted wind unto a sail + It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about, + Startles and frights consideration, + Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, + For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. + PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well, + They do confound their skill in covetousness; + And oftentimes excusing of a fault + Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse, + As patches set upon a little breach + Discredit more in hiding of the fault + Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. + SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, + We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness + To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd, + Since all and every part of what we would + Doth make a stand at what your Highness will. + KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation + I have possess'd you with, and think them strong; + And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear, + I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask + What you would have reform'd that is not well, + And well shall you perceive how willingly + I will both hear and grant you your requests. + PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these, + To sound the purposes of all their hearts, + Both for myself and them- but, chief of all, + Your safety, for the which myself and them + Bend their best studies, heartily request + Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint + Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent + To break into this dangerous argument: + If what in rest you have in right you hold, + Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend + The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up + Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days + With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth + The rich advantage of good exercise? + That the time's enemies may not have this + To grace occasions, let it be our suit + That you have bid us ask his liberty; + Which for our goods we do no further ask + Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, + Counts it your weal he have his liberty. + KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth + To your direction. + + Enter HUBERT + + [Aside] Hubert, what news with you? + PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed: + He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine; + The image of a wicked heinous fault + Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his + Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast, + And I do fearfully believe 'tis done + What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. + SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go + Between his purpose and his conscience, + Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set. + His passion is so ripe it needs must break. + PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence + The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. + KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. + Good lords, although my will to give is living, + The suit which you demand is gone and dead: + He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night. + SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. + PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, + Before the child himself felt he was sick. + This must be answer'd either here or hence. + KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? + Think you I bear the shears of destiny? + Have I commandment on the pulse of life? + SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame + That greatness should so grossly offer it. + So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell. + PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee + And find th' inheritance of this poor child, + His little kingdom of a forced grave. + That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle + Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while! + This must not be thus borne: this will break out + To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt LORDS + KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent. + There is no sure foundation set on blood, + No certain life achiev'd by others' death. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood + That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? + So foul a sky clears not without a storm. + Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France? + MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow'r + For any foreign preparation + Was levied in the body of a land. + The copy of your speed is learn'd by them, + For when you should be told they do prepare, + The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd. + KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk? + Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care, + That such an army could be drawn in France, + And she not hear of it? + MESSENGER. My liege, her ear + Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April died + Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord, + The Lady Constance in a frenzy died + Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue + I idly heard-if true or false I know not. + KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! + O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd + My discontented peers! What! mother dead! + How wildly then walks my estate in France! + Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France + That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? + MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin. + KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy + With these in tidings. + + Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET + + Now! What says the world + To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff + My head with more ill news, for it is fun. + BASTARD. But if you be afear'd to hear the worst, + Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. + KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd + Under the tide; but now I breathe again + Aloft the flood, and can give audience + To any tongue, speak it of what it will. + BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen + The sums I have collected shall express. + But as I travell'd hither through the land, + I find the people strangely fantasied; + Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams. + Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear; + And here's a prophet that I brought with me + From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found + With many hundreds treading on his heels; + To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, + That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, + Your Highness should deliver up your crown. + KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? + PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. + KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; + And on that day at noon whereon he says + I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd. + Deliver him to safety; and return, + For I must use thee. + Exit HUBERT with PETER + O my gentle cousin, + Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? + BASTARD. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it; + Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury, + With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, + And others more, going to seek the grave + Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night + On your suggestion. + KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go + And thrust thyself into their companies. + I have a way to will their loves again; + Bring them before me. + BASTARD. I Will seek them out. + KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before. + O, let me have no subject enemies + When adverse foreigners affright my towns + With dreadful pomp of stout invasion! + Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels, + And fly like thought from them to me again. + BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. + KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. + Exit BASTARD + Go after him; for he perhaps shall need + Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; + And be thou he. + MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege. Exit + KING JOHN. My mother dead! + + Re-enter HUBERT + + HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night; + Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about + The other four in wondrous motion. + KING JOHN. Five moons! + HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets + Do prophesy upon it dangerously; + Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths; + And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, + And whisper one another in the ear; + And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist, + Whilst he that hears makes fearful action + With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. + I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, + The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, + With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; + Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, + Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste + Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, + Told of a many thousand warlike French + That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent. + Another lean unwash'd artificer + Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. + KING JOHN. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears? + Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? + Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause + To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. + HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me? + KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended + By slaves that take their humours for a warrant + To break within the bloody house of life, + And on the winking of authority + To understand a law; to know the meaning + Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns + More upon humour than advis'd respect. + HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. + KING JOHN. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth + Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal + Witness against us to damnation! + How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds + Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by, + A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, + Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame, + This murder had not come into my mind; + But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, + Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, + Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, + I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; + And thou, to be endeared to a king, + Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. + HUBERT. My lord- + KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause, + When I spake darkly what I purposed, + Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, + As bid me tell my tale in express words, + Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, + And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. + But thou didst understand me by my signs, + And didst in signs again parley with sin; + Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, + And consequently thy rude hand to act + The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. + Out of my sight, and never see me more! + My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, + Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs; + Nay, in the body of the fleshly land, + This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, + Hostility and civil tumult reigns + Between my conscience and my cousin's death. + HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies, + I'll make a peace between your soul and you. + Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine + Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, + Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. + Within this bosom never ent'red yet + The dreadful motion of a murderous thought + And you have slander'd nature in my form, + Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, + Is yet the cover of a fairer mind + Than to be butcher of an innocent child. + KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers, + Throw this report on their incensed rage + And make them tame to their obedience! + Forgive the comment that my passion made + Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, + And foul imaginary eyes of blood + Presented thee more hideous than thou art. + O, answer not; but to my closet bring + The angry lords with all expedient haste. + I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +England. Before the castle + +Enter ARTHUR, on the walls + + ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down. + Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not! + There's few or none do know me; if they did, + This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. + I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. + If I get down and do not break my limbs, + I'll find a thousand shifts to get away. + As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down] + O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones. + Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! + [Dies] + + Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT + + SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury; + It is our safety, and we must embrace + This gentle offer of the perilous time. + PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal? + SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France, + Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love + Is much more general than these lines import. + BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. + SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be + Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords! + The King by me requests your presence straight. + SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us. + We will not line his thin bestained cloak + With our pure honours, nor attend the foot + That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. + Return and tell him so. We know the worst. + BASTARD. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. + SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. + BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief; + Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. + PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. + BASTARD. 'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else. + SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here? + PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty! + The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. + SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, + Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. + BIGOT. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, + Found it too precious-princely for a grave. + SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, + Or have you read or heard, or could you think? + Or do you almost think, although you see, + That you do see? Could thought, without this object, + Form such another? This is the very top, + The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, + Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame, + The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, + That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage + Presented to the tears of soft remorse. + PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus'd in this; + And this, so sole and so unmatchable, + Shall give a holiness, a purity, + To the yet unbegotten sin of times, + And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, + Exampled by this heinous spectacle. + BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work; + The graceless action of a heavy hand, + If that it be the work of any hand. + SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand! + We had a kind of light what would ensue. + It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; + The practice and the purpose of the King; + From whose obedience I forbid my soul + Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, + And breathing to his breathless excellence + The incense of a vow, a holy vow, + Never to taste the pleasures of the world, + Never to be infected with delight, + Nor conversant with ease and idleness, + Till I have set a glory to this hand + By giving it the worship of revenge. + PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. + + Enter HUBERT + + HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you. + Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you. + SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death! + Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! + HUBERT. I am no villain. + SALISBURY. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword] + BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. + SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. + HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; + By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours. + I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, + Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; + Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget + Your worth, your greatness and nobility. + BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar'st thou brave a nobleman? + HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend + My innocent life against an emperor. + SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer. + HUBERT. Do not prove me so. + Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, + Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. + PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces. + BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say. + SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. + BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury. + If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, + Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, + I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime; + Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron + That you shall think the devil is come from hell. + BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? + Second a villain and a murderer? + HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none. + BIGOT. Who kill'd this prince? + HUBERT. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well. + I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep + My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. + SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, + For villainy is not without such rheum; + And he, long traded in it, makes it seem + Like rivers of remorse and innocency. + Away with me, all you whose souls abhor + Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house; + For I am stifled with this smell of sin. + BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! + PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out. + Exeunt LORDS + BASTARD. Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work? + Beyond the infinite and boundless reach + Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, + Art thou damn'd, Hubert. + HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir. + BASTARD. Ha! I'll tell thee what: + Thou'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black- + Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer; + There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell + As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. + HUBERT. Upon my soul- + BASTARD. If thou didst but consent + To this most cruel act, do but despair; + And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread + That ever spider twisted from her womb + Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam + To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, + Put but a little water in a spoon + And it shall be as all the ocean, + Enough to stifle such a villain up + I do suspect thee very grievously. + HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, + Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath + Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, + Let hell want pains enough to torture me! + I left him well. + BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms. + I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way + Among the thorns and dangers of this world. + How easy dost thou take all England up! + From forth this morsel of dead royalty + The life, the right, and truth of all this realm + Is fled to heaven; and England now is left + To tug and scamble, and to part by th' teeth + The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. + Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty + Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest + And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace; + Now powers from home and discontents at home + Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits, + As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast, + The imminent decay of wrested pomp. + Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can + Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, + And follow me with speed. I'll to the King; + A thousand businesses are brief in hand, + And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. +England. KING JOHN'S palace + +Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants + + KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand + The circle of my glory. + PANDULPH. [Gives back the crown] Take again + From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, + Your sovereign greatness and authority. + KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French; + And from his Holiness use all your power + To stop their marches fore we are inflam'd. + Our discontented counties do revolt; + Our people quarrel with obedience, + Swearing allegiance and the love of soul + To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. + This inundation of mistemp'red humour + Rests by you only to be qualified. + Then pause not; for the present time's so sick + That present med'cine must be minist'red + Or overthrow incurable ensues. + PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, + Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope; + But since you are a gentle convertite, + My tongue shall hush again this storm of war + And make fair weather in your blust'ring land. + On this Ascension-day, remember well, + Upon your oath of service to the Pope, + Go I to make the French lay down their arms. Exit + KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet + Say that before Ascension-day at noon + My crown I should give off? Even so I have. + I did suppose it should be on constraint; + But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out + But Dover Castle. London hath receiv'd, + Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers. + Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone + To offer service to your enemy; + And wild amazement hurries up and down + The little number of your doubtful friends. + KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again + After they heard young Arthur was alive? + BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets, + An empty casket, where the jewel of life + By some damn'd hand was robbed and ta'en away. + KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live. + BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. + But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad? + Be great in act, as you have been in thought; + Let not the world see fear and sad distrust + Govern the motion of a kingly eye. + Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; + Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow + Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes, + That borrow their behaviours from the great, + Grow great by your example and put on + The dauntless spirit of resolution. + Away, and glister like the god of war + When he intendeth to become the field; + Show boldness and aspiring confidence. + What, shall they seek the lion in his den, + And fright him there, and make him tremble there? + O, let it not be said! Forage, and run + To meet displeasure farther from the doors + And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. + KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me, + And I have made a happy peace with him; + And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers + Led by the Dauphin. + BASTARD. O inglorious league! + Shall we, upon the footing of our land, + Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, + Insinuation, parley, and base truce, + To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy, + A cock'red silken wanton, brave our fields + And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, + Mocking the air with colours idly spread, + And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms. + Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace; + Or, if he do, let it at least be said + They saw we had a purpose of defence. + KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time. + BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage! + Yet, I know + Our party may well meet a prouder foe. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. +England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury + +Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers + + LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out + And keep it safe for our remembrance; + Return the precedent to these lords again, + That, having our fair order written down, + Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes, + May know wherefore we took the sacrament, + And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. + SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. + And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear + A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith + To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince, + I am not glad that such a sore of time + Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, + And heal the inveterate canker of one wound + By making many. O, it grieves my soul + That I must draw this metal from my side + To be a widow-maker! O, and there + Where honourable rescue and defence + Cries out upon the name of Salisbury! + But such is the infection of the time + That, for the health and physic of our right, + We cannot deal but with the very hand + Of stern injustice and confused wrong. + And is't not pity, O my grieved friends! + That we, the sons and children of this isle, + Were born to see so sad an hour as this; + Wherein we step after a stranger-march + Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up + Her enemies' ranks-I must withdraw and weep + Upon the spot of this enforced cause- + To grace the gentry of a land remote + And follow unacquainted colours here? + What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove! + That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, + Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself + And grapple thee unto a pagan shore, + Where these two Christian armies might combine + The blood of malice in a vein of league, + And not to spend it so unneighbourly! + LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this; + And great affections wrestling in thy bosom + Doth make an earthquake of nobility. + O, what a noble combat hast thou fought + Between compulsion and a brave respect! + Let me wipe off this honourable dew + That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks. + My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, + Being an ordinary inundation; + But this effusion of such manly drops, + This show'r, blown up by tempest of the soul, + Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd + Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven + Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. + Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, + And with a great heart heave away this storm; + Commend these waters to those baby eyes + That never saw the giant world enrag'd, + Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, + Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping. + Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep + Into the purse of rich prosperity + As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all, + That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. + + Enter PANDULPH + + And even there, methinks, an angel spake: + Look where the holy legate comes apace, + To give us warrant from the hand of heaven + And on our actions set the name of right + With holy breath. + PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France! + The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd + Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, + That so stood out against the holy Church, + The great metropolis and see of Rome. + Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up + And tame the savage spirit of wild war, + That, like a lion fostered up at hand, + It may lie gently at the foot of peace + And be no further harmful than in show. + LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back: + I am too high-born to be propertied, + To be a secondary at control, + Or useful serving-man and instrument + To any sovereign state throughout the world. + Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars + Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself + And brought in matter that should feed this fire; + And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out + With that same weak wind which enkindled it. + You taught me how to know the face of right, + Acquainted me with interest to this land, + Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; + And come ye now to tell me John hath made + His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? + I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, + After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; + And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back + Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? + Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, + What men provided, what munition sent, + To underprop this action? Is 't not I + That undergo this charge? Who else but I, + And such as to my claim are liable, + Sweat in this business and maintain this war? + Have I not heard these islanders shout out + 'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns? + Have I not here the best cards for the game + To will this easy match, play'd for a crown? + And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? + No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. + PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work. + LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return + Till my attempt so much be glorified + As to my ample hope was promised + Before I drew this gallant head of war, + And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world + To outlook conquest, and to will renown + Even in the jaws of danger and of death. + [Trumpet sounds] + What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? + + Enter the BASTARD, attended + + BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world, + Let me have audience: I am sent to speak. + My holy lord of Milan, from the King + I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; + And, as you answer, I do know the scope + And warrant limited unto my tongue. + PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, + And will not temporize with my entreaties; + He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms. + BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, + The youth says well. Now hear our English King; + For thus his royalty doth speak in me. + He is prepar'd, and reason too he should. + This apish and unmannerly approach, + This harness'd masque and unadvised revel + This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, + The King doth smile at; and is well prepar'd + To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, + From out the circle of his territories. + That hand which had the strength, even at your door. + To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, + To dive like buckets in concealed wells, + To crouch in litter of your stable planks, + To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, + To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out + In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake + Even at the crying of your nation's crow, + Thinking this voice an armed Englishman- + Shall that victorious hand be feebled here + That in your chambers gave you chastisement? + No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms + And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs + To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. + And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, + You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb + Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; + For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids, + Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, + Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, + Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts + To fierce and bloody inclination. + LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; + We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well; + We hold our time too precious to be spent + With such a brabbler. + PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak. + BASTARD. No, I will speak. + LEWIS. We will attend to neither. + Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war, + Plead for our interest and our being here. + BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; + And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start + And echo with the clamour of thy drum, + And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd + That shall reverberate all as loud as thine: + Sound but another, and another shall, + As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear + And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand- + Not trusting to this halting legate here, + Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need- + Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits + A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day + To feast upon whole thousands of the French. + LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. + BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +England. The field of battle + +Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT + + KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. + HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty? + KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long + Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, + Desires your Majesty to leave the field + And send him word by me which way you go. + KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. + MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply + That was expected by the Dauphin here + Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands; + This news was brought to Richard but even now. + The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. + KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up + And will not let me welcome this good news. + Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight; + Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +England. Another part of the battlefield + +Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT + + SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends. + PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French; + If they miscarry, we miscarry too. + SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, + In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. + PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field. + + Enter MELUN, wounded + + MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here. + SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names. + PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun. + SALISBURY. Wounded to death. + MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; + Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, + And welcome home again discarded faith. + Seek out King John, and fall before his feet; + For if the French be lords of this loud day, + He means to recompense the pains you take + By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn, + And I with him, and many moe with me, + Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury; + Even on that altar where we swore to you + Dear amity and everlasting love. + SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true? + MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view, + Retaining but a quantity of life, + Which bleeds away even as a form of wax + Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? + What in the world should make me now deceive, + Since I must lose the use of all deceit? + Why should I then be false, since it is true + That I must die here, and live hence by truth? + I say again, if Lewis do will the day, + He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours + Behold another day break in the east; + But even this night, whose black contagious breath + Already smokes about the burning crest + Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, + Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, + Paying the fine of rated treachery + Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. + If Lewis by your assistance win the day. + Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; + The love of him-and this respect besides, + For that my grandsire was an Englishman- + Awakes my conscience to confess all this. + In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence + From forth the noise and rumour of the field, + Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts + In peace, and part this body and my soul + With contemplation and devout desires. + SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul + But I do love the favour and the form + Of this most fair occasion, by the which + We will untread the steps of damned flight, + And like a bated and retired flood, + Leaving our rankness and irregular course, + Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, + And calmly run on in obedience + Even to our ocean, to great King John. + My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; + For I do see the cruel pangs of death + Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight, + And happy newness, that intends old right. + Exeunt, leading off MELUN + + + + +SCENE 5. + +England. The French camp + +Enter LEWIS and his train + + LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, + But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, + When English measure backward their own ground + In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, + When with a volley of our needless shot, + After such bloody toil, we bid good night; + And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up, + Last in the field and almost lords of it! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? + LEWIS. Here; what news? + MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords + By his persuasion are again fall'n off, + And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, + Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. + LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! + I did not think to be so sad to-night + As this hath made me. Who was he that said + King John did fly an hour or two before + The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs? + MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. + LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night; + The day shall not be up so soon as I + To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 6. + +An open place wear Swinstead Abbey + +Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally + + HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. + BASTARD. A friend. What art thou? + HUBERT. Of the part of England. + BASTARD. Whither dost thou go? + HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand + Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine? + BASTARD. Hubert, I think. + HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought. + I will upon all hazards well believe + Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well. + Who art thou? + BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please, + Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think + I come one way of the Plantagenets. + HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night + Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me + That any accent breaking from thy tongue + Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. + BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? + HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night + To find you out. + BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news? + HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, + Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. + BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news; + I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. + HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk; + I left him almost speechless and broke out + To acquaint you with this evil, that you might + The better arm you to the sudden time + Than if you had at leisure known of this. + BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him? + HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, + Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King + Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. + BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty? + HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back, + And brought Prince Henry in their company; + At whose request the King hath pardon'd them, + And they are all about his Majesty. + BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, + And tempt us not to bear above our power! + I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, + Passing these flats, are taken by the tide- + These Lincoln Washes have devoured them; + Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. + Away, before! conduct me to the King; + I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 7. + +The orchard at Swinstead Abbey + +Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT + + PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood + Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain. + Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house, + Doth by the idle comments that it makes + Foretell the ending of mortality. + + Enter PEMBROKE + + PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief + That, being brought into the open air, + It would allay the burning quality + Of that fell poison which assaileth him. + PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here. + Doth he still rage? Exit BIGOT + PEMBROKE. He is more patient + Than when you left him; even now he sung. + PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes + In their continuance will not feel themselves. + Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, + Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now + Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds + With many legions of strange fantasies, + Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, + Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing. + I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan + Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, + And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings + His soul and body to their lasting rest. + SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born + To set a form upon that indigest + Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. + + Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in + KING JOHN in a chair + + KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room; + It would not out at windows nor at doors. + There is so hot a summer in my bosom + That all my bowels crumble up to dust. + I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen + Upon a parchment, and against this fire + Do I shrink up. + PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty? + KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off; + And none of you will bid the winter come + To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, + Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course + Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north + To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips + And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much; + I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait + And so ingrateful you deny me that. + PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears, + That might relieve you! + KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot. + Within me is a hell; and there the poison + Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize + On unreprievable condemned blood. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion + And spleen of speed to see your Majesty! + KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye! + The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt, + And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail + Are turned to one thread, one little hair; + My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, + Which holds but till thy news be uttered; + And then all this thou seest is but a clod + And module of confounded royalty. + BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, + Where God He knows how we shall answer him; + For in a night the best part of my pow'r, + As I upon advantage did remove, + Were in the Washes all unwarily + Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies] + SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. + My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus. + PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. + What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, + When this was now a king, and now is clay? + BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind + To do the office for thee of revenge, + And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, + As it on earth hath been thy servant still. + Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres, + Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths, + And instantly return with me again + To push destruction and perpetual shame + Out of the weak door of our fainting land. + Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; + The Dauphin rages at our very heels. + SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we: + The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, + Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, + And brings from him such offers of our peace + As we with honour and respect may take, + With purpose presently to leave this war. + BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees + Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. + SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already; + For many carriages he hath dispatch'd + To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel + To the disposing of the Cardinal; + With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, + If you think meet, this afternoon will post + To consummate this business happily. + BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince, + With other princes that may best be spar'd, + Shall wait upon your father's funeral. + PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; + For so he will'd it. + BASTARD. Thither shall it, then; + And happily may your sweet self put on + The lineal state and glory of the land! + To whom, with all submission, on my knee + I do bequeath my faithful services + And true subjection everlastingly. + SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make, + To rest without a spot for evermore. + PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, + And knows not how to do it but with tears. + BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, + Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. + This England never did, nor never shall, + Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, + But when it first did help to wound itself. + Now these her princes are come home again, + Come the three corners of the world in arms, + And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, + If England to itself do rest but true. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + + +1599 + + +THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + JULIUS CAESAR, Roman statesman and general + OCTAVIUS, Triumvir after Caesar's death, later Augustus Caesar, + first emperor of Rome + MARK ANTONY, general and friend of Caesar, a Triumvir after his death + LEPIDUS, third member of the Triumvirate + MARCUS BRUTUS, leader of the conspiracy against Caesar + CASSIUS, instigator of the conspiracy + CASCA, conspirator against Caesar + TREBONIUS, " " " + CAIUS LIGARIUS, " " " + DECIUS BRUTUS, " " " + METELLUS CIMBER, " " " + CINNA, " " " + CALPURNIA, wife of Caesar + PORTIA, wife of Brutus + CICERO, senator + POPILIUS, " + POPILIUS LENA, " + FLAVIUS, tribune + MARULLUS, tribune + CATO, supportor of Brutus + LUCILIUS, " " " + TITINIUS, " " " + MESSALA, " " " + VOLUMNIUS, " " " + ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric + CINNA, a poet + VARRO, servant to Brutus + CLITUS, " " " + CLAUDIO, " " " + STRATO, " " " + LUCIUS, " " " + DARDANIUS, " " " + PINDARUS, servant to Cassius + The Ghost of Caesar + A Soothsayer + A Poet + Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi. + + +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 laboring 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 mean'st 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 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. + + + + +SCENE II. +A public place. + +Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia, +Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great crowd follows, +among them a Soothsayer. + + CAESAR. Calpurnia! + CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. + Music ceases. + CAESAR. Calpurnia! + CALPURNIA. Here, my lord. + CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way, + When he doth run his course. Antonio! + ANTONY. Caesar, my lord? + CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio, + 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 you beware the ides of March. + CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face. + CASSIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. + CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. + SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March. + CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass. + Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius. + CASSIUS. Will you go see the order of the course? + BRUTUS. Not I. + CASSIUS. I pray you, do. + BRUTUS. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part + Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. + Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; + I'll leave you. + CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late; + I have not from your eyes that gentleness + And show of love as I was wont to have; + You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand + Over your friend that loves you. + BRUTUS. Cassius, + Be not deceived; if I have veil'd my look, + I turn the trouble of my countenance + Merely upon myself. Vexed I am + Of late with passions of some difference, + Conceptions only proper to myself, + Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; + But let not therefore my good friends be grieved- + Among which number, Cassius, be you one- + Nor construe any further my neglect + Than that poor Brutus with himself at war + Forgets the shows of love to other men. + CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion, + By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried + Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. + Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? + BRUTUS. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself + But by reflection, by some other 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 honor 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 honor more than I fear death. + CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, + As well as I do know your outward favor. + Well, honor 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 color fly, + And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world + Did lose his luster. 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 honors 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 dishonorable 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. + + Re-enter Caesar and his Train. + + BRUTUS. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. + CASSIUS. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve, + And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you + What hath proceeded worthy note today. + BRUTUS. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, + The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, + And all the rest look like a chidden train: + 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. Antonio! + 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 anything. + Such men as he be never at heart's ease + Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, + And therefore are they very dangerous. + I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd + Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. + Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, + And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. + 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 today + 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 ashouting. + 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, wast, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler + than other, and at every putting by mine honest neighbors + 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 hang'd as tell the manner of it. It was + mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a + crown (yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these + coronets) and, as I told you, he put it by once. But for all + that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered + it to him again; then he put it by again. But, to my thinking, he + was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it + the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he + refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chopped hands + and threw up their sweaty nightcaps 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 Caesars wound? + CASCA. He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at mouth and was + speechless. + BRUTUS. 'Tis very like. He hath the falling sickness. + CASSIUS. No, Caesar hath it not, but you, and I, + And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. + CASCA. I know not what you mean by that, but I am sure Caesar fell + down. If the tagrag 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 had been a man of any + occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I + might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came + to himself again, he said, if he had done or said anything amiss, + he 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 anything? + CASCA. Ay, he spoke Greek. + CASSIUS. To what effect? + CASCA. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll 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 could remember it. + CASSIUS. Will you sup with me tonight, Casca? + CASCA. No, I am promised forth. + CASSIUS. Will you dine with me tomorrow? + CASCA. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth + the eating. + CASSIUS. Good, I will expect you. + CASCA. Do so, farewell, both. Exit. + BRUTUS. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! + He was quick mettle when he went to school. + CASSIUS. So is he now in execution + Of any bold or noble enterprise, + However he puts on this tardy form. + This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, + Which gives men stomach to digest his words + With better appetite. + BRUTUS. And so it is. For this time I will leave you. + Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me, + I will come home to you, or, if you will, + Come home to me and I will wait for you. + CASSIUS. I will do so. Till then, think of the world. + Exit Brutus. + Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see + Thy honorable mettle 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 humor me. I will this night, + In several hands, in at his windows throw, + As if they came from several citizens, + Writings, all tending to the great opinion + That Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely + Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at. + And after this let Caesar seat him sure; + For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit. + + + + +SCENE III. +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 tonight, never till now, + Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. + Either there is a civil strife in heaven, + Or else the world too saucy with the gods + Incenses them to send destruction. + CICERO. Why, saw you anything more wonderful? + CASCA. A common slave- you 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 glaz'd upon me and went surly by + Without annoying me. And there were drawn + Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women + Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw + Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. + And yesterday the bird of night did sit + Even at noonday upon the marketplace, + Howling and shrieking. When these prodigies + Do so conjointly meet, let not men say + "These are their reasons; they are natural": + For I believe they are portentous things + Unto the climate that they point upon. + CICERO. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time. + But men may construe things after their fashion, + Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. + Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow? + CASCA. He doth, for he did bid Antonio + Send word to you he would be there tomorrow. + CICERO. Good 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 thunderstone; + And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open + The breast of heaven, I did present myself + Even in the aim and very flash of it. + CASCA. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? + It is the part of men to fear and tremble + When the most mighty gods by tokens send + Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. + CASSIUS. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life + That should be in a Roman you do want, + Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze + And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder + To see the strange impatience of the heavens. + But if you would consider the true cause + Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, + Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, + Why old men, fools, and children calculate, + Why all these things change from their ordinance, + Their natures, and 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 honorable-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 favor's like the work we have in hand, + Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. + + Enter Cinna. + + CASCA. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. + CASSIUS. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait; + He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so? + CINNA. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? + CASSIUS. No, it is Casca, one incorporate + To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? + CINNA. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this! + There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. + CASSIUS. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me. + CINNA. Yes, you are. + O Cassius, if you could + But win the noble Brutus to our party- + CASSIUS. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper, + And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, + Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this + In at his window; set this up with wax + Upon old Brutus' statue. All this done, + Repair to Pompey's Porch, where you shall find us. + Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? + CINNA. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone + To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie + And so bestow these papers as you bade me. + CASSIUS. That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre. + Exit Cinna. + Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day + See Brutus at his house. Three parts of him + Is ours already, and the man entire + Upon the next encounter yields him ours. + CASCA. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts, + And that which would appear offense 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +Enter Brutus in his orchard. + + 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 color 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 tomorrow, boy, the ides of March? + LUCIUS. I know not, sir. + BRUTUS. Look in the calendar and bring me word. + LUCIUS. I will, sir. Exit. + BRUTUS. The exhalations whizzing in the air + Give so much light that I may read by them. + Opens the letter and reads. + "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself! + Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!" + + "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!" + Such instigations have been often dropp'd + Where I have took them up. + "Shall Rome, etc." 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 fifteen 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 more 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 favor. + 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, 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 honors 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? They whisper. + DECIUS. Here lies the east. Doth not the day break here? + CASCA. No. + CINNA. O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yongrey 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 valor + 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. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs + Will purchase us a good opinion, + And buy men's voices to commend our deeds. + It shall be said his judgement 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 anything + That other men begin. + CASSIUS. Then leave him out. + CASCA. Indeed he is not fit. + DECIUS. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? + CASSIUS. Decius, well 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 ingrated love he bears to Caesar- + BRUTUS. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him. + If he love Caesar, all that he can do + Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar. + And that were much he should, for he is given + To sports, to wildness, and much company. + TREBONIUS. There is no fear in him-let him not die, + For he will live and laugh at this hereafter. + Clock strikes. + BRUTUS. Peace, count the clock. + CASSIUS. The clock hath stricken three. + TREBONIUS. 'Tis time to part. + CASSIUS. But it is doubtful yet + Whether Caesar will come forth today or no, + For he is superstitious grown of late, + Quite from the main opinion he held once + Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. + It may be these apparent prodigies, + The unaccustom'd terror of this night, + And the persuasion of his augurers + May hold him from the Capitol today. + DECIUS. Never fear that. If he be so resolved, + I can o'ersway him, for he loves to hear + That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, + And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, + Lions with toils, and men with flatterers; + But when I tell him he hates flatterers, + He says he does, being then most flattered. + Let me work; + For I can give his humor 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 utter most? + CINNA. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. + METELLUS. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, + Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey. + I wonder none of you have thought of him. + BRUTUS. Now, good Metellus, go along by him. + He loves me well, and I have given him 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. have ungently, Brutus, + Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper + You suddenly arose and walk'd about, + Musing and sighing, with your arms across; + And when I ask'd you what the matter was, + You 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 waiter 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 humor, + 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 humors + 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 offense 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 tonight + Have had resort to you; for here have been + Some six or seven, who did hide their faces + Even from darkness. + BRUTUS. Kneel not, gentle Portia. + PORTIA. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. + Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, + Is it excepted I should know no secrets + That appertain to you? Am I 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 honorable 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. Here is a sick man that would speak with you. + BRUTUS. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. + Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how? + LIGARIUS. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. + BRUTUS. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, + To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! + LIGARIUS. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand + Any exploit worthy the name of honor. + 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 honorable 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. + + + + +SCENE II. +Caesar's house. Thunder and lightning. + +Enter Caesar, in his nightgown. + + CAESAR. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight. + Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, + "Help, ho! They murther 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 today. + CAESAR. Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me + Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see + The face of Caesar, they are vanished. + CALPURNIA. Caesar, I I stood on ceremonies, + Yet now they fright me. There is one within, + Besides the things that we have heard and seen, + Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. + A lioness hath whelped in the streets; + And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; + Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, + In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, + Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; + The noise of battle hurtled in the air, + Horses did neigh and dying men did groan, + And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. + O Caesar! These things are beyond all use, + And I do fear them. + CAESAR. What can be avoided + Whose end is 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 today. + Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, + They could not find a heart within the beast. + CAESAR. The gods do this in shame of cowardice. + Caesar should be a beast without a heart + If he should stay at home today for fear. + No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well + That Caesar is more dangerous than he. + We are two lions litter'd in one day, + And I the elder and more terrible. + And Caesar shall go forth. + CALPURNIA. Alas, my lord, + Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. + Do not go forth today. Call it my fear + That keeps you in the house and not your own. + We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House, + And he shall say you are not well today. + Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. + CAESAR. Mark Antony shall say I am not well, + And, for thy humor, I will stay at home. + + Enter Decius. + + Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. + DECIUS. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar! + I come to fetch you to the Senate House. + CAESAR. And you are come in very happy time + To bear my greeting to the senators + And tell them that I will not come today. + Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: + I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius. + CALPURNIA. Say he is sick. + CAESAR. Shall Caesar send a lie? + Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far + To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth? + Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. + DECIUS. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, + Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. + CAESAR. The cause is in my will: I will not come, + That is enough to satisfy the Senate. + But, for your private satisfaction, + Because I love you, I will let you know. + Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home; + She dreamt tonight she saw my statue, + Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, + Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans + Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it. + And these does she apply for warnings and portents + And evils imminent, and on her knee + Hath begg'd that I will stay at home today. + DECIUS. This dream is all amiss interpreted; + It was a vision fair and fortunate. + Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, + In which so many smiling Romans 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. I have, when you have heard what I can say. + And know it now, the Senate have concluded + To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. + If you shall send them word you will not come, + Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock + Apt to be render'd, for someone to say + "Break up the Senate till another time, + When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams." + If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper + "Lo, Caesar is afraid"? + Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear dear love + To your proceeding bids me tell you this, + And reason to my love is liable. + CAESAR. How foolish do your fears seem now, 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 today; + Be near me, that I may remember you. + TREBONIUS. Caesar, I will. [Aside.] And so near will I be + That your best friends shall wish I had been further. + CAESAR. Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me, + And we like friends will straightway go together. + BRUTUS. [Aside.] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, + The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +A street near the Capitol. + +Enter Artemidorus, reading 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 mayest live; + If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit. + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. + +Enter Portia and Lucius. + + PORTIA. I 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 rumor 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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, Metellus, +Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. + + CAESAR. The ides of March are come. + SOOTHSAYER. Ay, Caesar, but not gone. + A Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. + DECIUS. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er read, + At your best leisure, this his humble suit. + ARTEMIDORUS. O Caesar, read mine first, for mine's a suit + That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. + CAESAR. What touches us ourself shall be last 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 follow. + + POPILIUS. I wish your enterprise today may thrive. + CASSIUS. What enterprise, Popilius? + POPILIUS. Fare you well. + Advances to Caesar. + BRUTUS. What said Popilius Lena? + CASSIUS. He wish'd today our enterprise might thrive. + I fear our purpose is discovered. + BRUTUS. Look, how he makes to Caesar. Mark him. + CASSIUS. Casca, + Be sudden, for we fear prevention. + Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, + Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, + For I will slay myself. + BRUTUS. Cassius, be constant. + Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; + For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. + CASSIUS. Trebonius knows his time, for, look you, Brutus, + He draws Mark Antony out of the way. + Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. + DECIUS. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him + And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. + BRUTUS. He is address'd; press near and second him. + CINNA. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. + CAESAR. Are we all ready? What is now amiss + That Caesar and his Senate must redress? + METELLUS. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, + Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat + An humble heart. Kneels. + CAESAR. I must prevent thee, Cimber. + These couchings and these lowly courtesies + Might fire the blood of ordinary men + And turn preordinance 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. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, + To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear + For the repealing of my banish'd brother? + BRUTUS. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar, + Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may + Have an immediate freedom of repeal. + CAESAR. What, Brutus? + CASSIUS. Pardon, Caesar! Caesar, pardon! + As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall + To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. + CAESAR. I could be well 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. Great Caesar- + CAESAR. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? + CASCA. Speak, hands, for me! + Casca first, then the other Conspirators + and Marcus 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 still; ambition's debt is paid. + CASCA. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. + DECIUS. And Cassius too. + BRUTUS. Where's Publius? + CINNA. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. + METELLUS. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's + Should chance- + BRUTUS. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer, + There is no harm intended to your person, + Nor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius. + CASSIUS. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people + Rushing on us should do your age some mischief. + BRUTUS. Do so, and let no man abide this deed + But we the doers. + + 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 marketplace, + And waving our red weapons o'er our heads, + Let's all cry, "Peace, freedom, and liberty!" + CASSIUS. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence + Shall this our lofty scene be acted over + In states unborn and accents yet unknown! + BRUTUS. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, + That now on Pompey's basis lies along + No worthier than the dust! + CASSIUS. So oft as that shall be, + So often shall the knot of us be call'd + The men that gave their country liberty. + DECIUS. What, shall we forth? + CASSIUS. Ay, every man away. + Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels + With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. + + Enter a Servant. + + BRUTUS. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. + SERVANT. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel, + Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down, + And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: + Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; + Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving. + Say I love Brutus and I honor him; + Say I fear'd Caesar, honor'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 honor, + 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. + + Re-enter Antony. + + BRUTUS. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. + ANTONY. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? + Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, + Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. + I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, + Who else must be let blood, who else is rank. + If I myself, there is no hour so fit + As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument + Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich + With the most noble blood of all this world. + I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, + Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, + Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, + I shall not find myself so apt to die; + No place will please me so, no means of death, + As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, + The choice and master spirits of this age. + BRUTUS. O Antony, beg not your death of us! + Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, + As, by our hands and this our present act + You see we do, yet see you but our hands + And this the bleeding business they have done. + Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; + And pity to the general wrong of Rome- + As fire drives out fire, so pity pity- + Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, + To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony; + Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts + Of brothers' temper, do receive you in + With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. + CASSIUS. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's + In the disposing of new dignities. + BRUTUS. Only be patient till we have 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 least in love, yours, good Trebonius. + Gentlemen all- alas, what shall I say? + My credit now stands on such slippery ground, + That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, + Either a coward or a flatterer. + That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true! + If then thy spirit look upon us now, + Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death + To see thy Antony making his peace, + Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, + Most noble! In the presence of thy corse? + Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, + Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, + It would become me better than to close + In terms of friendship with thine enemies. + Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart, + Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand, + Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy Lethe. + O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, + And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. + How like a deer strucken by many princes + Dost thou here lie! + CASSIUS. Mark Antony- + ANTONY. Pardon me, Caius Cassius. + The enemies of Caesar shall say this: + Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. + CASSIUS. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; + But what compact mean you to have with us? + Will you be prick'd in number of our friends, + Or shall we on, and not depend on you? + ANTONY. Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed + Sway'd from the point by looking down on Caesar. + Friends am I with you all and love you all, + Upon this hope that you shall give me reasons + Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. + BRUTUS. Or else were this a savage spectacle. + Our reasons are so full of good regard + That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, + You should be satisfied. + ANTONY. That's all I seek; + And am moreover suitor that I may + Produce his body to the marketplace, + 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! Sees 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 tonight 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 marketplace. There shall I try, + In my oration, how the people take + The cruel issue of these bloody men, + According to the which thou shalt discourse + To young Octavius of the state of things. + Lend me your hand. Exeunt with Caesar's body. + + + + +SCENE II. +The 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 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 honor, and have + respect to mine honor, 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 freemen? As Caesar loved me, I + weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was + valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There + is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, + 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 offenses 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 + clamors. + 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 corse, 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- + ALL. 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 honorable man; + So are they all, all honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable man. + I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, + But here I am to speak what I do know. + You all did love him once, not without cause; + What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? + O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts, + And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; + My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, + And I must pause till it come back to me. + FIRST CITIZEN. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. + SECOND CITIZEN. If thou consider rightly of the matter, + Caesar has had great wrong. + THIRD CITIZEN. Has he, masters? + I fear there will a worse come in his place. + FOURTH CITIZEN. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown; + Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. + FIRST CITIZEN. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. + SECOND CITIZEN. Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping. + THIRD CITIZEN. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. + FOURTH CITIZEN. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. + ANTONY. But yesterday the word of Caesar might + Have stood against the world. Now lies he there, + And none so poor to do him reverence. + O masters! If I were disposed to stir + Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, + I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, + Who, you all know, are honorable men. + I will not do them wrong; I rather choose + To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, + Than I will wrong such honorable 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, hearing the will of Caesar, + It will inflame you, it will make you mad. + 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs, + For if you should, O, what would come of it! + FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony. + You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. + ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? + I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. + I fear I wrong the honorable men + Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it. + FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honorable men! + ALL. The will! The testament! + SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murtherers. The will! + Read the will! + ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will? + Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar, + And let me show you him that made the will. + Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? + ALL. Come down. + SECOND CITIZEN. Descend. + He comes down from the pulpit. + THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have leave. + FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring, stand round. + FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. + SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. + ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me, stand far off. + ALL. 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 statue, + Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. + O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! + Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, + Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. + O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel + The dint of pity. These are gracious drops. + Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold + Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, + Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. + FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle! + SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar! + THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day! + FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors villains! + FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight! + SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged. + 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 honorable. + What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, + That made them do it. They are wise and honorable, + 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 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 arbors, and new-planted orchards, + On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, + And to your heirs forever- common pleasures, + To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. + Here was a Caesar! When comes such another? + FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away! + We'll burn his body in the holy place + And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. + Take up the body. + SECOND CITIZEN. Go fetch fire. + THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches. + FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. + Exeunt Citizens with the body. + ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, + Take thou what course thou wilt. + + Enter a Servant. + + How now, fellow? + SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. + ANTONY. Where is he? + SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. + ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him. + He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, + And in this mood will give us anything. + SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius + Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. + ANTONY. Be like they had some notice of the people, + How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +A street. + +Enter Cinna the poet. + + CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, + And things unluckily charge my fantasy. + I have no will to wander forth of doors, + Yet something leads me forth. + + 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. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I + a married man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly + and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor. + SECOND CITIZEN. That's as much as to say they are fools that marry. + You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed directly. + CINNA. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. + FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend or an enemy? + CINNA. As a friend. + SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly. + FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly. + CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. + THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly. + CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna. + FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. + CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. + FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad + verses. + CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator. + FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name's Cinna. Pluck but his + name out of his heart, and turn him going. + THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho, firebrands. To + Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some to Decius' house, and some + to Casca's, some to Ligarius'. Away, go! Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 honors 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 objects, arts, 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. + + + + +SCENE II. +Camp near Sardis. Before Brutus' tent. Drum. + +Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers; Titinius and Pindarus meet 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 honor. + 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 meant his night in Sard is to be quarter'd; + The greater part, the horse in general, + Are come with Cassius. Low march within. + BRUTUS. Hark, he is arrived. + 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. + + + + +SCENE III. +Brutus' 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 wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. + CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet + That every nice offense 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 speaks this, + Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. + BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honors 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 honors + For so much trash as may be grasped thus? + I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, + Than such a Roman. + CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me, + I'll not endure it. You forget yourself + To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, + Older in practice, abler than yourself + To make conditions. + BRUTUS. Go to, you are not, Cassius. + CASSIUS. I am. + BRUTUS. I say you are not. + CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; + Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. + BRUTUS. Away, slight man! + CASSIUS. Is't possible? + BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak. + Must I give way and room to your rash choler? + Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? + CASSIUS. O 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 bouge? + Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch + Under your testy humor? 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; + Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, + Set in a notebook, 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 Pluto's mine, richer than gold. + If that thou best 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, dishonor shall be humor. + 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 humor which my mother gave me + Makes me forgetful? + BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, + When you are overearnest 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 humor when he knows his time. + What should the wars do with these jigging fools? + Companion, hence! + CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone! Exit Poet. + BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders + Prepare to lodge their companies tonight. + CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you + Immediately to us. Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. + BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine! Exit Lucius. + CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry. + BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. + CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use, + If you give place to accidental evils. + BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. + CASSIUS. Ha? Portia? + BRUTUS. She is dead. + CASSIUS. How 'scaped 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. Drinks. + CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. + Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; + I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Drinks. + 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 tenure. + BRUTUS. With what addition? + MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry + Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus + Have put to death an hundred senators. + BRUTUS. There in 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 offense, 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 tomorrow will we rise and hence. + BRUTUS. Lucius! + + Re-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. Everything is well. + CASSIUS. Good night, my lord. + BRUTUS. Good night, good brother. + TITINIUS. MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus. + BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone. + 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'erwatch'd. + Call Claudio and some other of my men, + I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. + LUCIUS. Varro and Claudio! + + Enter Varro and Claudio. + + 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 would 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 Claudio 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 murtherous slumber, + Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy + That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night. + I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. + If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; + I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. + Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down + Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. Sits down. + + Enter the Ghost of Caesar. + + How ill this taper burns! Ha, who comes here? + I think it is the weakness of mine eyes + That shapes this monstrous apparition. + It comes upon me. Art thou anything? + Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil + That 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! Claudio! Sirs, awake! + Claudio! + LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false. + BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument. + Lucius, awake! + LUCIUS. My lord? + BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? + LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. + BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything? + LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord. + BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudio! + [To Varro.] Fellow thou, awake! + VARRO. My lord? + CLAUDIO. My lord? + BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? + VARRO. CLAUDIO. Did we, my lord? + BRUTUS. Ay, saw you anything? + VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing. + CLAUDIO. 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. CLAUDIO. It shall be done, my lord. Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 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 + Strooke Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers! + CASSIUS. Flatterers? Now, Brutus, thank yourself. + This tongue had not offended so today, + 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 honorable. + CASSIUS. A peevish school boy, worthless of such honor, + Join'd with a masker and a reveler! + ANTONY. Old Cassius still! + OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony, away! + Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. + If you dare fight today, come to the field; + If not, when you have stomachs. + Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army. + CASSIUS. Why, now, blow and, swell billow, and swim bark! + The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. + BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you. + LUCILIUS. [Stands forth.] My lord? + Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. + CASSIUS. Messala! + MESSALA. [Stands forth.] What says my general? + CASSIUS. Messala, + This is my birthday, 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 today stand friendly that we may, + Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! + But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, + Let's reason with the worst that may befall. + If we do lose this battle, then is this + The very last time we shall speak together. + What are you then determined to do? + BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy + By which I did blame Cato for the death + Which he did give himself- I know not how, + But I do find it cowardly and vile, + For fear of what might fall, so to prevent + The time of life- arming myself with patience + To stay the providence of some high powers + That govern us below. + CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle, + You are contented to be led in triumph + Thorough the streets of Rome? + BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no. Think not, thou noble Roman, + That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; + He bears too great a mind. But this same day + Must end that work the ides of March begun. + And whether we shall meet again I know not. + Therefore our everlasting farewell take. + Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! + If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; + If not, why then this parting was well made. + CASSIUS. Forever and forever farewell, Brutus! + If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; + If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. + BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know + The end of this day's business ere it come! + But it sufficeth that the day will end, + And then the end is known. Come, ho! Away! Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE II. +The 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 Octavia's wing, + And sudden push gives them the overthrow. + Ride, ride, Messala. Let them all come down. Exeunt. + + + + +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 would well comfort Cassius. + MESSALA. Where did you leave him? + TITINIUS. All disconsolate, + With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. + MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? + TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart! + MESSALA. Is not that he? + TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala, + But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, + As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, + So in his red blood Cassius' day is set, + The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; + Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done! + Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. + MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. + O hateful error, melancholy's child, + Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men + The things that are not? O error, soon 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 everything! + But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; + Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I + Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, + And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. + By your leave, gods, this is a Roman's part. + Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. + Kills himself. + + Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato, + and others. + + 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 whe'er 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 moe 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. + Labio and Flavio, set our battles on. + 'Tis three o'clock, and Romans, yet ere night + We shall try fortune in a second fight. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the field. + +Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, young 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 honor'd, being Cato's son. + FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest. + LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die. + [Offers money.] There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight: + Kill Brutus, and be honor'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 wheer Brutus be alive or dead, + And bring us word unto Octavius' tent + How everything is chanced. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the field. + +Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius. + + BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. + CLITUS. Statilius show'd the torchlight, 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 labor'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 honor 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 honor 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 tonight shall lie, + Most like a soldier, ordered honorably. + So call the field to rest, and let's away, + To part the glories of this happy day. Exeunt. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + + +1606 + + +THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR + +by William Shakespeare + + + + +Dramatis Personae + + Lear, King of Britain. + King of France. + Duke of Burgundy. + Duke of Cornwall. + Duke of Albany. + Earl of Kent. + Earl of Gloucester. + Edgar, son of Gloucester. + Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester. + Curan, a courtier. + Old Man, tenant to Gloucester. + Doctor. + Lear's Fool. + Oswald, steward to Goneril. + A Captain under Edmund's command. + Gentlemen. + A Herald. + Servants to Cornwall. + + Goneril, daughter to Lear. + Regan, daughter to Lear. + Cordelia, daughter to Lear. + + Knights attending on Lear, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, + Attendants. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +Scene: - Britain. + + +ACT I. Scene I. +[King Lear's Palace.] + +Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Glouceste converse. +Edmund stands back.] + + Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than + Cornwall. + Glou. 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 weigh'd that curiosity in neither can make + choice of either's moiety. + Kent. Is not this your son, my lord? + Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often + blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't. + Kent. I cannot conceive you. + Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew + round-womb'd, 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. + Glou. 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? + Edm. [comes forward] No, my lord. + Glou. My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable + friend. + Edm. My services to your lordship. + Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. + Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. + Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. + Sound a sennet. + The King is coming. + + Enter one bearing a coronet; then Lear; then the Dukes of + Albany and Cornwall; next, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, with + Followers. + + Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. + Glou. I shall, my liege. + Exeunt [Gloucester and Edmund]. + Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. + Give me the map there. Know 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. + Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; + Dearer than eyesight, 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 lov'd, or father found; + A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable. + Beyond all manner of so much I love you. + Cor. [aside] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent. + Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, + With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, + With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, + We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue + Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter, + Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. + Reg. Sir, I am made + Of the selfsame 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. + Cor. [aside] Then poor Cordelia! + And yet not so; since I am sure my love's + More richer than my tongue. + Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever + Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, + No less in space, validity, and pleasure + Than that conferr'd on Goneril.- Now, our joy, + Although the last, not least; to whose young love + The vines of France and milk of Burgundy + Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw + A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. + Cor. Nothing, my lord. + Lear. Nothing? + Cor. Nothing. + Lear. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again. + Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave + My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty + According to my bond; no more nor less. + Lear. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, + Lest it may mar your fortunes. + Cor. Good my lord, + You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I + Return those duties back as are right fit, + Obey you, love you, and most honour you. + Why have my sisters husbands, if they say + They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, + That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry + Half my love with him, half my care and duty. + Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, + To love my father all. + Lear. But goes thy heart with this? + Cor. Ay, good my lord. + Lear. So young, and so untender? + Cor. So young, my lord, and true. + Lear. Let it be so! thy truth then be thy dower! + For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, + The mysteries of Hecate and the night; + By all the operation of the orbs + From whom we do exist and cease to be; + Here I disclaim all my paternal care, + Propinquity and property of blood, + And as a stranger to my heart and me + Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, + Or he that makes his generation messes + To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom + Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd, + As thou my sometime daughter. + Kent. Good my liege- + Lear. Peace, Kent! + Come not between the dragon and his wrath. + I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest + On her kind nursery.- 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 in my power, + Preeminence, 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 th' additions to a king. The sway, + Revenue, execution of the rest, + Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, + This coronet part betwixt you. + Kent. Royal Lear, + Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, + Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, + As my great patron thought on in my prayers- + Lear. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft. + Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade + The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly + When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? + Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak + When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound + When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom; + And in thy best consideration check + 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. + Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more! + Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn + To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it, + Thy safety being the motive. + Lear. Out of my sight! + Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain + The true blank of thine eye. + Lear. Now by Apollo- + Kent. Now by Apollo, King, + Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. + Lear. O vassal! miscreant! + [Lays his hand on his sword.] + Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear! + Kent. Do! + Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow + Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, + Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, + I'll tell thee thou dost evil. + Lear. Hear me, recreant! + On thine allegiance, hear me! + Since thou hast sought to make us break our 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 revok'd. + Kent. Fare thee well, King. Since 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. Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy; Attendants. + + Glou. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. + Lear. My Lord of Burgundy, + We first address toward you, who with this king + Hath rivall'd for our daughter. What in the least + Will you require in present dower with her, + Or cease your quest of love? + Bur. Most royal Majesty, + I crave no more than hath your Highness offer'd, + Nor will you tender less. + Lear. Right noble Burgundy, + When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; + But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands. + If aught within that little seeming substance, + Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, + And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace, + She's there, and she is yours. + Bur. I know no answer. + Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, + Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, + Dow'r'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, + Take her, or leave her? + Bur. Pardon me, royal sir. + Election makes not up on such conditions. + Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow'r that made me, + I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, great King, + I would not from your love make such a stray + To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you + T' avert your liking a more worthier way + Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd + Almost t' acknowledge hers. + France. This is most strange, + That she 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 + Should never plant in me. + Cor. 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, murther, or foulness, + No unchaste action or dishonoured step, + That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour; + But even for want of that for which I am richer- + A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue + As I am glad I have not, though not to have it + Hath lost me in your liking. + Lear. Better thou + Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me better. + France. Is it but this- a tardiness in nature + Which often leaves the history unspoke + That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy, + What say you to the lady? Love's not love + When it is mingled with regards that stands + Aloof from th' entire point. Will you have her? + She is herself a dowry. + Bur. Royal Lear, + Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, + And here I take Cordelia by the hand, + Duchess of Burgundy. + Lear. Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm. + Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father + That you must lose a husband. + Cor. Peace be with Burgundy! + Since that respects of fortune are his love, + I shall not be his wife. + France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; + Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! + Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. + Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. + Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect + My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. + Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, + Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. + Not all the dukes in wat'rish Burgundy + Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. + Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind. + Thou losest here, a better where to find. + Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we + Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see + That face of hers again. Therefore be gone + Without our grace, our love, our benison. + Come, noble Burgundy. + Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, [Cornwall, Albany, + Gloucester, and Attendants]. + France. Bid farewell to your sisters. + Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes + Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are; + And, like a sister, am most loath to call + Your faults as they are nam'd. 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. + Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. + Reg. Let your study + Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you + At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, + And well are worth the want that you have wanted. + Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides. + Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. + Well may you prosper! + France. Come, my fair Cordelia. + Exeunt France and Cordelia. + Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly + appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. + Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. + Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we + have made of it hath not been little. He always lov'd our + sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her + off appears too grossly. + Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly + known himself. + Gon. 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-ingraffed condition, but therewithal + the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with + them. + Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this + of Kent's banishment. + Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 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. + Reg. We shall further think on't. + Gon. We must do something, and i' th' heat. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +The Earl of Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter [Edmund the] Bastard solus, [with a letter]. + + Edm. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law + My services are bound. Wherefore should I + Stand in the plague of custom, and permit + The curiosity of nations to deprive me, + For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines + Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? + When my dimensions are as well compact, + My mind as generous, and my shape as true, + As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us + With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? + Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take + More composition and fierce quality + Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, + Go to th' 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 th' legitimate. Fine word- 'legitimate'! + Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, + And my invention thrive, Edmund the base + Shall top th' legitimate. I grow; I prosper. + Now, gods, stand up for bastards! + + Enter Gloucester. + + Glou. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choler parted? + And the King gone to-night? subscrib'd his pow'r? + Confin'd to exhibition? All this done + Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news? + Edm. So please your lordship, none. + [Puts up the letter.] + Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? + Edm. I know no news, my lord. + Glou. What paper were you reading? + Edm. Nothing, my lord. + Glou. 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. + Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother + that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have + perus'd, I find it not fit for your o'erlooking. + Glou. Give me the letter, sir. + Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as + in part I understand them, are to blame. + Glou. Let's see, let's see! + Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as + an essay or taste of my virtue. + + Glou. (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 suffer'd. Come to me, that + of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I + wak'd him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live + the beloved of your brother, + 'EDGAR.' + + Hum! Conspiracy? 'Sleep till I wak'd 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? + Edm. It was not brought me, my lord: there's the cunning of it. I + found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. + Glou. You know the character to be your brother's? + Edm. 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. + Glou. It is his. + Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the + contents. + Glou. Hath he never before sounded you in this business? + Edm. 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. + Glou. 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? + Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend + your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him + better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; + where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his + purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake + in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life + for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your + honour, and to no other pretence of danger. + Glou. Think you so? + Edm. 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. + Glou. He cannot be such a monster. + Edm. Nor is not, sure. + Glou. 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. + Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I + shall find means, and acquaint you withal. + Glou. 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 scourg'd by the sequent effects. Love cools, + friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies; in + countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd + '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 banish'd! his + offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit. + Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are + sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we make + guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if + we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; + knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance; + drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforc'd obedience of + planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine + thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay + his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father + compounded with my mother under the Dragon's Tail, and my + nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and + lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the + maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. + Edgar- + + Enter Edgar. + + and pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My + cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. + O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi. + Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you + in? + Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, + what should follow these eclipses. + Edg. Do you busy yourself with that? + Edm. 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. + Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical? + Edm. Come, come! When saw you my father last? + Edg. The night gone by. + Edm. Spake you with him? + Edg. Ay, two hours together. + Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by + word or countenance + Edg. None at all. + Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at my + entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath + qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so + rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would + scarcely allay. + Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. + Edm. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till + the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me + to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my + lord speak. Pray ye, go! There's my key. If you do stir abroad, + go arm'd. + Edg. Arm'd, brother? + Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. Go arm'd. I am no honest man + if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you what I + have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and + horror of it. Pray you, away! + Edg. Shall I hear from you anon? + Edm. I do serve you in this business. + Exit Edgar. + A credulous father! and a brother noble, + Whose nature is so far from doing harms + That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty + My practices ride easy! I see the business. + Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; + All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. +Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +The Duke of Albany's Palace. + +Enter Goneril and [her] Steward [Oswald]. + + Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? + Osw. Ay, madam. + Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour + He flashes into one gross crime or other + That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it. + His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us + On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, + I will not speak with him. Say I am sick. + If you come slack of former services, + You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. + [Horns within.] + Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him. + Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, + You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question. + If he distaste it, let him to our sister, + Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, + Not to be overrul'd. Idle old man, + That still would manage those authorities + That he hath given away! Now, by my life, + Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd + With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus'd. + Remember what I have said. + Osw. Very well, madam. + Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you. + What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so. + I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, + That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister + To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +The Duke of Albany's Palace. + +Enter Kent, [disguised]. + + Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, + That can my speech defuse, my good intent + May carry through itself to that full issue + For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, + If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, + So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st, + Shall find thee full of labours. + + Horns within. Enter Lear, [Knights,] and Attendants. + + Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. [Exit + an Attendant.] How now? What art thou? + Kent. A man, sir. + Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us? + Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly + that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to + converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear + judgment, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish. + Lear. What art thou? + Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King. + Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou + art poor enough. What wouldst thou? + Kent. Service. + Lear. Who wouldst thou serve? + Kent. You. + Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? + Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would + fain call master. + Lear. What's that? + Kent. Authority. + Lear. What services canst thou do? + Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in + telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which + ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of me + is diligence. + Lear. How old art thou? + Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to + dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight. + Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after + dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! + Where's my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither. + + [Exit an attendant.] + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? + Osw. So please you- Exit. + Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. + [Exit a Knight.] Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's + asleep. + + [Enter Knight] + + How now? Where's that mongrel? + Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. + Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I call'd him? + Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. + Lear. He would not? + Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment + your Highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious affection + as you were wont. There's a great abatement of kindness appears + as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also + and your daughter. + Lear. Ha! say'st thou so? + Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for + my duty cannot be silent when I think your Highness wrong'd. + Lear. Thou but rememb'rest me of mine own conception. I have + perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather + blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence + and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into't. But + where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. + Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool + hath much pined away. + Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my + daughter I would speak with her. [Exit Knight.] Go you, call + hither my fool. + [Exit an Attendant.] + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + O, you, sir, you! Come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir? + Osw. My lady's father. + Lear. 'My lady's father'? My lord's knave! You whoreson dog! you + slave! you cur! + Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. + Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? + [Strikes him.] + Osw. I'll not be strucken, my lord. + Kent. Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player? + [Trips up his heels. + Lear. I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me, and I'll love thee. + Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences. Away, + away! If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but + away! Go to! Have you wisdom? So. + [Pushes him out.] + Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There's earnest of thy + service. [Gives money.] + + Enter Fool. + + Fool. Let me hire him too. Here's my coxcomb. + [Offers Kent his cap.] + Lear. How now, my pretty knave? How dost thou? + Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. + Kent. Why, fool? + Fool. Why? For taking one's part that's out of favour. Nay, an thou + canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly. + There, take my coxcomb! Why, this fellow hath banish'd two on's + daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will. If + thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.- How now, + nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! + Lear. Why, my boy? + Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. + There's mine! beg another of thy daughters. + Lear. Take heed, sirrah- the whip. + Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipp'd out, when + Lady the brach may stand by th' fire and stink. + Lear. A pestilent gall to me! + Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. + Lear. Do. + Fool. Mark it, nuncle. + Have more than thou showest, + Speak less than thou knowest, + Lend less than thou owest, + Ride more than thou goest, + Learn more than thou trowest, + Set less than thou throwest; + Leave thy drink and thy whore, + And keep in-a-door, + And thou shalt have more + Than two tens to a score. + Kent. This is nothing, fool. + Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer- you gave me + nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? + Lear. Why, no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing. + Fool. [to Kent] Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land + comes to. He will not believe a fool. + Lear. A bitter fool! + Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter + fool and a sweet fool? + Lear. No, lad; teach me. + Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee + To give away thy land, + Come place him here by me- + Do thou for him stand. + The sweet and bitter fool + Will presently appear; + The one in motley here, + The other found out there. + Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? + Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast + born with. + Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. + Fool. No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had a + monopoly out, they would have part on't. And ladies too, they + will not let me have all the fool to myself; they'll be + snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two + crowns. + Lear. What two crowns shall they be? + Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat up the + meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' + th' middle and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine ass on + thy back o'er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown + when thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in + this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so. + + [Sings] Fools had ne'er less grace in a year, + For wise men are grown foppish; + They know not how their wits to wear, + Their manners are so apish. + + Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? + Fool. I have us'd it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters + thy mother; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st down + thine own breeches, + + [Sings] Then they for sudden joy did weep, + And I for sorrow sung, + That such a king should play bo-peep + And go the fools among. + + Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to + lie. I would fain learn to lie. + Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. + Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They'll have me + whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying; + and sometimes I am whipp'd 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' th' middle. Here comes one o' the parings. + + Enter Goneril. + + Lear. How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you + are too much o' late i' th' 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.- + + [Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod. + Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, + But other of your insolent retinue + Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth + In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, + I had thought, by making this well known unto you, + To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful, + By what yourself, too, late have spoke and done, + That you protect this course, and put it on + By your allowance; which if you should, the fault + Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, + Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, + Might in their working do you that offence + Which else were shame, that then necessity + Must call discreet proceeding. + Fool. For you know, nuncle, + + The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long + That it had it head bit off by it young. + + So out went the candle, and we were left darkling. + Lear. Are you our daughter? + Gon. 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! + Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not Lear. + Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? + Either his notion weakens, his discernings + Are lethargied- Ha! waking? 'Tis not so! + Who is it that can tell me who I am? + Fool. Lear's shadow. + Lear. I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, + Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded + I had daughters. + Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. + Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman? + Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' th' 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 grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak + For instant remedy. Be then desir'd + By her that else will take the thing she begs + A little to disquantity your train, + And the remainder that shall still depend + To be such men as may besort your age, + Which know themselves, and you. + Lear. Darkness and devils! + Saddle my horses! Call my train together! + Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee; + Yet have I left a daughter. + Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble + Make servants of their betters. + + Enter Albany. + + Lear. Woe that too late repents!- 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! + Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. + Lear. [to Goneril] Detested kite, thou liest! + My train are men of choice and rarest parts, + That all particulars of duty know + And in the most exact regard support + The worships of their name.- O most small fault, + How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! + Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature + From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love + And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! + Beat at this gate that let thy folly in [Strikes his head.] + And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. + Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant + Of what hath mov'd you. + Lear. It may be so, my lord. + Hear, Nature, hear! dear goddess, hear! + Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend + To make this creature fruitful. + Into her womb convey sterility; + Dry up in her the organs of increase; + And from her derogate body never spring + A babe to honour her! If she must teem, + Create her child of spleen, that it may live + And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. + Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth, + With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks, + Turn all her mother's pains and benefits + To laughter and contempt, that she may feel + How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is + To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit. + Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? + Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause; + But let his disposition have that scope + That dotage gives it. + + Enter Lear. + + Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap? + Within a fortnight? + Alb. What's the matter, sir? + Lear. I'll tell thee. [To Goneril] Life and death! I am asham'd + That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; + That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, + Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! + Th' untented woundings of a father's curse + Pierce every sense about thee!- Old fond eyes, + Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, + And cast you, with the waters that you lose, + To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this? + Let it 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 [Lear, Kent, and Attendants]. + Gon. Do you mark that, my lord? + Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, + To the great love I bear you - + Gon. Pray you, content.- What, Oswald, ho! + [To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master! + Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry! 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. + Gon. 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 pow'rs + And hold our lives in mercy.- Oswald, I say! + Alb. Well, you may fear too far. + Gon. Safer than trust too far. + Let me still take away the harms I fear, + Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart. + What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister. + If she sustain him and his hundred knights, + When I have show'd th' unfitness- + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + How now, Oswald? + What, have you writ that letter to my sister? + Osw. Yes, madam. + Gon. 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 it not, yet, under pardon, + You are much more at task for want of wisdom + Than prais'd for harmful mildness. + Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell. + Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. + Gon. Nay then- + Alb. Well, well; th' event. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene V. +Court before the Duke of Albany's Palace. + +Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. + + Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my + daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her + demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I + shall be there afore you. + Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. +Exit. + Fool. If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of + kibes? + Lear. Ay, boy. + Fool. Then I prithee be merry. Thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. + Lear. Ha, ha, ha! + Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though + she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell + what I can tell. + Lear. What canst tell, boy? + Fool. She'll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou + canst tell why one's nose stands i' th' middle on's face? + Lear. No. + Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose, that what a + man cannot smell out, 'a may spy into. + Lear. I did her wrong. + Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? + Lear. No. + Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. + Lear. Why? + Fool. Why, to put's head in; not to give it away to his daughters, + and leave his horns without a case. + Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a father!- Be my horses + ready? + Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars + are no moe than seven is a pretty reason. + Lear. Because they are not eight? + Fool. Yes indeed. Thou wouldst make a good fool. + Lear. To tak't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! + Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being + old before thy time. + Lear. How's that? + Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. + Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! + Keep me in temper; I would not be mad! + + [Enter a Gentleman.] + + How now? Are the horses ready? + Gent. Ready, my lord. + Lear. Come, boy. + Fool. She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, + Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. Scene I. +A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester. + +Enter [Edmund the] Bastard and Curan, meeting. + + Edm. Save thee, Curan. + Cur. 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. + Edm. How comes that? + Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad- I mean the + whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? + Edm. Not I. Pray you, what are they? + Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward 'twixt the two Dukes + of Cornwall and Albany? + Edm. Not a word. + Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit. + Edm. 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' th' night, i' th' haste, + And Regan with him. Have you nothing said + Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? + Advise yourself. + Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. + Edm. I hear my father coming. Pardon me! + In cunning I must draw my sword upon you. + Draw, seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.- + Yield! Come before my father. Light, ho, here! + Fly, brother.- Torches, torches!- So farewell. + Exit Edgar. + Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion + Of my more fierce endeavour. [Stabs his arm.] I have seen + drunkards + Do more than this in sport.- Father, father!- + Stop, stop! No help? + + Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches. + + Glou. Now, Edmund, where's the villain? + Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, + Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon + To stand 's auspicious mistress. + Glou. But where is he? + Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. + Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund? + Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could- + Glou. Pursue him, ho! Go after. [Exeunt some Servants]. + By no means what? + Edm. Persuade me to the murther 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 th' 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, lanch'd mine arm; + But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, + Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter, + Or whether gasted by the noise I made, + Full suddenly he fled. + Glou. 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 find, him shall deserve our thanks, + Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake; + He that conceals him, death. + Edm. 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 practice; + And thou must make a dullard of the world, + If they not thought the profits of my death + Were very pregnant and potential spurs + To make thee seek it.' + Glou. Strong and fast'ned 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 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. + + Corn. How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither + (Which I can call but now) I have heard strange news. + Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short + Which can pursue th' offender. How dost, my lord? + Glou. O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! + Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life? + He whom my father nam'd? Your Edgar? + Glou. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid! + Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights + That tend upon my father? + Glou. I know not, madam. 'Tis too bad, too bad! + Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. + Reg. No marvel then though he were ill affected. + 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, + To have th' 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. + Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. + Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father + A childlike office. + Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. + Glou. He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd + This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. + Corn. Is he pursued? + Glou. Ay, my good lord. + Corn. 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. + Edm. I shall serve you, sir, + Truly, however else. + Glou. For him I thank your Grace. + Corn. You know not why we came to visit you- + Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night. + Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, + Wherein we must have use of your advice. + Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, + Of differences, which I best thought it fit + To answer from our home. The several messengers + From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, + Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow + Your needful counsel to our business, + Which craves the instant use. + Glou. I serve you, madam. + Your Graces are right welcome. + Exeunt. Flourish. + + + + +Scene II. +Before Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Kent and [Oswald the] Steward, severally. + + Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house? + Kent. Ay. + Osw. Where may we set our horses? + Kent. I' th' mire. + Osw. Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me. + Kent. I love thee not. + Osw. Why then, I care not for thee. + Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for + me. + Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. + Kent. Fellow, I know thee. + Osw. 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-liver'd, action-taking, whoreson, + glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; + one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of + good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, + beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; + one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny the + least syllable of thy addition. + Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one + that's neither known of thee nor knows thee! + Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! + Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripp'd up thy heels + before the King? [Draws his sword.] Draw, you rogue! for, though + it be night, yet the moon shines. I'll make a sop o' th' + moonshine o' you. Draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger! + draw! + Osw. 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! + Osw. Help, ho! murther! help! + Kent. Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave! + Strike! [Beats him.] + Osw. Help, ho! murther! murther! + + Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Gloucester, Cornwall, + Regan, Servants. + + Edm. How now? What's the matter? Parts [them]. + Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please! Come, I'll flesh ye! + Come on, young master! + Glou. Weapons? arms? What's the matter here? + Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives! + He dies that strikes again. What is the matter? + Reg. The messengers from our sister and the King + Corn. What is your difference? Speak. + Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. + Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly + rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee. + Corn. Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man? + Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not have + made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade. + Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? + Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd + At suit of his grey beard- + Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if + you'll give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into + mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. 'Spare my grey + beard,' you wagtail? + Corn. Peace, sirrah! + You beastly knave, know you no reverence? + Kent. Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege. + Corn. 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 atwain + 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 naught (like dogs) but following. + A plague upon your epileptic visage! + Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? + Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain, + I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot. + Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? + Glou. How fell you out? Say that. + Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy + Than I and such a knave. + Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault? + Kent. His countenance likes me not. + Corn. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers. + Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain. + I have seen better faces in my time + Than stands on any shoulder that I see + Before me at this instant. + Corn. This is some fellow + Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect + A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb + Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he! + An honest mind and plain- he must speak truth! + An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. + These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness + Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends + Than twenty silly-ducking observants + That stretch their duties nicely. + Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, + Under th' allowance of your great aspect, + Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire + On flickering Phoebus' front- + Corn. 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 beguil'd 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. + Corn. What was th' offence you gave him? + Osw. I never gave him any. + It pleas'd 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-subdu'd; + And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, + Drew on me here again. + Kent. None of these rogues and cowards + But Ajax is their fool. + Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! + You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, + We'll teach you- + Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn. + Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King; + On whose employment I was sent to you. + You shall do small respect, show too bold malice + Against the grace and person of my master, + Stocking his messenger. + Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, + There shall he sit till noon. + Reg. 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. + Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. + Corn. This is a fellow of the selfsame colour + Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks! + Stocks brought out. + Glou. Let me beseech your Grace not to do so. + His fault is much, and the good King his master + Will check him for't. Your purpos'd low correction + Is such as basest and contemn'dest wretches + For pilf'rings and most common trespasses + Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill + That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, + Should have him thus restrain'd. + Corn. I'll answer that. + Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, + To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, + For following her affairs. Put in his legs.- + [Kent is put in the stocks.] + Come, my good lord, away. + Exeunt [all but Gloucester and Kent]. + Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend. 'Tis the Duke's pleasure, + Whose disposition, all the world well knows, + Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd. I'll entreat for thee. + Kent. Pray do not, sir. I have watch'd and travell'd hard. + Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. + A good man's fortune may grow out at heels. + Give you good morrow! + Glou. The Duke 's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. +Exit. + Kent. Good King, that must approve the common saw, + Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st + To the warm sun! + Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, + That by thy comfortable beams I may + Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles + But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia, + Who hath most fortunately been inform'd + Of my obscured course- and [reads] '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. + + + + +Scene III. +The open country. + +Enter Edgar. + + Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd, + And by the happy hollow of a tree + Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place + That guard and most unusual vigilance + Does not attend my taking. 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 outface + The winds and persecutions of the sky. + The country gives me proof and precedent + Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, + Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms + Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; + And with this horrible object, from low farms, + Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills, + Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, + Enforce their charity. 'Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!' + That's something yet! Edgar I nothing am. Exit. + + + + +Scene IV. +Before Gloucester's Castle; Kent in the stocks. + +Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. + + Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, + And not send back my messenger. + Gent. As I learn'd, + The night before there was no purpose in them + Of this remove. + Kent. Hail to thee, noble master! + Lear. Ha! + Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? + Kent. No, my lord. + Fool. Ha, ha! look! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the + head, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th' loins, and men + by th' legs. When a man's over-lusty at legs, then he wears + wooden nether-stocks. + Lear. What's he that hath so much thy place mistook + To set thee here? + Kent. It is both he and she- + Your son and daughter. + Lear. No. + Kent. Yes. + Lear. No, I say. + Kent. I say yea. + Lear. No, no, they would not! + Kent. Yes, they have. + Lear. By Jupiter, I swear no! + Kent. By Juno, I swear ay! + Lear. They durst not do't; + They would not, could not do't. 'Tis worse than murther + 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 perceiv'd had poison'd mine- + Being the very fellow which of late + Display'd so saucily against your Highness- + Having more man than wit about me, drew. + He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries. + Your son and daughter found this trespass worth + The shame which here it suffers. + Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. + + Fathers that wear rags + Do make their children blind; + But fathers that bear bags + Shall see their children kind. + Fortune, that arrant whore, + Ne'er turns the key to th' poor. + + But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy + daughters as thou canst tell in a year. + Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! + Hysterica passio! Down, thou climbing sorrow! + Thy element's below! Where is this daughter? + Kent. With the Earl, sir, here within. + Lear. Follow me not; + Stay here. Exit. + Gent. Made you no more offence but what you speak of? + Kent. None. + How chance the King comes with so small a number? + Fool. An thou hadst been set i' th' stocks for that question, + thou'dst well deserv'd it. + Kent. Why, fool? + Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no + labouring i' th' winter. All that follow their noses are led by + their eyes but blind men, and there's not a nose among twenty + but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great + wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following + it; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. + When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I + would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. + That sir which serves and seeks for gain, + And follows but for form, + Will pack when it begins to rain + And leave thee in the storm. + But I will tarry; the fool will stay, + And let the wise man fly. + The knave turns fool that runs away; + The fool no knave, perdy. + Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool? + Fool. Not i' th' stocks, fool. + + Enter Lear and Gloucester + + Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary? + They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches- + The images of revolt and flying off! + Fetch me a better answer. + Glou. My dear lord, + You know the fiery quality of the Duke, + How unremovable and fix'd he is + In his own course. + Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! + Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, + I'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. + Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so. + Lear. Inform'd them? Dost thou understand me, man? + Glou. Ay, my good lord. + 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 fallen out with my more headier will, + To take the indispos'd and sickly fit + For the sound man.- Death on my state! Wherefore + Should be sit here? This act persuades me + That this remotion of the Duke and her + Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. + Go tell the Duke and 's wife I'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. + Glou. I would have all well betwixt you. Exit. + Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down! + Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she + put 'em i' th' paste alive. She knapp'd 'em o' th' 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, Servants. + + Lear. Good morrow to you both. + Corn. Hail to your Grace! + Kent here set at liberty. + Reg. I am glad to see your Highness. + Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what reason + I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be glad, + I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, + Sepulchring an adultress. [To Kent] O, are you free? + Some other time for that.- Beloved Regan, + Thy sister's naught. O Regan, she hath tied + Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here! + [Lays his hand on his heart.] + I can scarce speak to thee. Thou'lt not believe + With how deprav'd a quality- O Regan! + Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope + You less know how to value her desert + Than she to scant her duty. + Lear. Say, how is that? + Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least + Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance + She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, + 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, + As clears her from all blame. + Lear. My curses on her! + Reg. O, sir, you are old! + Nature in you stands on the very verge + Of her confine. You should be rul'd, and led + By some discretion that discerns your state + Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you + That to our sister you do make return; + Say you have wrong'd her, sir. + Lear. Ask her forgiveness? + Do you but mark how this becomes the house: + 'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old. [Kneels.] + Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg + That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.' + Reg. Good sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks. + Return you to my sister. + Lear. [rises] Never, Regan! + She hath abated me of half my train; + Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue, + Most serpent-like, upon the very heart. + All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall + On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, + You taking airs, with lameness! + Corn. Fie, sir, fie! + Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames + Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, + You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun, + To fall and blast her pride! + Reg. O the blest gods! so will you wish on me + When the rash mood is on. + Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse. + Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give + Thee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thine + Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee + To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, + To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, + And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt + Against my coming in. Thou better know'st + The offices of nature, bond of childhood, + Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude. + Thy half o' th' kingdom hast thou not forgot, + Wherein I thee endow'd. + Reg. Good sir, to th' purpose. + Tucket within. + Lear. Who put my man i' th' stocks? + Corn. What trumpet's that? + Reg. I know't- my sister's. This approves her letter, + That she would soon be here. + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + Is your lady come? + Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrowed pride + Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. + Out, varlet, from my sight! + Corn. What means your Grace? + + Enter Goneril. + + Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope + Thou didst not know on't.- Who comes here? O heavens! + If you do love old men, if your sweet sway + Allow obedience- if yourselves are old, + Make it your cause! Send down, and take my part! + [To Goneril] Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?- + O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? + Gon. Why not by th' hand, sir? How have I offended? + All's not offence that indiscretion finds + And dotage terms so. + Lear. O sides, you are too tough! + Will you yet hold? How came my man i' th' stocks? + Corn. I set him there, sir; but his own disorders + Deserv'd much less advancement. + Lear. You? Did you? + Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. + If, till the expiration of your month, + You will return and sojourn with my sister, + Dismissing half your train, come then to me. + I am now from home, and out of that provision + Which shall be needful for your entertainment. + Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? + No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose + To wage against the enmity o' th' 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. [Points at Oswald.] + Gon. At your choice, sir. + Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad. + I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell. + We'll no more meet, no more see one another. + But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; + Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, + Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, + A plague sore, 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. + Reg. Not altogether so. + I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided + For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; + For those that mingle reason with your passion + Must be content to think you old, and so- + But she knows what she does. + Lear. Is this well spoken? + Reg. 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. + Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance + From those that she calls servants, or from mine? + Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack ye, + We could control them. If you will come to me + (For now I spy a danger), I entreat you + To bring but five-and-twenty. To no more + Will I give place or notice. + Lear. I gave you all- + Reg. And in good time you gave it! + Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; + But kept a reservation to be followed + With such a number. What, must I come to you + With five-and-twenty, Regan? Said you so? + Reg. And speak't again my lord. No more with me. + Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd + When others are more wicked; not being the worst + Stands in some rank of praise. [To Goneril] I'll go with thee. + Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, + And thou art twice her love. + Gon. 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? + Reg. What need one? + Lear. O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars + Are in the poorest thing superfluous. + Allow not nature more than nature needs, + Man's life is cheap as beast's. Thou art a lady: + If only to go warm were gorgeous, + Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st + Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need- + You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! + You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, + As full of grief as age; wretched in both. + If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts + Against their father, fool me not so much + To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, + And let not women's weapons, water drops, + Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags! + I will have such revenges on you both + That all the world shall- I will do such things- + What they are yet, I know not; but they shall be + The terrors of the earth! You think I'll weep. + No, I'll not weep. + I have full cause of weeping, but this heart + Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws + Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad! + Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. Storm and + tempest. + Corn. Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm. + Reg. This house is little; the old man and 's people + Cannot be well bestow'd. + Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest + And must needs taste his folly. + Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, + But not one follower. + Gon. So am I purpos'd. + Where is my Lord of Gloucester? + Corn. Followed the old man forth. + + Enter Gloucester. + + He is return'd. + Glou. The King is in high rage. + Corn. Whither is he going? + Glou. He calls to horse, but will I know not whither. + Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. + Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. + Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds + Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about + There's scarce a bush. + Reg. O, sir, to wilful men + The injuries that they themselves procure + Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. + He is attended with a desperate train, + And what they may incense him to, being apt + To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. + Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord: 'tis a wild night. + My Regan counsels well. Come out o' th' storm. [Exeunt.] + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. Scene I. +A heath. + +Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman at several doors. + + Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather? + Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly. + Kent. I know you. Where's the King? + Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; + Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, + Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, + That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, + Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, + Catch in their fury and make nothing of; + Strives in his little world of man to outscorn + The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. + This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, + The lion and the belly-pinched wolf + Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, + And bids what will take all. + Kent. But who is with him? + Gent. None but the fool, who labours to outjest + 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 + Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less, + Which are to France the spies and speculations + Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen, + Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes, + Or the hard rein which both of them have borne + Against the old kind King, or something deeper, + Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings- + But, true it is, from France there comes a power + Into this scattered 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. + Gent. 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. + Gent. 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]. + + + + +Scene II. +Another part of the heath. + +Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool. + + Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! + You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout + Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! + You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, + Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, + Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, + Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world, + Crack Nature's moulds, all germains spill at once, + That makes 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 nether wise men nor fools. + Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! + Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters. + I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. + I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, + You owe me no subscription. Then let fall + Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, + A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man. + But yet I call you servile ministers, + That will with two pernicious daughters join + Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head + So old and white as this! O! O! 'tis foul! + Fool. He that has a house to put 's head in has a good head-piece. + The codpiece that will house + Before the head has any, + The head and he shall louse: + So beggars marry many. + The man that makes his toe + What he his heart should make + Shall of a corn cry woe, + And turn his sleep to wake. + For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a + glass. + + Enter Kent. + + Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience; + I will say nothing. + Kent. Who's there? + Fool. Marry, here's grace and a codpiece; that's a wise man and a + fool. + Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night + Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies + Gallow the very wanderers of the dark + And make them keep their caves. Since I was man, + Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, + Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never + Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry + Th' affliction nor the fear. + Lear. Let the great gods, + That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, + Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, + That hast within thee undivulged crimes + Unwhipp'd of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand; + Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue + That art incestuous. Caitiff, in pieces shake + That under covert and convenient seeming + Hast practis'd on man's life. Close pent-up guilts, + Rive your concealing continents, and cry + These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man + More sinn'd against than sinning. + Kent. Alack, bareheaded? + Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; + Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest. + Repose you there, whilst I to this hard house + (More harder than the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, + Which even but now, demanding after you, + Denied me to come in) return, and force + Their scanted courtesy. + Lear. My wits begin to turn. + Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? + I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? + The art of our necessities is strange, + That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. + Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart + That's sorry yet for thee. + Fool. [sings] + + 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. + + Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel. + Exeunt [Lear and Kent]. + Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. 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' th' field, + And bawds and whores do churches build: + Then shall the realm of Albion + Come to great confusion. + Then comes the time, who lives to see't, + That going shall be us'd with feet. + This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time. +Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Gloucester and Edmund. + + Glou. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing! When + I desir'd their leave that I might pity him, they took from me + the use of mine own house, charg'd me on pain of perpetual + displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any + way sustain him. + Edm. Most savage and unnatural! + Glou. Go to; say you nothing. There is division betwixt the Dukes, + and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this + night- 'tis dangerous to be spoken- I have lock'd 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't, as no less is threat'ned me, the King my old master + must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund. + Pray you be careful. Exit. + Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke + Instantly know, and of that letter too. + This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me + That which my father loses- no less than all. + The younger rises when the old doth fall. Exit. + + + + +Scene IV. +The heath. Before a hovel. + +Storm still. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. + + Kent. Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter. + The tyranny of the open night 's too rough + For nature to endure. + Lear. Let me alone. + Kent. Good my lord, enter here. + Lear. Wilt break my heart? + Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter. + Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm + Invades us to the skin. So 'tis to thee; + But where the greater malady is fix'd, + The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear; + But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, + Thou'dst meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's free, + The body's delicate. The tempest in my mind + Doth from my senses take all feeling else + Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! + Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand + For lifting food to't? But I will punish home! + No, I will weep no more. In such a night + 'To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. + In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! + Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all! + O, that way madness lies; let me shun that! + No more of that. + Kent. Good my lord, enter here. + Lear. Prithee go in thyself; seek thine own ease. + This tempest will not give me leave to ponder + On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in. + [To the Fool] In, boy; go first.- You houseless poverty- + Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. + Exit [Fool]. + Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, + That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, + How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, + Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you + From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en + Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; + Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, + That thou mayst shake the superflux to them + And show the heavens more just. + Edg. [within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! + + Enter Fool [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' th' straw? + Come forth. + + Enter Edgar [disguised as a madman]. + + Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn + blows the cold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. + Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters, and art thou come + to this? + Edg. Who gives anything to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led + through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er + bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and + halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud + of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch'd + bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five + wits! Tom 's acold. 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. + Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pass? + Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give 'em all? + Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all sham'd. + Lear. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air + Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters! + Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. + Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd nature + To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. + Is it the fashion that discarded fathers + Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? + Judicious punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot + Those pelican daughters. + Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock's Hill. 'Allow, 'allow, loo, loo! + Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. + Edg. Take heed o' th' foul fiend; obey thy parents: keep thy word + justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not + thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom 's acold. + Lear. What hast thou been? + Edg. A servingman, proud in heart and mind; that curl'd my hair, + wore gloves in my cap; serv'd 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 wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd + I deeply, dice dearly; and in woman out-paramour'd the Turk. + False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox + in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. + Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray + thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothel, thy hand + out of placket, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul + fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind; says + suum, mun, hey, no, nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let + him trot by. + Storm still. + Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy + uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than + this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast + no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here's three + on's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself; + unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked + animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton + here. + [Tears at 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. + + Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. He begins at curfew, + and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pin, + squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, + and hurts the poor creature of earth. + + Saint Withold footed thrice the 'old; + He met the nightmare, and her nine fold; + Bid her alight + And her troth plight, + And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee! + + Kent. How fares your Grace? + Lear. What's he? + Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek? + Glou. What are you there? Your names? + Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, + the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when + the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets, swallows the + old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the + standing pool; who is whipp'd from tithing to tithing, and + stock-punish'd and imprison'd; who hath had three suits to his + back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapons 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! + Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? + Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman! + Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. + Glou. Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, + That it doth hate what gets it. + Edg. Poor Tom 's acold. + Glou. Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer + T' obey in all your daughters' hard commands. + Though their injunction be to bar my doors + And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, + Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out + And bring you where both fire and food is ready. + Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. + What is the cause of thunder? + Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into th' house. + Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban. + What is your study? + Edg. How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin. + Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. + Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord. + His wits begin t' unsettle. + Glou. 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 lov'd him, friend- + No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, + The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night 's this! + I do beseech your Grace- + Lear. O, cry you mercy, sir. + Noble philosopher, your company. + Edg. Tom's acold. + Glou. In, fellow, there, into th' hovel; keep thee warm. + Lear. Come, let's in all. + Kent. This way, my lord. + Lear. With him! + I will keep still with my philosopher. + Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow. + Glou. Take him you on. + Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us. + Lear. Come, good Athenian. + Glou. No words, no words! hush. + Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came; + His word was still + + Fie, foh, and fum! + I smell the blood of a British man. + Exeunt. + +Scene V. +Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Cornwall and Edmund. + + Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart his house. + Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to + loyalty, something fears me to think of. + Corn. I now perceive it was not altogether your brother's evil + disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set + awork by a reproveable badness in himself. + Edm. 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! + Corn. Go with me to the Duchess. + Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty + business in hand. + Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. + Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our + apprehension. + Edm. [aside] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his + suspicion more fully.- I will persever in my course of loyalty, + though the conflict be sore between that and my blood. + Corn. I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer + father in my love. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene VI. +A farmhouse near Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. + + Glou. 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]. + Edg. Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the + lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. + Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a + yeoman. + Lear. A king, a king! + Fool. No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a + mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him. + Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits + Come hizzing in upon 'em- + Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. + Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's + health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. + Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. + [To Edgar] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer. + [To the Fool] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes! + Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! Want'st thou eyes at trial, + madam? + + Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me. + + Fool. Her boat hath a leak, + And she must not speak + Why she dares not come over to thee. + + Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. + Hoppedance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak + not, black angel; I have no food for thee. + Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd. + Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? + Lear. I'll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence. + [To Edgar] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place. + [To the Fool] And thou, his yokefellow of equity, + Bench by his side. [To Kent] You are o' th' commission, + Sit you too. + Edg. Let us deal justly. + + Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? + Thy sheep be in the corn; + And for one blast of thy minikin mouth + Thy sheep shall take no harm. + + Purr! the cat is gray. + Lear. Arraign her first. 'Tis Goneril. I here take my oath before + this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father. + Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril? + Lear. She cannot deny it. + Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. + Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim + What store her heart is made on. Stop her there! + Arms, arms! sword! fire! Corruption in the place! + False justicer, why hast thou let her scape? + Edg. Bless thy five wits! + Kent. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now + That you so oft have boasted to retain? + Edg. [aside] My tears begin to take his part so much + They'll mar my counterfeiting. + Lear. The little dogs and all, + Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me. + Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs! + Be thy mouth or black or white, + Tooth that poisons if it bite; + Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, + Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, + Bobtail tyke or trundle-tall- + Tom will make them weep and wail; + For, with throwing thus my head, + Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. + Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market + towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. + Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan. See what breeds about her + heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard + hearts? [To Edgar] You, sir- I entertain you for one of my + hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You'll + say they are Persian attire; but let them be chang'd. + Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile. + Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains. + So, so, so. We'll go to supper i' th' morning. So, so, so. + Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. + + Enter Gloucester. + + Glou. Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master? + Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not; his wits are gone. + Glou. 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. + Glou. Come, come, away! + Exeunt [all but Edgar]. + Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, + We scarcely think our miseries our foes. + Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind, + Leaving free things and happy shows behind; + But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip + When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. + How light and portable my pain seems now, + When that which makes me bend makes the King bow, + He childed as I fathered! Tom, away! + Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray + When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, + In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. + What will hap more to-night, safe scape the King! + Lurk, lurk. [Exit.] + + + + +Scene VII. +Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, [Edmund the] Bastard, and Servants. + + Corn. [to Goneril] Post speedily to my lord your husband, show him + this letter. The army of France is landed.- Seek out the traitor + Gloucester. + [Exeunt some of the Servants.] + Reg. Hang him instantly. + Gon. Pluck out his eyes. + Corn. 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 the] Steward. + + How now? Where's the King? + Osw. My Lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence. + Some five or six and thirty of his knights, + Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; + Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, + Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast + To have well-armed friends. + Corn. Get horses for your mistress. + Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. + Corn. 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 court'sy to our wrath, which men + May blame, but not control. + + Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three. + + Who's there? the traitor? + Reg. Ingrateful fox! 'tis he. + Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. + Glou. What mean, your Graces? Good my friends, consider + You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends. + Corn. Bind him, I say. + [Servants bind him.] + Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor! + Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none. + Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find- + [Regan plucks his beard.] + Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done + To pluck me by the beard. + Reg. So white, and such a traitor! + Glou. Naughty lady, + These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin + Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host. + With robber's hands my hospitable favours + You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? + Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from France? + Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth. + Corn. And what confederacy have you with the traitors + Late footed in the kingdom? + Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic King? + Speak. + Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down, + Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, + And not from one oppos'd. + Corn. Cunning. + Reg. And false. + Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? + Glou. To Dover. + Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at peril- + Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that. + Glou. I am tied to th' stake, and I must stand the course. + Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir? + Glou. Because I would not see thy cruel nails + Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister + In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. + The sea, with such a storm as his bare head + In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up + And quench'd the steeled fires. + Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. + If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, + Thou shouldst have said, 'Good porter, turn the key.' + All cruels else subscrib'd. But I shall see + The winged vengeance overtake such children. + Corn. See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair. + Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. + Glou. He that will think to live till he be old, + Give me some help!- O cruel! O ye gods! + Reg. One side will mock another. Th' other too! + Corn. If you see vengeance- + 1. Serv. Hold your hand, my lord! + I have serv'd you ever since I was a child; + But better service have I never done you + Than now to bid you hold. + Reg. How now, you dog? + 1. Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, + I'ld shake it on this quarrel. + Reg. What do you mean? + Corn. My villain! Draw and fight. + 1. Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger. + Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus? + She takes a sword and runs at him behind. + 1. Serv. O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left + To see some mischief on him. O! He dies. + Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! + Where is thy lustre now? + Glou. All dark and comfortless! Where's my son Edmund? + Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature + To quit this horrid act. + Reg. 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. + Glou. O my follies! Then Edgar was abus'd. + Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him! + Reg. 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? + Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt. Follow me, lady. + Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave + Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace. + Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. + Exit [Cornwall, led by Regan]. + 2. Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, + If this man come to good. + 3. Serv. If she live long, + And in the end meet the old course of death, + Women will all turn monsters. + 2. Serv. Let's follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam + To lead him where he would. His roguish madness + Allows itself to anything. + 3. Serv. Go thou. I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs + To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him! + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. Scene I. +The heath. + +Enter Edgar. + + Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, + Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, + The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, + Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. + The lamentable change is from the best; + The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, + Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! + The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst + Owes nothing to thy blasts. + + Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man. + + But who comes here? + My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! + But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, + Life would not yield to age. + Old Man. O my good lord, + I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, + These fourscore years. + Glou. Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone. + Thy comforts can do me no good at all; + Thee they may hurt. + Old Man. You cannot see your way. + Glou. 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. Ah 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? + Edg. [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. + Edg. [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? + Glou. Is it a beggarman? + Old Man. Madman and beggar too. + Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. + I' th' 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 th' gods. + They kill us for their sport. + Edg. [aside] How should this be? + Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, + Ang'ring itself and others.- Bless thee, master! + Glou. Is that the naked fellow? + Old Man. Ay, my lord. + Glou. Then prithee get thee gone. If for my sake + Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain + I' th' 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! + Glou. 'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind. + Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure. + Above the rest, be gone. + Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, + Come on't what will. Exit. + Glou. Sirrah naked fellow- + Edg. Poor Tom's acold. [Aside] I cannot daub it further. + Glou. Come hither, fellow. + Edg. [aside] And yet I must.- Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. + Glou. Know'st thou the way to Dover? + Edg. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been + scar'd 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! + Glou. 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 does not feel, feel your pow'r quickly; + So distribution should undo excess, + And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover? + Edg. Ay, master. + Glou. 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. + Edg. Give me thy arm. + Poor Tom shall lead thee. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. + +Enter Goneril and [Edmund the] Bastard. + + Gon. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband + Not met us on the way. + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + Now, where's your master? + Osw. Madam, within, but never man so chang'd. + I told him of the army that was landed: + He smil'd at it. I told him you were coming: + His answer was, 'The worse.' Of Gloucester's treachery + And of the loyal service of his son + When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot + And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out. + What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; + What like, offensive. + Gon. [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 pow'rs. + 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. [Gives a favour.] + Spare speech. + Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, + Would stretch thy spirits up into the air. + Conceive, and fare thee well. + Edm. Yours in the ranks of death! Exit. + Gon. My most dear Gloucester! + O, the difference of man and man! + To thee a woman's services are due; + My fool usurps my body. + Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. Exit. + + Enter Albany. + + Gon. I have been worth the whistle. + Alb. O Goneril, + You are not worth the dust which the rude wind + Blows in your face! I fear your disposition. + That nature which contemns it origin + Cannot be bordered certain in itself. + She that herself will sliver and disbranch + From her material sap, perforce must wither + And come to deadly use. + Gon. No more! The text is foolish. + Alb. 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. + Gon. Milk-liver'd man! + That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; + Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning + Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st + Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd + Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum? + France spreads his banners in our noiseless land, + With plumed helm thy state begins to threat, + Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest + 'Alack, why does he so?' + Alb. See thyself, devil! + Proper deformity seems not in the fiend + So horrid as in woman. + Gon. O vain fool! + Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame! + Bemonster 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. + Gon. Marry, your manhood mew! + + Enter a Gentleman. + + Alb. What news? + Gent. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall 's dead, + Slain by his servant, going to put out + The other eye of Gloucester. + Alb. Gloucester's eyes? + Gent. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, + Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword + To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd, + Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead; + But not without that harmful stroke which since + Hath pluck'd him after. + Alb. This shows you are above, + You justicers, that these our nether crimes + So speedily can venge! But O poor Gloucester! + Lose he his other eye? + Gent. Both, both, my lord. + This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. + 'Tis from your sister. + Gon. [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. + Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? + Gent. Come with my lady hither. + Alb. He is not here. + Gent. No, my good lord; I met him back again. + Alb. Knows he the wickedness? + Gent. Ay, my good lord. 'Twas he inform'd against him, + And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment + Might have the freer course. + Alb. Gloucester, I live + To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the King, + And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend. + Tell me what more thou know'st. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +The French camp near Dover. + +Enter Kent and a Gentleman. + + Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the + reason? + Gent. 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? + Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far. + Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of + grief? + Gent. Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence, + And now and then an ample tear trill'd down + Her delicate cheek. It seem'd she was a queen + Over her passion, who, most rebel-like, + Sought to be king o'er her. + Kent. O, then it mov'd her? + Gent. 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 belov'd, + If all could so become it. + Kent. Made she no verbal question? + Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of father + Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; + Cried 'Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! Sisters! + Kent! father! sisters! What, i' th' storm? i' th' night? + Let pity not be believ'd!' 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? + Gent. No. + Kent. Was this before the King return'd? + Gent. No, since. + Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' th' town; + Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers + What we are come about, and by no means + Will yield to see his daughter. + Gent. 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. + Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! + Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? + Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot. + Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear + And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause + Will in concealment wrap me up awhile. + When I am known aright, you shall not grieve + Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go + Along with me. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +The French camp. + +Enter, with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Doctor, and Soldiers. + + Cor. 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 hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flow'rs, + 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. + Doct. 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. + Cor. 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 Messenger. + + Mess. News, madam. + The British pow'rs are marching hitherward. + Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation stands + In expectation of them. O dear father, + It is thy business that I go about. + Therefore great France + My mourning and important tears hath pitied. + No blown ambition doth our arms incite, + But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right. + Soon may I hear and see him! + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene V. +Gloucester's Castle. + +Enter Regan and [Oswald the] Steward. + + Reg. But are my brother's pow'rs set forth? + Osw. Ay, madam. + Reg. Himself in person there? + Osw. Madam, with much ado. + Your sister is the better soldier. + Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home? + Osw. No, madam. + Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? + Osw. I know not, lady. + Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. + It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out, + To let him live. Where he arrives he moves + All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone, + In pity of his misery, to dispatch + His nighted life; moreover, to descry + The strength o' th' enemy. + Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. + Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow. Stay with us. + The ways are dangerous. + Osw. I may not, madam. + My lady charg'd my duty in this business. + Reg. 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. + Osw. Madam, I had rather- + Reg. I know your lady does not love her husband; + I am sure of that; and at her late being here + She gave strange eliads and most speaking looks + To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom. + Osw. I, madam? + Reg. I speak in understanding. Y'are! I know't. + Therefore I do advise you take this note. + My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd, + And more convenient is he for my hand + Than for your lady's. You may gather more. + If you do find him, pray you give him this; + And when your mistress hears thus much from you, + I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. + So farewell. + If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, + Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. + Osw. Would I could meet him, madam! I should show + What party I do follow. + Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene VI. +The country near Dover. + +Enter Gloucester, and Edgar [like a Peasant]. + + Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? + Edg. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour. + Glou. Methinks the ground is even. + Edg. Horrible steep. + Hark, do you hear the sea? + Glou. No, truly. + Edg. Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect + By your eyes' anguish. + Glou. So may it be indeed. + Methinks thy voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st + In better phrase and matter than thou didst. + Edg. Y'are much deceiv'd. In nothing am I chang'd + But in my garments. + Glou. Methinks y'are better spoken. + Edg. 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. Halfway down + Hangs one that gathers sampire- dreadful trade! + Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. + The fishermen that walk upon the beach + Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, + Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy + Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge + That on th' unnumb'red idle pebble chafes + Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more, + Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight + Topple down headlong. + Glou. Set me where you stand. + Edg. Give me your hand. You are now within a foot + Of th' extreme verge. For all beneath the moon + Would I not leap upright. + Glou. Let go my hand. + Here, friend, is another purse; in it a jewel + Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies and gods + Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; + Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. + Edg. Now fare ye well, good sir. + Glou. With all my heart. + Edg. [aside]. Why I do trifle thus with his despair + Is done to cure it. + Glou. O you mighty gods! He kneels. + 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 and swoons]. + Edg. 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? + Glou. Away, and let me die. + Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, + So many fadom down precipitating, + Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg; but thou dost breathe; + Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound. + Ten masts at each make not the altitude + Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. + Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again. + Glou. But have I fall'n, or no? + Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. + Look up a-height. The shrill-gorg'd lark so far + Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up. + Glou. Alack, I have no eyes! + Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit + To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort + When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage + And frustrate his proud will. + Edg. Give me your arm. + Up- so. How is't? Feel you your legs? You stand. + Glou. Too well, too well. + Edg. This is above all strangeness. + Upon the crown o' th' cliff what thing was that + Which parted from you? + Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar. + Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyes + Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, + Horns whelk'd and wav'd like the enridged sea. + It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, + Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours + Of men's impossibility, have preserv'd thee. + Glou. 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. + Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. + + Enter Lear, mad, [fantastically dressed with weeds]. + + But who comes here? + The safer sense will ne'er accommodate + His master thus. + Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coming; + I am the King himself. + Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! + Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. There's your press + money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me + a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece + of toasted cheese will do't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove it + on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! i' + th' clout, i' th' clout! Hewgh! Give the word. + Edg. Sweet marjoram. + Lear. Pass. + Glou. I know that voice. + Lear. Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a dog, + and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones + were there. To say 'ay' and 'no' to everything I said! 'Ay' and + 'no' 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 + everything. 'Tis a lie- I am not ague-proof. + Glou. The trick of that voice I do well remember. + Is't not the King? + Lear. Ay, every inch a king! + When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. + I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? + Adultery? + Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery? No. + The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly + Does lecher in my sight. + Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son + Was kinder to his father than my daughters + Got 'tween the lawful sheets. + To't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. + Behold yond simp'ring dame, + Whose face between her forks presageth snow, + That minces virtue, and does shake the head + To hear of pleasure's name. + The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to't + With a more riotous appetite. + Down from the waist they are Centaurs, + Though women all above. + But to the girdle do the gods inherit, + Beneath is all the fiend's. + There's hell, there's darkness, there'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. + Glou. O, let me kiss that hand! + Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. + Glou. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world + Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me? + Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? + No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not love. Read thou this + challenge; mark but the penning of it. + Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. + Edg. [aside] I would not take this from report. It is, + And my heart breaks at it. + Lear. Read. + Glou. What, with the case of eyes? + Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no + money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse + in a light. Yet you see how this world goes. + Glou. I see it feelingly. + Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. + Look with thine ears. See how 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? + Glou. Ay, sir. + Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold + the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office. + Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! + Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back. + Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind + For which thou whip'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 pygmy's straw does pierce it. + None does offend, none- I say none! I'll able 'em. + Take that of me, my friend, who have the power + To seal th' 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. + Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd! + Reason, in madness! + Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. + I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester. + Thou must be patient. We came crying hither; + Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air + We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark. + Glou. Alack, alack the day! + Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are come + To this great stage of fools. This' a good block. + It were a delicate stratagem to shoe + A troop of horse with felt. I'll put't in proof, + And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, + Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill! + + Enter a Gentleman [with Attendants]. + + Gent. O, here he is! Lay hand upon him.- Sir, + Your most dear daughter- + Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even + The natural fool of fortune. Use me well; + You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon; + I am cut to th' brains. + Gent. You shall have anything. + Lear. No seconds? All myself? + Why, this would make a man a man of salt, + To use his eyes for garden waterpots, + Ay, and laying autumn's dust. + Gent. Good sir- + Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What! + I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king; + My masters, know you that? + Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. + Lear. Then there's life in't. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it + by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa! + Exit running. [Attendants follow.] + Gent. 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. + Edg. Hail, gentle sir. + Gent. Sir, speed you. What's your will? + Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? + Gent. Most sure and vulgar. Every one hears that + Which can distinguish sound. + Edg. But, by your favour, + How near's the other army? + Gent. Near and on speedy foot. The main descry + Stands on the hourly thought. + Edg. I thank you sir. That's all. + Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here, + Her army is mov'd on. + Edg. I thank you, sir + Exit [Gentleman]. + Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me; + Let not my worser spirit tempt me again + To die before you please! + Edg. Well pray you, father. + Glou. Now, good sir, what are you? + Edg. 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. + Glou. Hearty thanks. + The bounty and the benison of heaven + To boot, and boot! + + Enter [Oswald the] Steward. + + Osw. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy! + That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh + To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, + Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out + That must destroy thee. + Glou. Now let thy friendly hand + Put strength enough to't. + [Edgar interposes.] + Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant, + Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence! + Lest that th' infection of his fortune take + Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. + Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'cagion. + Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest! + Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor voke pass. An chud + ha' bin zwagger'd 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 vore ye, or Ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the + harder. Chill be plain with you. + Osw. Out, dunghill! + They fight. + Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins. + [Oswald falls.] + Osw. 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! Death! + He dies. + Edg. I know thee well. A serviceable villain, + As duteous to the vices of thy mistress + As badness would desire. + Glou. What, is he dead? + Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you. + Let's see his pockets; these letters that he speaks of + May be my friends. He's dead. I am only sorry + He had no other deathsman. Let us see. + Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not. + To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts; + Their papers, is more lawful. Reads the letter. + + 'Let our reciprocal vows be rememb'red. You have many + opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and + place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he + return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my + jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the + place for your labour. + 'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, + 'Goneril.' + + O indistinguish'd space of woman's will! + A plot upon her virtuous husband's life, + And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands + Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified + Of murtherous lechers; and in the mature time + With this ungracious paper strike the sight + Of the death-practis'd Duke, For him 'tis well + That of thy death and business I can tell. + Glou. The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, + That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling + Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract. + So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, + And woes by wrong imaginations lose + The knowledge of themselves. + A drum afar off. + Edg. Give me your hand. + Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. + Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene VII. +A tent in the French camp. + +Enter Cordelia, Kent, Doctor, and Gentleman. + + Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work + To match thy goodness? My life will be too short + And every measure fail me. + Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. + All my reports go with the modest truth; + Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. + Cor. Be better suited. + These weeds are memories of those worser hours. + I prithee put them off. + Kent. Pardon, dear madam. + Yet to be known shortens my made intent. + My boon I make it that you know me not + Till time and I think meet. + Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Doctor] How, does the King? + Doct. Madam, sleeps still. + Cor. O you kind gods, + Cure this great breach in his abused nature! + Th' untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up + Of this child-changed father! + Doct. So please your Majesty + That we may wake the King? He hath slept long. + Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed + I' th' sway of your own will. Is he array'd? + + Enter Lear in a chair carried by Servants. + + Gent. Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep + We put fresh garments on him. + Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him. + I doubt not of his temperance. + Cor. Very well. + Music. + Doct. Please you draw near. Louder the music there! + Cor. 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! + Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes + Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face + To be oppos'd against the warring winds? + To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? + In the most terrible and nimble stroke + Of quick cross lightning? to watch- poor perdu!- + With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog, + Though he had bit me, should have stood that night + Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, + To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn, + In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! + 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once + Had not concluded all.- He wakes. Speak to him. + Doct. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. + Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your Majesty? + Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave. + Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound + Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears + Do scald like molten lead. + Cor. Sir, do you know me? + Lear. You are a spirit, I know. When did you die? + Cor. Still, still, far wide! + Doct. He's scarce awake. Let him alone awhile. + Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight, + I am mightily abus'd. I should e'en die with pity, + To see another thus. I know not what to say. + I will not swear these are my hands. Let's see. + I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd + Of my condition! + Cor. O, look upon me, sir, + And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. + No, sir, you must not kneel. + Lear. Pray, do not mock me. + I am a very foolish fond old man, + Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; + And, to deal plainly, + I fear I am not in my perfect mind. + Methinks I should know you, and know this man; + Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant + What place this is; and all the skill I have + Remembers not these garments; nor I know not + Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; + For (as I am a man) I think this lady + To be my child Cordelia. + Cor. And so I am! I am! + Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not. + If you have poison for me, I will drink it. + I know you do not love me; for your sisters + Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. + You have some cause, they have not. + Cor. No cause, no cause. + Lear. Am I in France? + Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. + Lear. Do not abuse me. + Doct. 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. + Cor. Will't please your Highness walk? + Lear. You must bear with me. + Pray you now, forget and forgive. I am old and foolish. + Exeunt. Manent Kent and Gentleman. + Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain? + Kent. Most certain, sir. + Gent. Who is conductor of his people? + Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. + Gent. They say Edgar, his banish'd 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. + Gent. 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. Scene I. +The British camp near Dover. + +Enter, with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Regan, Gentleman, and Soldiers. + + Edm. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, + Or whether since he is advis'd by aught + To change the course. He's full of alteration + And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure. + [Exit an Officer.] + Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. + Edm. Tis to be doubted, madam. + Reg. 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? + Edm. In honour'd love. + Reg. But have you never found my brother's way + To the forfended place? + Edm. That thought abuses you. + Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct + And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. + Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. + Reg. I never shall endure her. Dear my lord, + Be not familiar with her. + Edm. Fear me not. + She and the Duke her husband! + + Enter, with Drum and Colours, Albany, Goneril, Soldiers. + + Gon. [aside] I had rather lose the battle than that sister + Should loosen him and me. + Alb. Our very loving sister, well bemet. + Sir, this I hear: the King is come to his daughter, + With others whom the rigour of our state + Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest, + I never yet was valiant. For this business, + It toucheth us as France invades our land, + Not bolds the King, with others whom, I fear, + Most just and heavy causes make oppose. + Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. + Reg. Why is this reason'd? + Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy; + For these domestic and particular broils + Are not the question here. + Alb. Let's then determine + With th' ancient of war on our proceeding. + Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. + Reg. Sister, you'll go with us? + Gon. No. + Reg. 'Tis most convenient. Pray you go with us. + Gon. [aside] O, ho, I know the riddle.- I will go. + + [As they are going out,] enter Edgar [disguised]. + + Edg. If e'er your Grace had speech with man so poor, + Hear me one word. + Alb. I'll overtake you.- Speak. + Exeunt [all but Albany and Edgar]. + Edg. 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! + Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. + Edg. I was forbid it. + When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, + And I'll appear again. + Alb. Why, fare thee well. I will o'erlook thy paper. + Exit [Edgar]. + + Enter Edmund. + + Edm. The enemy 's in view; draw up your powers. + Here is the guess of their true strength and forces + By diligent discovery; but your haste + Is now urg'd on you. + Alb. We will greet the time. Exit. + Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; + Each jealous of the other, as the stung + Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? + Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd, + If both remain alive. To take the widow + Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; + And hardly shall I carry out my side, + Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use + His countenance for the battle, which being done, + Let her who would be rid of him devise + His speedy taking off. As for the mercy + Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia- + The battle done, and they within our power, + Shall never see his pardon; for my state + Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Exit. + + + + +Scene II. +A field between the two camps. + +Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colours, the Powers of France +over the stage, Cordelia with her Father in her hand, and exeunt. + +Enter Edgar and Gloucester. + + Edg. 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. + Glou. Grace go with you, sir! + Exit [Edgar]. + + Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar, + + Edg. Away, old man! give me thy hand! away! + King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en. + Give me thy hand! come on! + Glou. No further, sir. A man may rot even here. + Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure + Their going hence, even as their coming hither; + Ripeness is all. Come on. + Glou. And that's true too. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +The British camp, near Dover. + +Enter, in conquest, with Drum and Colours, Edmund; Lear and Cordelia +as prisoners; Soldiers, Captain. + + Edm. Some officers take them away. Good guard + Until their greater pleasures first be known + That are to censure them. + Cor. 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 outfrown false Fortune's frown. + Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters? + Lear. No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison. + We two alone will sing like birds i' th' 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 th' moon. + Edm. Take them away. + Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, + The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? + He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven + And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. + The goodyears shall devour 'em, flesh and fell, + Ere they shall make us weep! We'll see 'em starv'd first. + Come. Exeunt [Lear and Cordelia, guarded]. + Edm. Come hither, Captain; hark. + Take thou this note [gives a paper]. Go follow them to prison. + One step I have advanc'd thee. If thou dost + As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way + To noble fortunes. Know thou this, that men + Are as the time is. To be tender-minded + Does not become a sword. Thy great employment + Will not bear question. Either say thou'lt do't, + Or thrive by other means. + Capt. I'll do't, my lord. + Edm. About it! and write happy when th' hast done. + Mark- I say, instantly; and carry it so + As I have set it down. + Capt. 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, Soldiers. + + Alb. Sir, you have show'd to-day your valiant strain, + And fortune led you well. You have the captives + Who 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. + Edm. Sir, I thought it fit + To send the old and miserable King + To some retention and appointed guard; + Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, + To pluck the common bosom on his side + And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes + Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen, + My reason all the same; and they are ready + To-morrow, or at further space, t' appear + Where you shall hold your session. At this time + We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend; + And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd + By those that feel their sharpness. + The question of Cordelia and her father + Requires a fitter place. + Alb. Sir, by your patience, + I hold you but a subject of this war, + Not as a brother. + Reg. 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. + Gon. Not so hot! + In his own grace he doth exalt himself + More than in your addition. + Reg. In my rights + By me invested, he compeers the best. + Gon. That were the most if he should husband you. + Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. + Gon. Holla, holla! + That eye that told you so look'd but asquint. + Reg. 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. + Gon. Mean you to enjoy him? + Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. + Edm. Nor in thine, lord. + Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. + Reg. [to Edmund] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine. + Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee + On capital treason; and, in thine attaint, + This gilded serpent [points to Goneril]. For your claim, fair + sister, + I bar it in the interest of my wife. + 'Tis she is subcontracted to this lord, + And I, her husband, contradict your banes. + If you will marry, make your loves to me; + My lady is bespoke. + Gon. An interlude! + Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound. + If none appear to prove upon thy person + Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, + There is my pledge [throws 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. + Reg. Sick, O, sick! + Gon. [aside] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine. + Edm. There's my exchange [throws 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. + Alb. A herald, ho! + Edm. A herald, ho, a herald! + Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, + All levied in my name, have in my name + Took their discharge. + Reg. My sickness grows upon me. + Alb. 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. + Capt. Sound, trumpet! A trumpet sounds. + + Her. (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.' + + Edm. Sound! First trumpet. + Her. Again! Second trumpet. + Her. Again! Third trumpet. + Trumpet answers within. + + Enter Edgar, armed, at the third sound, a Trumpet before him. + + Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears + Upon this call o' th' trumpet. + Her. What are you? + Your name, your quality? and why you answer + This present summons? + Edg. 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. + Alb. Which is that adversary? + Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester? + Edm. Himself. What say'st thou to him? + Edg. 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 th' extremest upward of thy head + To the descent and dust beneath thy foot, + A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'no,' + This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent + To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, + Thou liest. + Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name; + But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, + And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, + What safe and nicely I might well delay + By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. + Back do I toss those treasons to thy head; + With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; + Which- for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise- + This sword of mine shall give them instant way + Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! + Alarums. Fight. [Edmund falls.] + Alb. Save him, save him! + Gon. This is mere practice, Gloucester. + By th' law of arms thou wast not bound to answer + An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquish'd, + But cozen'd and beguil'd. + Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, + Or with this paper shall I stop it. [Shows her her letter to + Edmund.]- [To Edmund]. Hold, sir. + [To Goneril] Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil. + No tearing, lady! I perceive you know it. + Gon. Say if I do- the laws are mine, not thine. + Who can arraign me for't? + Alb. Most monstrous! + Know'st thou this paper? + Gon. Ask me not what I know. Exit. + Alb. Go after her. She's desperate; govern her. + [Exit an Officer.] + Edm. What, you have charg'd me with, that have I done, + And more, much more. The time will bring it out. + 'Tis past, and so am I.- But what art thou + That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble, + I do forgive thee. + Edg. Let's exchange charity. + I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; + If more, the more th' 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 scourge us. + The dark and vicious place where thee he got + Cost him his eyes. + Edm. Th' hast spoken right; 'tis true. + The wheel is come full circle; I am here. + Alb. 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! + Edg. Worthy prince, I know't. + Alb. Where have you hid yourself? + How have you known the miseries of your father? + Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale; + And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst! + The bloody proclamation to escape + That follow'd me so near (O, our lives' sweetness! + That with the pain of death would hourly die + Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift + Into a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance + That very dogs disdain'd; and in this habit + Met I my father with his bleeding rings, + Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, + Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; + Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him + Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd, + Not sure, though hoping of this good success, + I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last + Told him my pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart + (Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) + 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, + Burst smilingly. + Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, + And shall perchance do good; but speak you on; + You look as you had something more to say. + Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; + For I am almost ready to dissolve, + Hearing of this. + Edg. This would have seem'd a period + To such as love not sorrow; but another, + To amplify too much, would make much more, + And top extremity. + Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, + Who, having seen me in my worst estate, + Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding + Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms + He fastened on my neck, and bellowed out + As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; + Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him + That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting + His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life + Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded, + And there I left him tranc'd. + Alb. But who was this? + Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise + Followed his enemy king and did him service + Improper for a slave. + + Enter a Gentleman with a bloody knife. + + Gent. Help, help! O, help! + Edg. What kind of help? + Alb. Speak, man. + Edg. What means that bloody knife? + Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes. + It came even from the heart of- O! she's dead! + Alb. Who dead? Speak, man. + Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady! and her sister + By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it. + Edm. I was contracted to them both. All three + Now marry in an instant. + + Enter Kent. + + Edg. Here comes Kent. + Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead. + [Exit Gentleman.] + This judgement of the heavens, that makes us tremble + Touches us not with pity. O, is this he? + The time will not allow the compliment + That very manners urges. + Kent. I am come + To bid my king and master aye good night. + Is he not here? + Alb. Great thing of us forgot! + Speak, Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? + The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. + Seest thou this object, Kent? + Kent. Alack, why thus? + Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd. + The one the other poisoned for my sake, + And after slew herself. + Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. + Edm. I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, + Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send + (Be brief in't) to the castle; for my writ + Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. + Nay, send in time. + Alb. Run, run, O, run! + Edg. To who, my lord? Who has the office? Send + Thy token of reprieve. + Edm. Well thought on. Take my sword; + Give it the Captain. + Alb. Haste thee for thy life. [Exit Edgar.] + Edm. 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. + Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile. + [Edmund is borne off.] + + Enter Lear, with Cordelia [dead] in his arms, [Edgar, Captain, + and others following]. + + Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone. + Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so + That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever! + I know when one is dead, and when one lives. + She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass. + If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, + Why, then she lives. + Kent. Is this the promis'd end? + Edg. Or image of that horror? + Alb. Fall and cease! + Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so, + It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows + That ever I have felt. + Kent. O my good master! + Lear. Prithee away! + Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. + Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! + I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever! + Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! + What is't thou say'st, Her voice was ever soft, + Gentle, and low- an excellent thing in woman. + I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee. + Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. + Lear. Did I not, fellow? + I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion + I would have made them skip. I am old now, + And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? + Mine eyes are not o' th' best. I'll tell you straight. + Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, + One of them we behold. + Lear. This' a dull sight. Are you not Kent? + Kent. The same- + Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? + Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that. + He'll strike, and quickly too. He's dead and rotten. + Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man- + Lear. I'll see that straight. + Kent. That from your first of difference and decay + Have followed your sad steps. + Lear. You're welcome hither. + Kent. Nor no man else! All's cheerless, dark, and deadly. + Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, + And desperately are dead. + Lear. Ay, so I think. + Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it + That we present us to him. + Edg. Very bootless. + + Enter a Captain. + + Capt. Edmund is dead, my lord. + Alb. That's but a trifle here. + You lords and noble friends, know our intent. + What comfort to this great decay may come + Shall be applied. For us, we will resign, + During the life of this old Majesty, + To him our absolute power; [to Edgar and Kent] you to your + rights; + With boot, and Such addition as your honours + Have more than merited.- All friends shall taste + The wages of their virtue, and all foes + The cup of their deservings.- O, see, see! + Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! + Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, + And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, + Never, never, never, never, never! + Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir. + Do you see this? Look on her! look! her lips! + Look there, look there! He dies. + Edg. He faints! My lord, my lord! + Kent. Break, heart; I prithee break! + Edg. Look up, my lord. + Kent. Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him + That would upon the rack of this tough world + Stretch him out longer. + Edg. He is gone indeed. + Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long. + He but usurp'd his life. + Alb. 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 gor'd state sustain. + Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go. + My master calls me; I must not say no. + Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey, + Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. + The oldest have borne most; we that are young + Shall never see so much, nor live so long. + Exeunt with a dead march. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + + +1595 + +LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae. + + FERDINAND, King of Navarre + BEROWNE, lord attending on the King + LONGAVILLE, " " " " " + DUMAIN, " " " " " + BOYET, lord attending on the Princess of France + MARCADE, " " " " " " " + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, fantastical Spaniard + SIR NATHANIEL, a curate + HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster + DULL, a constable + COSTARD, a clown + MOTH, page to Armado + A FORESTER + + THE PRINCESS OF FRANCE + ROSALINE, lady attending on the Princess + MARIA, " " " " " + KATHARINE, lady attending on the Princess + JAQUENETTA, a country wench + + Lords, Attendants, etc. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Navarre + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Navarre. The King's park + +Enter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN + + KING. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, + Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs, + And then grace us in the disgrace of death; + When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, + Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy + That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, + And make us heirs of all eternity. + Therefore, brave conquerors- for so you are + That war against your own affections + And the huge army of the world's desires- + Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: + Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; + Our court shall be a little Academe, + Still and contemplative in living art. + You three, Berowne, Dumain, and Longaville, + Have sworn for three years' term to live with me + My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes + That are recorded in this schedule here. + Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names, + That his own hand may strike his honour down + That violates the smallest branch herein. + If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, + Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. + LONGAVILLE. I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years' fast. + The mind shall banquet, though the body pine. + Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits + Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. + DUMAIN. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified. + The grosser manner of these world's delights + He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves; + To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, + With all these living in philosophy. + BEROWNE. I can but say their protestation over; + So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, + That is, to live and study here three years. + But there are other strict observances, + As: not to see a woman in that term, + Which I hope well is not enrolled there; + And one day in a week to touch no food, + And but one meal on every day beside, + The which I hope is not enrolled there; + And then to sleep but three hours in the night + And not be seen to wink of all the day- + When I was wont to think no harm all night, + And make a dark night too of half the day- + Which I hope well is not enrolled there. + O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, + Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep! + KING. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. + BEROWNE. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please: + I only swore to study with your Grace, + And stay here in your court for three years' space. + LONGAVILLE. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest. + BEROWNE. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. + What is the end of study, let me know. + KING. Why, that to know which else we should not know. + BEROWNE. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense? + KING. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. + BEROWNE. Come on, then; I will swear to study so, + To know the thing I am forbid to know, + As thus: to study where I well may dine, + When I to feast expressly am forbid; + Or study where to meet some mistress fine, + When mistresses from common sense are hid; + Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, + Study to break it, and not break my troth. + If study's gain be thus, and this be so, + Study knows that which yet it doth not know. + Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. + KING. These be the stops that hinder study quite, + And train our intellects to vain delight. + BEROWNE. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain + Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain, + As painfully to pore upon a book + To seek the light of truth; while truth the while + Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look. + Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; + So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, + Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. + Study me how to please the eye indeed, + By fixing it upon a fairer eye; + Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, + And give him light that it was blinded by. + Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, + That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; + Small have continual plodders ever won, + Save base authority from others' books. + These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights + That give a name to every fixed star + Have no more profit of their shining nights + Than those that walk and wot not what they are. + Too much to know is to know nought but fame; + And every godfather can give a name. + KING. How well he's read, to reason against reading! + DUMAIN. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! + LONGAVILLE. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. + BEROWNE. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding. + DUMAIN. How follows that? + BEROWNE. Fit in his place and time. + DUMAIN. In reason nothing. + BEROWNE. Something then in rhyme. + LONGAVILLE. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost + That bites the first-born infants of the spring. + BEROWNE. Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast + Before the birds have any cause to sing? + Why should I joy in any abortive birth? + At Christmas I no more desire a rose + Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; + But like of each thing that in season grows; + So you, to study now it is too late, + Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. + KING. Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu. + BEROWNE. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you; + And though I have for barbarism spoke more + Than for that angel knowledge you can say, + Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, + And bide the penance of each three years' day. + Give me the paper; let me read the same; + And to the strictest decrees I'll write my name. + KING. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame! + BEROWNE. [Reads] 'Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of + my court'- Hath this been proclaimed? + LONGAVILLE. Four days ago. + BEROWNE. Let's see the penalty. [Reads] '-on pain of losing her + tongue.' Who devis'd this penalty? + LONGAVILLE. Marry, that did I. + BEROWNE. Sweet lord, and why? + LONGAVILLE. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. + BEROWNE. A dangerous law against gentility. + [Reads] 'Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within + the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the + rest of the court can possibly devise.' + This article, my liege, yourself must break; + For well you know here comes in embassy + The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak- + A mild of grace and complete majesty- + About surrender up of Aquitaine + To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father; + Therefore this article is made in vain, + Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither. + KING. What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot. + BEROWNE. So study evermore is over-shot. + While it doth study to have what it would, + It doth forget to do the thing it should; + And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, + 'Tis won as towns with fire- so won, so lost. + KING. We must of force dispense with this decree; + She must lie here on mere necessity. + BEROWNE. Necessity will make us all forsworn + Three thousand times within this three years' space; + For every man with his affects is born, + Not by might mast'red, but by special grace. + If I break faith, this word shall speak for me: + I am forsworn on mere necessity. + So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes] + And he that breaks them in the least degree + Stands in attainder of eternal shame. + Suggestions are to other as to me; + But I believe, although I seem so loath, + I am the last that will last keep his oath. + But is there no quick recreation granted? + KING. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted + With a refined traveller of Spain, + A man in all the world's new fashion planted, + That hath a mint of phrases in his brain; + One who the music of his own vain tongue + Doth ravish like enchanting harmony; + A man of complements, whom right and wrong + Have chose as umpire of their mutiny. + This child of fancy, that Armado hight, + For interim to our studies shall relate, + In high-born words, the worth of many a knight + From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. + How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; + But I protest I love to hear him lie, + And I will use him for my minstrelsy. + BEROWNE. Armado is a most illustrious wight, + A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. + LONGAVILLE. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport; + And so to study three years is but short. + + Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD + + DULL. Which is the Duke's own person? + BEROWNE. This, fellow. What wouldst? + DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace's + farborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. + BEROWNE. This is he. + DULL. Signior Arme- Arme- commends you. There's villainy abroad; + this letter will tell you more. + COSTARD. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. + KING. A letter from the magnificent Armado. + BEROWNE. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. + LONGAVILLE. A high hope for a low heaven. God grant us patience! + BEROWNE. To hear, or forbear hearing? + LONGAVILLE. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or, to + forbear both. + BEROWNE. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb + in the merriness. + COSTARD. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. + The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. + BEROWNE. In what manner? + COSTARD. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was + seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, + and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is in + manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner- it is the + manner of a man to speak to a woman. For the form- in some form. + BEROWNE. For the following, sir? + COSTARD. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the + right! + KING. Will you hear this letter with attention? + BEROWNE. As we would hear an oracle. + COSTARD. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. + KING. [Reads] 'Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent and sole + dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god and body's fost'ring + patron'- + COSTARD. Not a word of Costard yet. + KING. [Reads] 'So it is'- + COSTARD. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling + true, but so. + KING. Peace! + COSTARD. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight! + KING. No words! + COSTARD. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. + KING. [Reads] 'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I + did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome + physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook + myself to walk. The time When? About the sixth hour; when beasts + most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment + which is called supper. So much for the time When. Now for the + ground Which? which, I mean, I upon; it is ycleped thy park. Then + for the place Where? where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene + and most prepost'rous event that draweth from my snow-white pen + the ebon-coloured ink which here thou viewest, beholdest, + surveyest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth + north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy + curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain, + that base minnow of thy mirth,' + COSTARD. Me? + KING. 'that unlettered small-knowing soul,' + COSTARD. Me? + KING. 'that shallow vassal,' + COSTARD. Still me? + KING. 'which, as I remember, hight Costard,' + COSTARD. O, me! + KING. 'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed + edict and continent canon; which, with, O, with- but with this I + passion to say wherewith-' + COSTARD. With a wench. + King. 'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy + more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed + duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of + punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer, Antony Dull, a man of + good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.' + DULL. Me, an't shall please you; I am Antony Dull. + KING. 'For Jaquenetta- so is the weaker vessel called, which I + apprehended with the aforesaid swain- I keep her as a vessel of + thy law's fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, + bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and + heart-burning heat of duty, + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.' + + BEROWNE. This is not so well as I look'd for, but the best that + ever I heard. + KING. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to + this? + COSTARD. Sir, I confess the wench. + KING. Did you hear the proclamation? + COSTARD. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the + marking of it. + KING. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a + wench. + COSTARD. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a damsel. + KING. Well, it was proclaimed damsel. + COSTARD. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin. + KING. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin. + COSTARD. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid. + KING. This 'maid' not serve your turn, sir. + COSTARD. This maid will serve my turn, sir. + KING. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week + with bran and water. + COSTARD. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. + KING. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. + My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o'er; + And go we, lords, to put in practice that + Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. + Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN + BEROWNE. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat + These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. + Sirrah, come on. + COSTARD. I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken + with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore + welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile + again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The park + +Enter ARMADO and MOTH, his page + + ARMADO. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows + melancholy? + MOTH. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. + ARMADO. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. + MOTH. No, no; O Lord, sir, no! + ARMADO. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender + juvenal? + MOTH. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior. + ARMADO. Why tough signior? Why tough signior? + MOTH. Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal? + ARMADO. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton + appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. + MOTH. And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old + time, which we may name tough. + ARMADO. Pretty and apt. + MOTH. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and + my saying pretty? + ARMADO. Thou pretty, because little. + MOTH. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? + ARMADO. And therefore apt, because quick. + MOTH. Speak you this in my praise, master? + ARMADO. In thy condign praise. + MOTH. I will praise an eel with the same praise. + ARMADO. that an eel is ingenious? + MOTH. That an eel is quick. + ARMADO. I do say thou art quick in answers; thou heat'st my blood. + MOTH. I am answer'd, sir. + ARMADO. I love not to be cross'd. + MOTH. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him. + ARMADO. I have promised to study three years with the Duke. + MOTH. You may do it in an hour, sir. + ARMADO. Impossible. + MOTH. How many is one thrice told? + ARMADO. I am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. + MOTH. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. + ARMADO. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete + man. + MOTH. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace + amounts to. + ARMADO. It doth amount to one more than two. + MOTH. Which the base vulgar do call three. + ARMADO. True. + MOTH. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three + studied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years' + to the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the + dancing horse will tell you. + ARMADO. A most fine figure! + MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher. + ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love. And as it is base for + a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing + my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from + the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and + ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curtsy. I + think scorn to sigh; methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort + me, boy; what great men have been in love? + MOTH. Hercules, master. + ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; + and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. + MOTH. Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, great + carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a + porter; and he was in love. + ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee + in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in + love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth? + MOTH. A woman, master. + ARMADO. Of what complexion? + MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the + four. + ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion. + MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir. + ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions? + MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. + ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love + of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He + surely affected her for her wit. + MOTH. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit. + ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red. + MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such + colours. + ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant. + MOTH. My father's wit my mother's tongue assist me! + ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical! + MOTH. If she be made of white and red, + Her faults will ne'er be known; + For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, + And fears by pale white shown. + Then if she fear, or be to blame, + By this you shall not know; + For still her cheeks possess the same + Which native she doth owe. + A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. + ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? + MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages + since; but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it + would neither serve for the writing nor the tune. + ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may + example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love + that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind + Costard; she deserves well. + MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my master. + ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. + MOTH. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. + ARMADO. I say, sing. + MOTH. Forbear till this company be past. + + Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA + + DULL. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and + you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but 'a + must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at + the park; she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well. + ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid! + JAQUENETTA. Man! + ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge. + JAQUENETTA. That's hereby. + ARMADO. I know where it is situate. + JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are! + ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders. + JAQUENETTA. With that face? + ARMADO. I love thee. + JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say. + ARMADO. And so, farewell. + JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you! + DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Exit with JAQUENETTA + ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be + pardoned. + COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full + stomach. + ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished. + COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but + lightly rewarded. + ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up. + MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away. + COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose. + MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison. + COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I + have seen, some shall see. + MOTH. What shall some see? + COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is + not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore + I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as + another man, and therefore I can be quiet. + Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD + ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, + which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. + I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood- if I + love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted? + Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but + Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent + strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. + Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore + too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause + will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello + he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory + is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum; + for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some + extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. + Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. + Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE II. +The park + +Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies, +ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS + + BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits. + Consider who the King your father sends, + To whom he sends, and what's his embassy: + Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, + To parley with the sole inheritor + Of all perfections that a man may owe, + Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight + Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. + Be now as prodigal of all dear grace + As Nature was in making graces dear, + When she did starve the general world beside + And prodigally gave them all to you. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, + Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. + Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, + Not utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues; + I am less proud to hear you tell my worth + Than you much willing to be counted wise + In spending your wit in the praise of mine. + But now to task the tasker: good Boyet, + You are not ignorant all-telling fame + Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow, + Till painful study shall outwear three years, + No woman may approach his silent court. + Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course, + Before we enter his forbidden gates, + To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, + Bold of your worthiness, we single you + As our best-moving fair solicitor. + Tell him the daughter of the King of France, + On serious business, craving quick dispatch, + Importunes personal conference with his Grace. + Haste, signify so much; while we attend, + Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. + BOYET. Proud of employment, willingly I go. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. + Exit BOYET + Who are the votaries, my loving lords, + That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? + FIRST LORD. Lord Longaville is one. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Know you the man? + MARIA. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast, + Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir + Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized + In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. + A man of sovereign parts, peerless esteem'd, + Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms; + Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. + The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, + If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, + Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will, + Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills + It should none spare that come within his power. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? + MARIA. They say so most that most his humours know. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. + Who are the rest? + KATHARINE. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth, + Of all that virtue love for virtue loved; + Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill, + For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, + And shape to win grace though he had no wit. + I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once; + And much too little of that good I saw + Is my report to his great worthiness. + ROSALINE. Another of these students at that time + Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. + Berowne they call him; but a merrier man, + Within the limit of becoming mirth, + I never spent an hour's talk withal. + His eye begets occasion for his wit, + For every object that the one doth catch + The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, + Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, + Delivers in such apt and gracious words + That aged ears play truant at his tales, + And younger hearings are quite ravished; + So sweet and voluble is his discourse. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God bless my ladies! Are they all in love, + That every one her own hath garnished + With such bedecking ornaments of praise? + FIRST LORD. Here comes Boyet. + + Re-enter BOYET + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Now, what admittance, lord? + BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach, + And he and his competitors in oath + Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, + Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt: + He rather means to lodge you in the field, + Like one that comes here to besiege his court, + Than seek a dispensation for his oath, + To let you enter his unpeopled house. + [The LADIES-IN-WAITING mask] + + Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BEROWNE, + and ATTENDANTS + + Here comes Navarre. + KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' I give you back again; and 'welcome' I + have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and + welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine. + KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither. + KING. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Our Lady help my lord! He'll be forsworn. + KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing + else. + KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, + Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. + I hear your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping. + 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, + And sin to break it. + But pardon me, I am too sudden bold; + To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. + Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, + And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Giving a paper] + KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. YOU Will the sooner that I were away, + For you'll prove perjur'd if you make me stay. + BEROWNE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + KATHARINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + BEROWNE. I know you did. + KATHARINE. How needless was it then to ask the question! + BEROWNE. You must not be so quick. + KATHARINE. 'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions. + BEROWNE. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. + KATHARINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. + BEROWNE. What time o' day? + KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask. + BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask! + KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers! + BEROWNE. And send you many lovers! + KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none. + BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone. + KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate + The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; + Being but the one half of an entire sum + Disbursed by my father in his wars. + But say that he or we, as neither have, + Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid + A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which, + One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, + Although not valued to the money's worth. + If then the King your father will restore + But that one half which is unsatisfied, + We will give up our right in Aquitaine, + And hold fair friendship with his Majesty. + But that, it seems, he little purposeth, + For here he doth demand to have repaid + A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, + On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, + To have his title live in Aquitaine; + Which we much rather had depart withal, + And have the money by our father lent, + Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. + Dear Princess, were not his requests so far + From reason's yielding, your fair self should make + A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast, + And go well satisfied to France again. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong, + And wrong the reputation of your name, + In so unseeming to confess receipt + Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. + KING. I do protest I never heard of it; + And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back + Or yield up Aquitaine. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word. + Boyet, you can produce acquittances + For such a sum from special officers + Of Charles his father. + KING. Satisfy me so. + BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come, + Where that and other specialties are bound; + To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. + KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview + All liberal reason I will yield unto. + Meantime receive such welcome at my hand + As honour, without breach of honour, may + Make tender of to thy true worthiness. + You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates; + But here without you shall be so receiv'd + As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, + Though so denied fair harbour in my house. + Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell. + To-morrow shall we visit you again. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your + Grace! + KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place. + Exit with attendants + BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. + ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations; + I would be glad to see it. + BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan. + ROSALINE. Is the fool sick? + BEROWNE. Sick at the heart. + ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood. + BEROWNE. Would that do it good? + ROSALINE. My physic says 'ay.' + BEROWNE. Will YOU prick't with your eye? + ROSALINE. No point, with my knife. + BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life! + ROSALINE. And yours from long living! + BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring] + DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same? + BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name. + DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. Exit + LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white? + BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. + LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name. + BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. + LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? + BOYET. Her mother's, I have heard. + LONGAVILLE. God's blessing on your beard! + BOYET. Good sir, be not offended; + She is an heir of Falconbridge. + LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended. + She is a most sweet lady. + BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. Exit LONGAVILLE + BEROWNE. What's her name in the cap? + BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap. + BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no? + BOYET. To her will, sir, or so. + BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu! + BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. + Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask + MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord; + Not a word with him but a jest. + BOYET. And every jest but a word. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his + word. + BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. + KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry! + BOYET. And wherefore not ships? + No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. + KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture- shall that finish the jest? + BOYET. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her] + KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast; + My lips are no common, though several they be. + BOYET. Belonging to whom? + KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, + agree; + This civil war of wits were much better used + On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abused. + BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies, + By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, + Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. With what? + BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle 'affected.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Your reason? + BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire + To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire. + His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, + Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed; + His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, + Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; + All senses to that sense did make their repair, + To feel only looking on fairest of fair. + Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, + As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; + Who, tend'ring their own worth from where they were glass'd, + Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. + His face's own margent did quote such amazes + That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. + I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his, + An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is dispos'd. + BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd; + I only have made a mouth of his eye, + By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. + MARIA. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. + KATHARINE. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. + ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but + grim. + BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches? + MARIA. No. + BOYET. What, then; do you see? + MARIA. Ay, our way to be gone. + BOYET. You are too hard for me. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +The park + +Enter ARMADO and MOTH + + ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. + [MOTH sings Concolinel] + ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give + enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must + employ him in a letter to my love. + MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl? + ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French? + MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's + end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your + eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the + throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime + through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love, + with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with + your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a + spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old + painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. + These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice + wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men + of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these. + ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience? + MOTH. By my penny of observation. + ARMADO. But O- but O- + MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot. + ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'? + MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love + perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? + ARMADO. Almost I had. + MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart. + ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy. + MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove. + ARMADO. What wilt thou prove? + MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the + instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by + her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with + her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you + cannot enjoy her. + ARMADO. I am all these three. + MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. + ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter. + MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for an + ass. + ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou? + MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is + very slow-gaited. But I go. + ARMADO. The way is but short; away. + MOTH. As swift as lead, sir. + ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious? + Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? + MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. + ARMADO. I say lead is slow. + MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so: + Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun? + ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! + He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he; + I shoot thee at the swain. + MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit + ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace! + By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face; + Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. + My herald is return'd. + + Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD + + MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin. + ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin. + COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir. + O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no + salve, sir, but a plantain! + ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my + spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous + smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take + salve for l'envoy, and the word 'l'envoy' for a salve? + MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a salve? + ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain + Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. + I will example it: + The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + There's the moral. Now the l'envoy. + MOTH. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again. + ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + MOTH. Until the goose came out of door, + And stay'd the odds by adding four. + Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy. + The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door, + Staying the odds by adding four. + MOTH. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more? + COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat. + Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. + To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose; + Let me see: a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. + ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? + MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. + Then call'd you for the l'envoy. + COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in; + Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought; + And he ended the market. + ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin? + MOTH. I will tell you sensibly. + COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that + l'envoy. + I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, + Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. + ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter. + COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin. + ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee. + COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l'envoy, some + goose, in this. + ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, + enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, + captivated, bound. + COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me + loose. + ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in + lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this + significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta; + there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is + rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit + MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. + COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incony Jew! + Exit MOTH + Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the + Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration. + 'What's the price of this inkle?'- 'One penny.'- 'No, I'll give + you a remuneration.' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is + a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of + this word. + + Enter BEROWNE + + BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met! + COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for + a remuneration? + BEROWNE. What is a remuneration? + COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. + BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. + COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi' you! + BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee. + As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, + Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. + COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir? + BEROWNE. This afternoon. + COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well. + BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is. + COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. + BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first. + COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. + BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon. + Hark, slave, it is but this: + The Princess comes to hunt here in the park, + And in her train there is a gentle lady; + When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, + And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her, + And to her white hand see thou do commend + This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. + [Giving him a shilling] + COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a + 'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it, + sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration! Exit + BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love's whip; + A very beadle to a humorous sigh; + A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; + A domineering pedant o'er the boy, + Than whom no mortal so magnificent! + This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, + This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; + Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, + Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, + Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, + Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, + Sole imperator, and great general + Of trotting paritors. O my little heart! + And I to be a corporal of his field, + And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop! + What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife- + A woman, that is like a German clock, + Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, + And never going aright, being a watch, + But being watch'd that it may still go right! + Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all; + And, among three, to love the worst of all, + A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, + With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; + Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, + Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard. + And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! + To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague + That Cupid will impose for my neglect + Of his almighty dreadful little might. + Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan: + Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The park + +Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, ATTENDANTS, +and a FORESTER + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so + hard + Against the steep uprising of the hill? + BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe'er 'a was, 'a show'd a mounting mind. + Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch; + On Saturday we will return to France. + Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush + That we must stand and play the murderer in? + FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; + A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot, + And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. + FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no? + O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe! + FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now; + Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. + Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: + [ Giving him money] + Fair payment for foul words is more than due. + FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. + O heresy in fair, fit for these days! + A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. + But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill, + And shooting well is then accounted ill; + Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: + Not wounding, pity would not let me do't; + If wounding, then it was to show my skill, + That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. + And, out of question, so it is sometimes: + Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, + When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, + We bend to that the working of the heart; + As I for praise alone now seek to spill + The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill. + BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty + Only for praise sake, when they strive to be + Lords o'er their lords? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford + To any lady that subdues a lord. + + Enter COSTARD + + BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. + COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that + have no heads. + COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest. + COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth. + An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, + One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. + Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What's your will, sir? What's your will? + COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one + Lady Rosaline. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He's a good friend + of mine. + Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve. + Break up this capon. + BOYET. I am bound to serve. + This letter is mistook; it importeth none here. + It is writ to Jaquenetta. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear. + Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. + BOYET. [Reads] 'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible; + true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely. + More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth + itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The + magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the + pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that + might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici'; which to annothanize in + the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw, + and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?- + the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome. + To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who + overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose + side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd; on whose side?- the + beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the + king's. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so + stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy + lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy + love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou + exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself? + -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my + eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. + Thine in the dearest design of industry, + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. + + 'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar + 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; + Submissive fall his princely feet before, + And he from forage will incline to play. + But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then? + Food for his rage, repasture for his den.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this + letter? + What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better? + BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it + erewhile. + BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court; + A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport + To the Prince and his book-mates. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word. + Who gave thee this letter? + COSTARD. I told you: my lord. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it? + COSTARD. From my lord to my lady. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady? + COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, + To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, + away. + [To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another + day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN + BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter? + ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know? + BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty. + ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow. + Finely put off! + BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry, + Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. + Finely put on! + ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter. + BOYET. And who is your deer? + ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near. + Finely put on indeed! + MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the + brow. + BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now? + ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man + when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit + it? + BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when + Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit + it. + ROSALINE. [Singing] + Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, + Thou canst not hit it, my good man. + BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, + An I cannot, another can. + Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE + COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it! + MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it. + BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! + Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be. + MARIA. Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out. + COSTARD. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the + clout. + BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in. + COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin. + MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul. + COSTARD. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to + bowl. + BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl. + Exeunt BOYET and MARIA + COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown! + Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! + O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit! + When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. + Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man! + To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! + To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear! + And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit! + Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! + Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD + + + + +SCENE II. +The park + +From the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL + + NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of + a good conscience. + HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as + the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo, + the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on + the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth. + NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly + varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was + a buck of the first head. + HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. + DULL. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. + HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, + as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, + replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his + inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, + unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest + unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer. + DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. + HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus! + O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! + NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in + a book; + He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his + intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible + in the duller parts; + And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should + be- + Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do + fructify in us more than he. + For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, + So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school. + But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father's mind: + Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. + DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit + What was a month old at Cain's birth that's not five weeks old as + yet? + HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull. + DULL. What is Dictynna? + NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. + HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more, + And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score. + Th' allusion holds in the exchange. + DULL. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange. + HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th' allusion holds in + the exchange. + DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is + never but a month old; and I say, beside, that 'twas a pricket + that the Princess kill'd. + HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on + the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer + the Princess kill'd a pricket. + NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please + you to abrogate scurrility. + HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues + facility. + + The preyful Princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing + pricket. + Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting. + The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket- + Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting. + If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o' sorel. + Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L. + + NATHANIEL. A rare talent! + DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a + talent. + HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish + extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, + ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in + the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and + delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in + those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. + NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my + parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their + daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of + the commonwealth. + HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want + no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to + them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth + us. + + Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD + + JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person. + HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be + pierc'd which is the one? + COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a + hogshead. + HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf + of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; 'tis + pretty; it is well. + JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter; + it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I + beseech you read it. + HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra + Ruminat- + and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as + the traveller doth of Venice: + Venetia, Venetia, + Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia. + Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not, + loves thee not- + Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. + Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as + Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses? + NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned. + HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine. + NATHANIEL. [Reads] 'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to + love? + Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! + Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; + Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. + Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, + Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend. + If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; + Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend; + All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; + Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire. + Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, + Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. + Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong, + That singes heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.' + HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent: + let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; + but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, + caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, 'Naso' but for + smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of + invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the + ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, + was this directed to you? + JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange + queen's lords. + HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: 'To the snow-white + hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on + the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party + writing to the person written unto: 'Your Ladyship's in all + desired employment, Berowne.' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one + of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter + to a sequent of the stranger queen's which accidentally, or by + the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; + deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may + concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu. + JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life! + COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl. + Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA + NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very + religiously; and, as a certain father saith- + HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable + colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir + Nathaniel? + NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen. + HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of + mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify + the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the + parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben + venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, + neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your + society. + NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the + happiness of life. + HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. + [To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: + pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to + our recreation. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The park + +Enter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone + + BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself. + They have pitch'd a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that + defiles. Defile! a foul word. Well, 'set thee down, sorrow!' for + so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well + proved, wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills + sheep; it kills me- I a sheep. Well proved again o' my side. I + will not love; if I do, hang me. I' faith, I will not. O, but her + eye! By this light, but for her eye, I would not love her- yes, + for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and + lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to + rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and + here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the + clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet + clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not + care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a + paper; God give him grace to groan! + [Climbs into a tree] + + Enter the KING, with a paper + + KING. Ay me! + BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd + him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets! + KING. [Reads] + 'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not + To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, + As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote + The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows; + Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright + Through the transparent bosom of the deep, + As doth thy face through tears of mine give light. + Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; + No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; + So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. + Do but behold the tears that swell in me, + And they thy glory through my grief will show. + But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep + My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. + O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel + No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.' + How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper- + Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? + [Steps aside] + + Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper + + What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car. + BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear! + LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn! + BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers. + KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame! + BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name. + LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? + BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know; + Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, + The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity. + LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move. + O sweet Maria, empress of my love! + These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. + BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: + Disfigure not his slop. + LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet] + 'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, + 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, + Persuade my heart to this false perjury? + Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. + A woman I forswore; but I will prove, + Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: + My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; + Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. + Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is; + Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, + Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is. + If broken, then it is no fault of mine; + If by me broke, what fool is not so wise + To lose an oath to win a paradise?' + BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity, + A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry. + God amend us, God amend! We are much out o' th' way. + + Enter DUMAIN, with a paper + + LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay. + [Steps aside] + BEROWNE. 'All hid, all hid'- an old infant play. + Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, + And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. + More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish! + Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish! + DUMAIN. O most divine Kate! + BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb! + DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! + BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie. + DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted. + BEROWNE. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. + DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar. + BEROWNE. Stoop, I say; + Her shoulder is with child. + DUMAIN. As fair as day. + BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine. + DUMAIN. O that I had my wish! + LONGAVILLE. And I had mine! + KING. And I mine too,.good Lord! + BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word? + DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she + Reigns in my blood, and will rememb'red be. + BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision + Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision! + DUMAIN. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. + BEROWNE. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. + DUMAIN. [Reads] + 'On a day-alack the day!- + Love, whose month is ever May, + Spied a blossom passing fair + Playing in the wanton air. + Through the velvet leaves the wind, + All unseen, can passage find; + That the lover, sick to death, + Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. + "Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow; + Air, would I might triumph so! + But, alack, my hand is sworn + Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; + Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, + Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. + Do not call it sin in me + That I am forsworn for thee; + Thou for whom Jove would swear + Juno but an Ethiope were; + And deny himself for Jove, + Turning mortal for thy love."' + This will I send; and something else more plain + That shall express my true love's fasting pain. + O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville, + Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, + Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note; + For none offend where all alike do dote. + LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity, + That in love's grief desir'st society; + You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, + To be o'erheard and taken napping so. + KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such. + You chide at him, offending twice as much: + You do not love Maria! Longaville + Did never sonnet for her sake compile; + Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart + His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. + I have been closely shrouded in this bush, + And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. + I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion, + Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion. + 'Ay me!' says one. 'O Jove!' the other cries. + One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other's eyes. + [To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth; + [To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath. + What will Berowne say when that he shall hear + Faith infringed which such zeal did swear? + How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit! + How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it! + For all the wealth that ever I did see, + I would not have him know so much by me. + BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy, + Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. + Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove + These worms for loving, that art most in love? + Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears + There is no certain princess that appears; + You'll not be perjur'd; 'tis a hateful thing; + Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. + But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not, + All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? + You found his mote; the King your mote did see; + But I a beam do find in each of three. + O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen, + Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! + O, me, with what strict patience have I sat, + To see a king transformed to a gnat! + To see great Hercules whipping a gig, + And profound Solomon to tune a jig, + And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, + And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! + Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? + And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? + And where my liege's? All about the breast. + A caudle, ho! + KING. Too bitter is thy jest. + Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view? + BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you. + I that am honest, I that hold it sin + To break the vow I am engaged in; + I am betrayed by keeping company + With men like you, men of inconstancy. + When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? + Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time + In pruning me? When shall you hear that I + Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, + A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, + A leg, a limb- + KING. Soft! whither away so fast? + A true man or a thief that gallops so? + BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go. + + Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD + + JAQUENETTA. God bless the King! + KING. What present hast thou there? + COSTARD. Some certain treason. + KING. What makes treason here? + COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. + KING. If it mar nothing neither, + The treason and you go in peace away together. + JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read; + Our person misdoubts it: 'twas treason, he said. + KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter] + Where hadst thou it? + JAQUENETTA. Of Costard. + KING. Where hadst thou it? + COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. + [BEROWNE tears the letter] + KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it? + BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it. + LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear + it. + DUMAIN. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name. + [Gathering up the pieces] + BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born + to do me shame. + Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. + KING. What? + BEROWNE. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess; + He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I + Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. + O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. + DUMAIN. Now the number is even. + BEROWNE. True, true, we are four. + Will these turtles be gone? + KING. Hence, sirs, away. + COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. + Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA + BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace! + As true we are as flesh and blood can be. + The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; + Young blood doth not obey an old decree. + We cannot cross the cause why we were born, + Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. + KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine? + BEROWNE. 'Did they?' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline + That, like a rude and savage man of Inde + At the first op'ning of the gorgeous east, + Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind, + Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? + What peremptory eagle-sighted eye + Dares look upon the heaven of her brow + That is not blinded by her majesty? + KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? + My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; + She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. + BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. + O, but for my love, day would turn to night! + Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty + Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, + Where several worthies make one dignity, + Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. + Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues- + Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not! + To things of sale a seller's praise belongs: + She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. + A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, + Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye. + Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, + And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. + O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine! + KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. + BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! + A wife of such wood were felicity. + O, who can give an oath? Where is a book? + That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, + If that she learn not of her eye to look. + No face is fair that is not full so black. + KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, + The hue of dungeons, and the school of night; + And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. + BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. + O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, + It mourns that painting and usurping hair + Should ravish doters with a false aspect; + And therefore is she born to make black fair. + Her favour turns the fashion of the days; + For native blood is counted painting now; + And therefore red that would avoid dispraise + Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. + DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. + LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright. + KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack. + DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. + BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain + For fear their colours should be wash'd away. + KING. 'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, + I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. + BEROWNE. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. + KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. + DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. + LONGAVILLE. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see. + [Showing his shoe] + BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, + Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! + DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies + The street should see as she walk'd overhead. + KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love? + BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. + KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove + Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. + DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. + LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed; + Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil! + DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury. + BEROWNE. 'Tis more than need. + Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms. + Consider what you first did swear unto: + To fast, to study, and to see no woman- + Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. + Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, + And abstinence engenders maladies. + And, where that you you have vow'd to study, lords, + In that each of you have forsworn his book, + Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? + For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, + Have found the ground of study's excellence + Without the beauty of a woman's face? + From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: + They are the ground, the books, the academes, + From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. + Why, universal plodding poisons up + The nimble spirits in the arteries, + As motion and long-during action tires + The sinewy vigour of the traveller. + Now, for not looking on a woman's face, + You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, + And study too, the causer of your vow; + For where is author in the world + Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? + Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, + And where we are our learning likewise is; + Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, + With ourselves. + Do we not likewise see our learning there? + O, we have made a vow to study, lords, + And in that vow we have forsworn our books. + For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, + In leaden contemplation have found out + Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes + Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with? + Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; + And therefore, finding barren practisers, + Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil; + But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, + Lives not alone immured in the brain, + But with the motion of all elements + Courses as swift as thought in every power, + And gives to every power a double power, + Above their functions and their offices. + It adds a precious seeing to the eye: + A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind. + A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, + When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd. + Love's feeling is more soft and sensible + Than are the tender horns of cockled snails: + Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. + For valour, is not Love a Hercules, + Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? + Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical + As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair. + And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods + Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. + Never durst poet touch a pen to write + Until his ink were temp'red with Love's sighs; + O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, + And plant in tyrants mild humility. + From women's eyes this doctrine I derive. + They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; + They are the books, the arts, the academes, + That show, contain, and nourish, all the world, + Else none at all in aught proves excellent. + Then fools you were these women to forswear; + Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. + For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love; + Or for Love's sake, a word that loves all men; + Or for men's sake, the authors of these women; + Or women's sake, by whom we men are men- + Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, + Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. + It is religion to be thus forsworn; + For charity itself fulfils the law, + And who can sever love from charity? + KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field! + BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords; + Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis'd, + In conflict, that you get the sun of them. + LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by. + Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? + KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise + Some entertainment for them in their tents. + BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither; + Then homeward every man attach the hand + Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon + We will with some strange pastime solace them, + Such as the shortness of the time can shape; + For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, + Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. + KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted + That will betime, and may by us be fitted. + BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn, + And justice always whirls in equal measure. + Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; + If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +The park + +Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL + + HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit. + NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have + been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty + without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without + opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam + day with a companion of the King's who is intituled, nominated, + or called, Don Adriano de Armado. + HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his + discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his + gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and + thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, + as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. + NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet. + [Draws out his table-book] + HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than + the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, + such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of + orthography, as to speak 'dout' fine, when he should say 'doubt'; + 'det' when he should pronounce 'debt'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t. + He clepeth a calf 'cauf,' half 'hauf'; neighbour vocatur + 'nebour'; 'neigh' abbreviated 'ne.' This is abhominable- which he + would call 'abbominable.' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne + intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic. + NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. + HOLOFERNES. 'Bone'?- 'bone' for 'bene.' Priscian a little + scratch'd; 'twill serve. + + Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD + + NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit? + HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo. + ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah! + HOLOFERNES. Quare 'chirrah,' not 'sirrah'? + ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount'red. + HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation. + MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of + languages and stol'n the scraps. + COSTARD. O, they have liv'd long on the alms-basket of words. I + marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are + not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art + easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. + MOTH. Peace! the peal begins. + ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett'red? + MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt + backward with the horn on his head? + HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. + MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning. + HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant? + MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the + fifth, if I. + HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I- + MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U. + ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, + a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my + intellect. True wit! + MOTH. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is wit-old. + HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure? + MOTH. Horns. + HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig. + MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your + infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold's horn. + COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it + to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had + of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of + discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but + my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to; + thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say. + HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; 'dunghill' for unguem. + ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the + barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the + top of the mountain? + HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill. + ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. + HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question. + ARMADO. Sir, it is the King's most sweet pleasure and affection to + congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of + this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon. + HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, + congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well + cull'd, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. + ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do + assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let + it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech + thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most + serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that + pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the + world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal + finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, + sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable: + some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart + to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world; + but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do + implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the + Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, + or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the + curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden + breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, + to the end to crave your assistance. + HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. + Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some + show in the posterior of this day, to be rend'red by our + assistance, the King's command, and this most gallant, + illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say + none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies. + NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? + HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant + gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great + limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules. + ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that + Worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club. + HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in + minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I + will have an apology for that purpose. + MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may + cry 'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!' That is + the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to + do it. + ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies? + HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself. + MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman! + ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing? + HOLOFERNES. We attend. + ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you, + follow. + HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this + while. + DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir. + HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee. + DULL. I'll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play + On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay. + HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The park + +Enter the PRINCESS, MARIA, KATHARINE, and ROSALINE + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, + If fairings come thus plentifully in. + A lady wall'd about with diamonds! + Look you what I have from the loving King. + ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in rhyme + As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper + Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all, + That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. + ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax; + For he hath been five thousand year a boy. + KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. + ROSALINE. You'll ne'er be friends with him: 'a kill'd your sister. + KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; + And so she died. Had she been light, like you, + Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, + She might 'a been a grandam ere she died. + And so may you; for a light heart lives long. + ROSALINE. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? + KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark. + ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out. + KATHARINE. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff; + Therefore I'll darkly end the argument. + ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i' th' dark. + KATHARINE. So do not you; for you are a light wench. + ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. + KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me. + ROSALINE. Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. + But, Rosaline, you have a favour too? + Who sent it? and what is it? + ROSALINE. I would you knew. + An if my face were but as fair as yours, + My favour were as great: be witness this. + Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne; + The numbers true, and, were the numb'ring too, + I were the fairest goddess on the ground. + I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. + O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like? + ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion. + KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. + ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor, + My red dominical, my golden letter: + O that your face were not so full of O's! + KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair + Dumain? + KATHARINE. Madam, this glove. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain? + KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover, + Some thousand verses of a faithful lover; + A huge translation of hypocrisy, + Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. + MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville; + The letter is too long by half a mile. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart + The chain were longer and the letter short? + MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. + ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. + That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go. + O that I knew he were but in by th' week! + How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, + And wait the season, and observe the times, + And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, + And shape his service wholly to my hests, + And make him proud to make me proud that jests! + So pertaunt-like would I o'ersway his state + That he should be my fool, and I his fate. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. None are so surely caught, when they are + catch'd, + As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd, + Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school, + And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. + ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess + As gravity's revolt to wantonness. + MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note + As fool'ry in the wise when wit doth dote, + Since all the power thereof it doth apply + To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. + + Enter BOYET + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. + BOYET. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her Grace? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet? + BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare! + Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are + Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd, + Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd. + Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; + Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they + That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say. + BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore + I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; + When, lo, to interrupt my purpos'd rest, + Toward that shade I might behold addrest + The King and his companions; warily + I stole into a neighbour thicket by, + And overheard what you shall overhear- + That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. + Their herald is a pretty knavish page, + That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage. + Action and accent did they teach him there: + 'Thus must thou speak' and 'thus thy body bear,' + And ever and anon they made a doubt + Presence majestical would put him out; + 'For' quoth the King 'an angel shalt thou see; + Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' + The boy replied 'An angel is not evil; + I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.' + With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder, + Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. + One rubb'd his elbow, thus, and fleer'd, and swore + A better speech was never spoke before. + Another with his finger and his thumb + Cried 'Via! we will do't, come what will come.' + The third he caper'd, and cried 'All goes well.' + The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. + With that they all did tumble on the ground, + With such a zealous laughter, so profound, + That in this spleen ridiculous appears, + To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us? + BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell'd thus, + Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess. + Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance; + And every one his love-feat will advance + Unto his several mistress; which they'll know + By favours several which they did bestow. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task'd, + For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; + And not a man of them shall have the grace, + Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. + Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, + And then the King will court thee for his dear; + Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, + So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline. + And change you favours too; so shall your loves + Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. + ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight. + KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. + They do it but in mocking merriment, + And mock for mock is only my intent. + Their several counsels they unbosom shall + To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal + Upon the next occasion that we meet + With visages display'd to talk and greet. + ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, to the death, we will not move a foot, + Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; + But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face. + BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, + And quite divorce his memory from his part. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt + The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. + There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown, + To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own; + So shall we stay, mocking intended game, + And they well mock'd depart away with shame. + [Trumpet sounds within] + BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd; the maskers come. + [The LADIES mask] + + Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the + KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians + + MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth! + BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. + MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames + [The LADIES turn their backs to him] + That ever turn'd their- backs- to mortal views! + BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. + MOTH. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! + Out- + BOYET. True; out indeed. + MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe + Not to behold- + BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue. + MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your + sun-beamed eyes- + BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet; + You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.' + MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. + BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue. + Exit MOTH + ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet. + If they do speak our language, 'tis our will + That some plain man recount their purposes. + Know what they would. + BOYET. What would you with the Princess? + BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. + ROSALINE. What would they, say they? + BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. + ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone. + BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone. + KING. Say to her we have measur'd many miles + To tread a measure with her on this grass. + BOYET. They say that they have measur'd many a mile + To tread a measure with you on this grass. + ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches + Is in one mile? If they have measured many, + The measure, then, of one is eas'ly told. + BOYET. If to come hither you have measur'd miles, + And many miles, the Princess bids you tell + How many inches doth fill up one mile. + BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. + BOYET. She hears herself. + ROSALINE. How many weary steps + Of many weary miles you have o'ergone + Are numb'red in the travel of one mile? + BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you; + Our duty is so rich, so infinite, + That we may do it still without accompt. + Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, + That we, like savages, may worship it. + ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. + KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do. + Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, + Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. + ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; + Thou now requests but moonshine in the water. + KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. + Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. + ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon. + Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon. + KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged? + ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she's changed. + KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man. + The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. + ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it. + KING. But your legs should do it. + ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, + We'll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance. + KING. Why take we hands then? + ROSALINE. Only to part friends. + Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. + KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice. + ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price. + KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company? + ROSALINE. Your absence only. + KING. That can never be. + ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu- + Twice to your visor and half once to you. + KING. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. + ROSALINE. In private then. + KING. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart] + BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. + BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice, + Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice! + There's half a dozen sweets. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu! + Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. + BEROWNE. One word in secret. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet. + BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter. + BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [They converse apart] + DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? + MARIA. Name it. + DUMAIN. Fair lady- + MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord- + Take that for your fair lady. + DUMAIN. Please it you, + As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. + [They converse apart] + KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue? + LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. + KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long. + LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask, + And would afford my speechless vizard half. + KATHARINE. 'Veal' quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf? + LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady! + KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf. + LONGAVILLE. Let's part the word. + KATHARINE. No, I'll not be your half. + Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox. + LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! + Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so. + KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. + LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die. + KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry. + [They converse apart] + BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen + As is the razor's edge invisible, + Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, + Above the sense of sense; so sensible + Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, + Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. + ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. + BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! + KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. + Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. + Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? + BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. + ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! + Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? + Or ever but in vizards show their faces? + This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite. + ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases! + The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. + MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword. + 'No point' quoth I; my servant straight was mute. + KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o'er his heart; + And trow you what he call'd me? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps. + KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art! + ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. + But will you hear? The King is my love sworn. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me. + KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born. + MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. + BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: + Immediately they will again be here + In their own shapes; for it can never be + They will digest this harsh indignity. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Will they return? + BOYET. They will, they will, God knows, + And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows; + Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair, + Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood. + BOYET. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud: + Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, + Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do + If they return in their own shapes to woo? + ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, + Let's mock them still, as well known as disguis'd. + Let us complain to them what fools were here, + Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; + And wonder what they were, and to what end + Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd, + And their rough carriage so ridiculous, + Should be presented at our tent to us. + BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. + Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA + + Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, + in their proper habits + + KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where's the Princess? + BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty + Command me any service to her thither? + KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. + BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Exit + BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease, + And utters it again when God doth please. + He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares + At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; + And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, + Have not the grace to grace it with such show. + This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; + Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. + 'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he + That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; + This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice, + That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice + In honourable terms; nay, he can sing + A mean most meanly; and in ushering, + Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet; + The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. + This is the flow'r that smiles on every one, + To show his teeth as white as whales-bone; + And consciences that will not die in debt + Pay him the due of 'honey-tongued Boyet.' + KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, + That put Armado's page out of his part! + + Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, + MARIA, and KATHARINE + + BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou + Till this man show'd thee? And what art thou now? + KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive. + KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave. + KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now + To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow: + Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur'd men. + KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. + The virtue of your eye must break my oath. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have + spoke; + For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. + Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure + As the unsullied lily, I protest, + A world of torments though I should endure, + I would not yield to be your house's guest; + So much I hate a breaking cause to be + Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity. + KING. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, + Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; + We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; + A mess of Russians left us but of late. + KING. How, madam! Russians! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord; + Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. + ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord. + My lady, to the manner of the days, + In courtesy gives undeserving praise. + We four indeed confronted were with four + In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour + And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, + They did not bless us with one happy word. + I dare not call them fools; but this I think, + When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. + BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, + Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet, + With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, + By light we lose light; your capacity + Is of that nature that to your huge store + Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. + ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye- + BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty. + ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong, + It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. + BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. + ROSALINE. All the fool mine? + BEROWNE. I cannot give you less. + ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore? + BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this? + ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case + That hid the worse and show'd the better face. + KING. We were descried; they'll mock us now downright. + DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad? + ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale? + Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. + BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. + Can any face of brass hold longer out? + Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me, + Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout, + Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance, + Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; + And I will wish thee never more to dance, + Nor never more in Russian habit wait. + O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, + Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue, + Nor never come in vizard to my friend, + Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song. + Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, + Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, + Figures pedantical- these summer-flies + Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. + I do forswear them; and I here protest, + By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!- + Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd + In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes. + And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!- + My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. + ROSALINE. Sans 'sans,' I pray you. + BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick + Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick; + I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see- + Write 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three; + They are infected; in their hearts it lies; + They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes. + These lords are visited; you are not free, + For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. + BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us. + ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true, + That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? + BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you. + ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. + BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end. + KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression + Some fair excuse. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession. + Were not you here but even now, disguis'd? + KING. Madam, I was. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis'd? + KING. I was, fair madam. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here, + What did you whisper in your lady's ear? + KING. That more than all the world I did respect her. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject + her. + KING. Upon mine honour, no. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear; + Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. + KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline, + What did the Russian whisper in your ear? + ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear + As precious eyesight, and did value me + Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, + That he would wed me, or else die my lover. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord + Most honourably doth uphold his word. + KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth, + I never swore this lady such an oath. + ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain, + You gave me this; but take it, sir, again. + KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give; + I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; + And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear. + What, will you have me, or your pearl again? + BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain. + I see the trick on't: here was a consent, + Knowing aforehand of our merriment, + To dash it like a Christmas comedy. + Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, + Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, + That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick + To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'd, + Told our intents before; which once disclos'd, + The ladies did change favours; and then we, + Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. + Now, to our perjury to add more terror, + We are again forsworn in will and error. + Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you + Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? + Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier, + And laugh upon the apple of her eye? + And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, + Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? + You put our page out. Go, you are allow'd; + Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. + You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye + Wounds like a leaden sword. + BOYET. Full merrily + Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. + BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done. + + Enter COSTARD + + Welcome, pure wit! Thou part'st a fair fray. + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know + Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no? + BEROWNE. What, are there but three? + COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine, + For every one pursents three. + BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine. + COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, + I hope it is not so. + You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we + know; + I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir- + BEROWNE. Is not nine. + COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount. + BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by + reck'ning, sir. + BEROWNE. How much is it? + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will + show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they + say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, + sir. + BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies? + COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great; + for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am + to stand for him. + BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare. + COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care. + Exit COSTARD + KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach. + BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy + To have one show worse than the King's and his company. + KING. I say they shall not come. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now. + That sport best pleases that doth least know how; + Where zeal strives to content, and the contents + Dies in the zeal of that which it presents. + Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, + When great things labouring perish in their birth. + BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord. + + Enter ARMADO + + ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet + breath as will utter a brace of words. + [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper] + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God? + BEROWNE. Why ask you? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'A speaks not like a man of God his making. + ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I + protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain, + too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la + guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! + Exit ARMADO + KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents + Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, + Alexander; Arinado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas + Maccabaeus. + And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, + These four will change habits and present the other five. + BEROWNE. There is five in the first show. + KING. You are deceived, 'tis not so. + BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and + the boy: + Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again + Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. + KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. + + Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY + + COSTARD. I Pompey am- + BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he. + COSTARD. I Pompey am- + BOYET. With libbard's head on knee. + BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. + COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big- + DUMAIN. The Great. + COSTARD. It is Great, sir. + Pompey surnam'd the Great, + That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to + sweat; + And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance, + And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. + + If your ladyship would say 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey. + COSTARD. 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect. + I made a little fault in Great. + BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy. + + Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER + + NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; + By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might. + My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander- + BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right. + BEROWNE. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling + knight. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good + Alexander. + NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander- + BOYET. Most true, 'tis right, you were so, Alisander. + BEROWNE. Pompey the Great! + COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard. + BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. + COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander + the conqueror! You will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for + this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool, + will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror + and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. + [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an't shall please you, a foolish + mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a + marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for + Alisander- alas! you see how 'tis- a little o'erparted. But there + are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey. + + Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES + + HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, + Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus; + And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp, + Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. + Quoniam he seemeth in minority, + Ergo I come with this apology. + Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [MOTH retires] + Judas I am- + DUMAIN. A Judas! + HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir. + Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus. + DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas. + BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas? + HOLOFERNES. Judas I am- + DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas! + HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir? + BOYET. To make Judas hang himself. + HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder. + BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder. + HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance. + BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face. + HOLOFERNES. What is this? + BOYET. A cittern-head. + DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin. + BEROWNE. A death's face in a ring. + LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. + BOYET. The pommel of Coesar's falchion. + DUMAIN. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. + BEROWNE. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch. + DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. + BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now, + forward; for we have put thee in countenance. + HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance. + BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces. + HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac'd them all. + BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so. + BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. + And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay? + DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name. + BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away. + HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. + BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble. + [HOLOFERNES retires] + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! + + Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR + + BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms. + DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. + KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. + BOYET. But is this Hector? + DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. + LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector's. + DUMAIN. More calf, certain. + BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small. + BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector. + DUMAIN. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces. + ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, + Gave Hector a gift- + DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg. + BEROWNE. A lemon. + LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves. + DUMAIN. No, cloven. + ARMADO. Peace! + The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, + Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; + A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye, + From morn till night out of his pavilion. + I am that flower- + DUMAIN. That mint. + LONGAVILLE. That columbine. + ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. + LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against + Hector. + DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. + ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat + not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But + I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty, + bestow on me the sense of hearing. + + [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD] + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. + ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper. + BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot. + DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard. + ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal- + COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two + months on her way. + ARMADO. What meanest thou? + COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench + is cast away. She's quick; the child brags in her belly already; + 'tis yours. + ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die. + COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by + him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him. + DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey! + BOYET. Renowned Pompey! + BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the + Huge! + DUMAIN. Hector trembles. + BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir + them on! + DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him. + BEROWNE. Ay, if 'a have no more man's blood in his belly than will + sup a flea. + ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee. + COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I'll + slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my + arms again. + DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies! + COSTARD. I'll do it in my shirt. + DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey! + MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see + Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose + your reputation. + ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my + shirt. + DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. + ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. + BEROWNE. What reason have you for 't? + ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward + for penance. + BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; + since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of + Jaquenetta's, and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour. + + Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE + + MARCADE. God save you, madam! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade; + But that thou interruptest our merriment. + MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring + Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life! + MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told. + BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud. + ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the + day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will + right myself like a soldier. Exeunt WORTHIES + KING. How fares your Majesty? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. + KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, + For all your fair endeavours, and entreat, + Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe + In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide + The liberal opposition of our spirits, + If over-boldly we have borne ourselves + In the converse of breath- your gentleness + Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord. + A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue. + Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks + For my great suit so easily obtain'd. + KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms + All causes to the purpose of his speed; + And often at his very loose decides + That which long process could not arbitrate. + And though the mourning brow of progeny + Forbid the smiling courtesy of love + The holy suit which fain it would convince, + Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, + Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it + From what it purpos'd; since to wail friends lost + Is not by much so wholesome-profitable + As to rejoice at friends but newly found. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double. + BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; + And by these badges understand the King. + For your fair sakes have we neglected time, + Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, + Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours + Even to the opposed end of our intents; + And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, + As love is full of unbefitting strains, + All wanton as a child, skipping and vain; + Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, + Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, + Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll + To every varied object in his glance; + Which parti-coated presence of loose love + Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes + Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, + Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults + Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, + Our love being yours, the error that love makes + Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false, + By being once false for ever to be true + To those that make us both- fair ladies, you; + And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, + Thus purifies itself and turns to grace. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; + Your favours, the ambassadors of love; + And, in our maiden council, rated them + At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, + As bombast and as lining to the time; + But more devout than this in our respects + Have we not been; and therefore met your loves + In their own fashion, like a merriment. + DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. + LONGAVILLE. So did our looks. + ROSALINE. We did not quote them so. + KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, + Grant us your loves. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short + To make a world-without-end bargain in. + No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much, + Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this, + If for my love, as there is no such cause, + You will do aught- this shall you do for me: + Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed + To some forlorn and naked hermitage, + Remote from all the pleasures of the world; + There stay until the twelve celestial signs + Have brought about the annual reckoning. + If this austere insociable life + Change not your offer made in heat of blood, + If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, + Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, + But that it bear this trial, and last love, + Then, at the expiration of the year, + Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts; + And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, + I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut + My woeful self up in a mournful house, + Raining the tears of lamentation + For the remembrance of my father's death. + If this thou do deny, let our hands part, + Neither intitled in the other's heart. + KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny, + To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, + The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! + Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast. + BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me? + ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack'd; + You are attaint with faults and perjury; + Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, + A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, + But seek the weary beds of people sick. + DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me? + A wife? + KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty; + With threefold love I wish you all these three. + DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife? + KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day + I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say. + Come when the King doth to my lady come; + Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. + DUMAIN. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. + KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. + LONGAVILLE. What says Maria? + MARIA. At the twelvemonth's end + I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. + LONGAVILLE. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. + MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young. + BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me; + Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, + What humble suit attends thy answer there. + Impose some service on me for thy love. + ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne, + Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue + Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, + Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, + Which you on all estates will execute + That lie within the mercy of your wit. + To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, + And therewithal to win me, if you please, + Without the which I am not to be won, + You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day + Visit the speechless sick, and still converse + With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, + With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, + To enforce the pained impotent to smile. + BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? + It cannot be; it is impossible; + Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. + ROSALINE. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, + Whose influence is begot of that loose grace + Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. + A jest's prosperity lies in the ear + Of him that hears it, never in the tongue + Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears, + Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, + Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, + And I will have you and that fault withal. + But if they will not, throw away that spirit, + And I shall find you empty of that fault, + Right joyful of your reformation. + BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall, + I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take + my leave. + KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. + BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play: + Jack hath not Jill. These ladies' courtesy + Might well have made our sport a comedy. + KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an' a day, + And then 'twill end. + BEROWNE. That's too long for a play. + + Re-enter ARMADO + + ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector? + DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy. + ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a + votary: I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her + sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you + hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in + praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the + end of our show. + KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. + ARMADO. Holla! approach. + + Enter All + + This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one + maintained by the Owl, th' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin. + + SPRING + When daisies pied and violets blue + And lady-smocks all silver-white + And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue + Do paint the meadows with delight, + The cuckoo then on every tree + Mocks married men, for thus sings he: + 'Cuckoo; + Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, + Unpleasing to a married ear! + + When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, + And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks; + When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, + And maidens bleach their summer smocks; + The cuckoo then on every tree + Mocks married men, for thus sings he: + 'Cuckoo; + Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, + Unpleasing to a married ear! + + + WINTER + + When icicles hang by the wall, + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, + And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, + When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl: + 'Tu-who; + Tu-whit, Tu-who'- A merry note, + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + + When all aloud the wind doth blow, + And coughing drowns the parson's saw, + And birds sit brooding in the snow, + And Marian's nose looks red and raw, + When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, + Then nightly sings the staring owl: + 'Tu-who; + Tu-whit, To-who'- A merry note, + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + + ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. + You that way: we this way. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + + +1606 + +THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH + + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + DUNCAN, King of Scotland + MACBETH, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor, a general in the King's army + LADY MACBETH, his wife + MACDUFF, Thane of Fife, a nobleman of Scotland + LADY MACDUFF, his wife + MALCOLM, elder son of Duncan + DONALBAIN, younger son of Duncan + BANQUO, Thane of Lochaber, a general in the King's army + FLEANCE, his son + LENNOX, nobleman of Scotland + ROSS, nobleman of Scotland + MENTEITH nobleman of Scotland + ANGUS, nobleman of Scotland + CAITHNESS, nobleman of Scotland + SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces + YOUNG SIWARD, his son + SEYTON, attendant to Macbeth + HECATE, Queen of the Witches + The Three Witches + Boy, Son of Macduff + Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth + An English Doctor + A Scottish Doctor + A Sergeant + A Porter + An Old Man + The Ghost of Banquo and other Apparitions + Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murtherers, Attendants, + and Messengers + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: Scotland and England + + +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. + ALL. Paddock calls. Anon! + Fair is foul, and foul is fair. + Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt. + + + + +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 villainies of nature + Do swarm upon him -from the Western Isles + Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; + And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, + Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak; + For brave Macbeth -well he deserves that name- + Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel, + Which smoked with bloody execution, + Like Valor'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 valor 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 memorize another Golgotha, + I cannot tell- + But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. + DUNCAN. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; + They smack of honor 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. + + + + +SCENE III. +A heath. Thunder. + +Enter the three Witches. + + FIRST WITCH. Where hast thou been, sister? + SECOND WITCH. Killing swine. + THIRD WITCH. Sister, where thou? + FIRST WITCH. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, + And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd. "Give me," quoth I. + "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. + Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master 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 penthouse 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-toss'd. + 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 choppy finger laying + Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, + And yet your beards forbid me to interpret + That you are so. + MACBETH. Speak, if you can. What are you? + FIRST WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! + SECOND WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! + THIRD WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter! + BANQUO. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear + Things that do sound so fair? I' 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 favors 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 defense, + 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 honor, + He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor. + In which addition, hail, most worthy Thane, + For it is thine. + BANQUO. What, can the devil speak true? + MACBETH. The Thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me + In borrow'd robes? + ANGUS. Who was the Thane lives yet, + But under heavy judgement bears that life + Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined + With those of Norway, or did line the rebel + With hidden help and vantage, or that with both + He labor'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. + [Aside 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. [Aside to Macbeth.] 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 murther 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 honors 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 favor; 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. + + + + +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 lowe, + In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part + Is to receive our duties, and our duties + Are to your throne and state, children and servants, + Which do but what they should, by doing everything + Safe toward your love and honor. + DUNCAN. Welcome hither. + I have begun to plant thee, and will labor + 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 infold thee + And hold thee to my heart. + BANQUO. There if I grow, + The harvest is your own. + DUNCAN. My plenteous joys, + Wanton in fullness, 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 honor 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 labor, 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. + + + + +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 valor of my tongue + All that impedes thee from the golden round, + Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem + To have thee crown'd withal. + + Enter a Messenger. + + What is your tidings? + MESSENGER. The King comes here tonight. + LADY MACBETH. Thou'rt mad to say it! + Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, + Would have inform'd for preparation. + MESSENGER. So please you, it is true; our Thane is coming. + One of my fellows had the speed of him, + Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more + Than would make up his message. + LADY MACBETH. Give him tending; + He brings great news. Exit Messenger. + The raven himself is hoarse + That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan + Under my battlements. Come, you spirits + That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here + And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full + Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood, + Stop up 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, your murthering ministers, + Wherever in your sightless substances + You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, + And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell + That my keen knife see not the wound it makes + Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark + To cry, "Hold, hold!" + + Enter Macbeth. + + Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! + Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! + Thy letters have transported me beyond + This ignorant present, and I feel now + The future in the instant. + MACBETH. My dearest love, + Duncan comes here tonight. + LADY MACBETH. And when goes hence? + MACBETH. Tomorrow, as he purposes. + LADY MACBETH. O, never + Shall sun that morrow see! + Your face, my Thane, is as a book where men + May read strange matters. To beguile the time, + Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, + Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower, + But be the serpent under it. 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 favor ever is to fear. + Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt. + + + + +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 pendant bed and procreant cradle; + Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed + The air is delicate. + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + + DUNCAN. See, see, our honor'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 'ield 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 honors 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 tonight. + LADY MACBETH. Your servants ever + Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, + To make their audit at your Highness' pleasure, + Still to return your own. + DUNCAN. Give me your hand; + Conduct me to mine host. We love him highly, + And shall continue our graces towards him. + By your leave, hostess. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE VII +Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. + +Enter a Sewer and divers Servants with dishes and service, who 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 judgement 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 murtherer shut the door, + Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan + Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been + So clear in his great office, that his virtues + Will plead like angels trumpet-tongued against + The deep damnation of his taking-off, + And pity, like a naked new-born babe + Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin 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 honor'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 valor + 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 wast 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 clamor 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Inverness. 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 abed. + He hath been in unusual pleasure and + Sent forth great largess to your offices. + This diamond he greets your wife withal, + By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up + In measureless content. + MACBETH. Being 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 honor for you. + BANQUO. So I lose none + In seeking to augment it, but still keep + My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, + I shall be counsel'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 marshal'st me the way that I was going, + And such an instrument I was to use. + Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, + Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, + And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, + Which was not so before. There's no such thing: + It is the bloody business which informs + Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world + Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse + The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates + Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murther, + Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, + Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, + With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design + Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, + Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear + Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, + And take the present horror from the time, + Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives; + Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. + A bell rings. + I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. + Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell + That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. Exit. + + + + +SCENE II. +The same. + +Enter Lady Macbeth. + + LADY MACBETH. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; + What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! + It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, + Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it: + The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms + Do mock their charge with snores. I have drugg'd their possets + That death and nature do contend about them, + Whether they live or die. + MACBETH. [Within.] Who's there' what, ho! + LADY MACBETH. Alack, I am afraid they have 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. [Looks 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, + "Murther!" + 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. I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! + Macbeth does murther sleep" -the innocent sleep, + Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care, + The death of each day's life, sore labor'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 murther'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor + Shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more." + LADY MACBETH. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy Thane, + You do unbend your noble strength, to think + So brainsickly of things. Go, get some water + And wash this filthy witness from your hand. + Why did you bring these daggers from the place? + They must lie there. Go carry them, and smear + The sleepy grooms with blood. + MACBETH. I'll go no more. + I am afraid to think what I have done; + Look on't again I dare not. + LADY MACBETH. Infirm of purpose! + Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead + Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood + That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, + I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, + For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within. + MACBETH. Whence is that knocking? + How is't with me, when every noise appals me? + What hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes! + Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood + Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather + The multitudinous seas incarnadine, + Making the green one red. + + Re-enter Lady Macbeth. + + LADY MACBETH. My hands are of your color, but I shame + To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.] I hear knocking + At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber. + A little water clears us of this deed. + How easy is it then! Your constancy + Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.] Hark, more knocking. + Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us + And show us to be watchers. Be not lost + So poorly in your thoughts. + MACBETH. To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. + Knocking within. + Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +The same. + +Enter a Porter. Knocking within. + + PORTER. Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of Hell + Gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking within.] + Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Belzebub? Here's + a farmer that hanged himself on th' expectation of plenty. Come + in time! Have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat fort. + [Knocking within.] Knock, knock! Who's there, in th' other + devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator that could swear in + both the scales against either scale, who committed treason + enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven. O, + come in, equivocator. [Knocking 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 requited + him for his lie, and, I think, being too strong for him, though + he took up my legs sometime, yet I made 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. 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 labor 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 today? + MACBETH. He does; he did appoint so. + LENNOX. The night has been unruly. Where we lay, + Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say, + Lamentings heard i' 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 + Clamor'd the livelong night. Some say the earth + Was feverous and did shake. + MACBETH. 'Twas a rough fight. + 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. LENNOX. What's the matter? + MACDUFF. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. + Most sacrilegious murther 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. Murther 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 murther as it fell. + + Enter Banquo. + + O Banquo, Banquo! + Our royal master's murther'd. + LADY MACBETH. Woe, alas! + What, in our house? + BANQUO. Too cruel anywhere. + 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 stopped, the very source of it is stopp'd. + MACDUFF. Your royal father's murther'd. + MALCOLM. O, by whom? + LENNOX. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't. + Their hands and faces were all 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 of 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 murtherers, + Steep'd in the colors 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 pretense 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 murtherous shaft that's shot + Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way + Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse; + And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, + But shift away. There's warrant in that theft + Which steals itself when there's no mercy left. + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE IV. +Outside Macbeth's castle. + +Enter Ross with 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 traveling 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. + + Enter Macduff. + + Here comes the good 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 sounds. 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. Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir, + And I'll request your presence. + BANQUO. Let your Highness + Command upon me, to the which my duties + Are with a most indissoluble tie + Forever 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 tomorrow. + Is't far you ride'! + BANQUO. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time + 'Twixt this and supper. Go not my horse the better, + I must become a borrower of the night + For a dark hour or twain. + MACBETH. Fail not our feast. + BANQUO. My lord, I will not. + MACBETH. We hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd + In England and in Ireland, not confessing + Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers + With strange invention. But of that tomorrow, + When therewithal we shall have cause of state + Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse; adieu, + Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? + BANQUO. Ay, my good lord. Our time does call upon 's. + MACBETH. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot, + And so I do commend you to their backs. + Farewell. Exit Banquo. + Let every man be master of his time + Till seven at night; to make society + The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself + Till supper time alone. While then, God be with you! + Exeunt 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 valor + 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 murther'd, + Put rancors 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 Murtherers. + + Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. + Exit Attendant. + Was it not yesterday we spoke together? + FIRST MURTHERER. 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 MURTHERER. 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 gospel'd, + To pray for this good man and for his issue, + Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave + And beggar'd yours forever? + FIRST MURTHERER. We are men, my liege. + MACBETH. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men, + As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, + Shoughs, waterrugs, 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 it, + 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 MURTHERER. 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 MURTHERER. And I another + So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, + That I would set my life on any chance, + To mend it or be rid on't. + MACBETH. Both of you + Know Banquo was your enemy. + BOTH MURTHERERS. 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 MURTHERER. We shall, my lord, + Perform what you command us. + FIRST MURTHERER. 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; fort must be done tonight + And something from the palace (always thought + That I require a clearness); and with him- + To leave no rubs nor botches in the work- + Fleance his son, that keeps him company, + Whose absence is no less material to me + Than is his father's, must embrace the fate + Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; + I'll come to you anon. + BOTH MURTHERERS. We are resolved, my lord. + MACBETH. I'll call upon you straight. Abide within. + Exeunt Murtherers. + It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight, + If it find heaven, must find it out tonight. Exit. + + + + +SCENE II. +The palace. + +Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. + + LADY MACBETH. Is Banquo gone from court? + SERVANT. Ay, madam, but returns again tonight. + LADY MACBETH. Say to the King I would attend his leisure + For a few words. + SERVANT. Madam, I will. Exit. + LADY MACBETH. 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 tonight. + MACBETH. So shall I, love, and so, I pray, be you. + Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; + Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: + Unsafe the while, that we + Must lave our honors 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, + Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse. + Thou marvel'st at my words, but hold thee still: + Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. + So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +A park near the palace. + +Enter three Murtherers. + + FIRST MURTHERER. But who did bid thee join with us? + THIRD MURTHERER. Macbeth. + SECOND MURTHERER. He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers + Our offices and what we have to do + To the direction just. + FIRST MURTHERER. Then stand with us. + The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day; + Now spurs the lated traveler apace + To gain the timely inn, and near approaches + The subject of our watch. + THIRD MURTHERER. Hark! I hear horses. + BANQUO. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho! + SECOND MURTHERER. Then 'tis he; the rest + That are within the note of expectation + Already are i' the court. + FIRST MURTHERER. His horses go about. + THIRD MURTHERER. Almost a mile, but he does usually- + So all men do -from hence to the palace gate + Make it their walk. + SECOND MURTHERER. A light, a light! + + Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. + + THIRD MURTHERER. 'Tis he. + FIRST MURTHERER. Stand to't. + BANQUO. It will be rain tonight. + FIRST MURTHERER. 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 MURTHERER. Who did strike out the light? + FIRST MURTHERER. Wast not the way? + THIRD MURTHERER. There's but one down; the son is fled. + SECOND MURTHERER. We have lost + Best half of our affair. + FIRST MURTHERER. Well, let's away and say how much is done. + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE IV. +A 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. + + Enter first Murtherer to 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. [Approaches the door.] There's blood upon thy + face. + MURTHERER. 'Tis Banquo's then. + MACBETH. 'Tis better thee without than he within. + Is he dispatch'd? + MURTHERER. 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. + MURTHERER. Most royal sir, + Fleance is 'scaped. + MACBETH. [Aside.] Then comes my fit again. I had else been perfect, + Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, + As broad and general as the casing air; + But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in + To saucy doubts and fears -But Banquo's safe? + MURTHERER. 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. Tomorrow + We'll hear ourselves again. + Exit Murtherer. + LADY MACBETH. My royal lord, + You do not give the cheer. The feast is sold + That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis amaking, + '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 honor 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 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. Exit Ghost. + 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 humane statute purged the gentle weal; + Ay, and since too, murthers have been perform'd + Too terrible for the ear. The time has been, + That, when the brains were out, the man would die, + And there an end; but now they rise again, + With twenty mortal murthers on their crowns, + And push us from our stools. This is more strange + Than such a murther 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. + + 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! Exit Ghost. + 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 blanch'd with fear. + ROSS. What sights, my lord? + LADY MACBETH. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; + Question enrages him. At once, good night. + Stand not upon the order of your going, + But go at once. + LENNOX. Good night, and better health + Attend his Majesty! + LADY MACBETH. A kind good night to all! + Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. + MACBETH. will have blood; they say blood will have blood. + Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; + Augures and understood relations have + By maggot 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 feed. I will tomorrow, + And betimes I will, to the weird sisters. + More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, + By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good + All causes shall give way. I am in blood + Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, + Returning were as tedious as go o'er. + Strange things I have in head that will to hand, + Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. + LADY MACBETH. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. + MACBETH. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse + Is the initiate fear that wants hard use. + We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE V. +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 everything 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 + His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear. + And you all know security + Is mortals' chiefest enemy. + Music and a song within, + "Come away, come away." + Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, + Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me. Exit. + FIRST WITCH. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE VI. +Forres. The palace. + +Enter Lennox and another Lord. + + LENNOX. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, + Which can interpret farther; only I say + Thing's have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan + Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead. + And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late, + Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, + For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. + Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous + It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain + To kill their gracious father? Damned fact! + How it did grieve Macbeth! Did he not straight, + In pious rage, the two delinquents tear + That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? + Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too, + For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive + To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, + He has borne all things well; and I do think + That, had he Duncan's sons under his key- + As, 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 honors- + 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 howlet's wing, + For a charm of powerful trouble, + Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. + ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble; + Fire burn and cauldron bubble. + THIRD WITCH. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, + Witch's mummy, maw and gulf + Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, + Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, + Liver of blaspheming Jew, + Gall of goat and slips of yew + Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse, + Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, + Finger of birth-strangled babe + Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, + Make the gruel thick and slab. + Add thereto a tiger's chawdron, + For the ingredients of our cawdron. + 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 everyone shall share i' the gains. + And now about the cauldron sing, + Like elves and fairies in a ring, + Enchanting all that you put in. + Music and a song, "Black spirits." + 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 + (Howeer 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 germaines 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 murtherer'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'd 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; + Banquo's Ghost following. + + MACBETH. Thou are too like the spirit of Banquo Down! + Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair, + Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. + A third is like the former. Filthy hags! + Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! + What, will the line stretch out to 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 twofold balls and treble sceptres carry. + Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true; + For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, + And points at them for his. What, is this so? + FIRST WITCH. Ay, sir, all this is so. But why + Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? + Come,sisters, cheer we up his sprites, + And show the best of our delights. + I'll charm the air to give a sound, + While you perform your antic round, + That this great King may kindly say + Our duties did his welcome pay. + Music. The Witches dance and + then vanish with Hecate. + MACBETH. are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour + Stand ay 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 wast 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. [Aside.] 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. + + + + +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 rumor + 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 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. Everyone that does so is a traitor and must be + hanged. + SON. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? + LADY MACDUFF. Everyone. + 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 honor 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 defense, + To say I have done no harm -What are these faces? + + Enter Murtherers. + + FIRST MURTHERER. Where is your husband? + LADY MACDUFF. I hope, in no place so unsanctified + Where such as thou mayst find him. + FIRST MURTHERER. He's a traitor. + SON. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain! + FIRST MURTHERER. What, you egg! + Stabs him. + Young fry of treachery! + SON. He has kill'd me, Mother. + Run away, I pray you! Dies. + Exit Lady Macduff, crying "Murther!" + Exeunt Murtherers, following her. + + + + +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 downfall'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 dolor. + MALCOLM. What I believe, I'll wall; + 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 dishonors, + But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, + Whatever I shall think. + MACDUFF. Bleed, bleed, poor country! + Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, + For goodness dare not check thee. Wear thou thy wrongs; + The title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord. + I would not be the villain that thou think'st + For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp + And the rich East to boot. + MALCOLM. Be not offended; + I speak not as in absolute fear of you. + I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; + It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash + Is added to her wounds. I think withal + There would be hands uplifted in my right; + And here from gracious England have I offer + Of goodly thousands. But for all this, + When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, + Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country + Shall have more vices than it had before, + More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, + By him that shall succeed. + MACDUFF. What should he be? + MALCOLM. It is myself I mean, in whom I know + All the particulars of vice so grafted + That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth + Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state + Esteem him as a lamb, being 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 cestern 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 honor. 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 swol'n 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. Be not a niggard of your speech. How goest? + ROSS. When I came hither to transport the tidings, + Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor + Of many worthy fellows that were out, + Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, + For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. + Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland + Would create soldiers, make our women fight, + To doff their dire distresses. + MALCOLM. Be't their comfort + We are coming thither. Gracious England hath + Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; + An older and a better soldier none + That Christendom gives out. + ROSS. Would I could answer + This comfort with the like! But I have words + That would be howl'd out in the desert air, + Where hearing should not latch them. + MACDUFF. What concern they? + The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief + Due to some single breast? + ROSS. No mind that's honest + But in it shares some woe, though the main part + Pertains to you alone. + MACDUFF. If it be mine, + Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. + ROSS. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, + Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound + That ever yet they heard. + MACDUFF. Humh! 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 murther'd deer, + To add the death of you. + MALCOLM. Merciful heaven! + What, man! Neer pull your hat upon your brows; + Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak + Whispers the o'erfraught 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Dunsinane. Anteroom 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, have seen her + rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her + closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, + afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while + in a most fast sleep. + DOCTOR. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the + benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery + agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, + what, at any time, have you heard her say? + GENTLEWOMAN. That, sir, which I will not report after her. + DOCTOR. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should. + GENTLEWOMAN. Neither to you nor anyone, having no witness to + confirm my speech. + + Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. + + Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise, and, upon my + life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. + DOCTOR. How came she by that light? + GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her + continually; 'tis her command. + DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open. + GENTLEWOMAN. Ay, but their sense 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 neer be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more + o' that. You mar all with this starting. + DOCTOR. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. + GENTLEWOMAN. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. + Heaven knows what she has known. + LADY MACBETH. Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes + of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! + DOCTOR. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. + GENTLEWOMAN. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the + dignity of the whole body. + DOCTOR. Well, well, well- + GENTLEWOMAN. Pray God it be, sir. + DOCTOR. This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those + which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their + beds. + LADY MACBETH. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so + pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out + on's grave. + DOCTOR. Even so? + LADY MACBETH. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, + come, come, come, give me your hand.What's done cannot be undone. + To bed, to bed, to bed. +Exit. + DOCTOR. Will she go now to bed? + GENTLEWOMAN. Directly. + DOCTOR. Foul 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. + + + + +SCENE II. +The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colors. + +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 Seward'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 murthers 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. + + + + +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 counselors 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 honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, + I must not look to have; but in their stead, + Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath, + Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not. + Seyton! + + Enter Seyton. + + SEYTON. What's your gracious pleasure? + MACBETH. What news more? + SEYTON. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. + MACBETH. I'll fight, 'til from my bones my flesh be hack'd. + Give me my armor. + 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 armor. + 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 armor 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? Hearst 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. + + + + +SCENE IV. +Country near Birnam Wood. Drum and colors. + +Enter Malcolm, old Seward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, Caithness, +Angus, Lennox, Ross, and Soldiers, marching. + + MALCOLM. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand + That chambers will be safe. + MENTEITH. We doubt it nothing. + SIWARD. What wood is this before us? + MENTEITH. The Wood of Birnam. + MALCOLM. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, + And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow + The numbers of our host, and make discovery + Err in report of us. + SOLDIERS. It shall be done. + SIWARD. We learn no other but the confident tyrant + Keeps still in Dunsinane and will endure + Our setting down before't. + MALCOLM. 'Tis his main hope; + For where there is advantage to be given, + Both more and less have given him the revolt, + And none serve with him but constrained things + Whose hearts are absent too. + MACDUFF. Let our just censures + Attend the true event, and put we on + Industrious soldiership. + SIWARD. The time approaches + That will with due decision make us know + What we shall say we have and what we owe. + Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, + But certain issue strokes must arbitrate. + Towards which advance the war. + Exeunt Marching. + + + + +SCENE V. +Dunsinane. Within the castle. + +Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum and colors. + + 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. + Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow + Creeps in this petty pace from day to day + To the last syllable of recorded time; + And all our yesterdays have lighted fools + The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! + Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player + That struts and frets his hour upon the stage + And then is heard no more. It is a tale + Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, + Signifying nothing. + + Enter a Messenger. + + Thou 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. + + + + +SCENE VI. +Dunsinane. Before the castle. + +Enter Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, and their Army, with boughs. +Drum and colors. + + MALCOLM. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, + And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, + Shall with my cousin, your right noble son, + Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and we + Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, + According to our order. + SIWARD. Fare you well. + Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight, + Let us be beaten if we cannot fight. + MACDUFF. Make all our trumpets speak, give them all breath, + Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE VII. +Dunsinane. Before the castle. 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 O Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword + I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. + They fight, and young Seward 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 best slain and with no stroke of mine, + My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. + I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms + Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth, + Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, + I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; + By this great clatter, one of greatest note + Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune! + And more I beg not. Exit. Alarums. + + Enter Malcolm and old Siward. + + SIWARD. This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd. + The tyrant's people on both sides do fight, + The noble Thanes do bravely in the war, + The day almost itself professes yours, + And little is to do. + MALCOLM. We have met with foes + That strike beside us. + SIWARD. Enter, sir, the castle. + Exeunt. Alarum. + + + + +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 labor. + 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 patter 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 upon a pole, and underwrit, + "Here may you see the tyrant." + MACBETH. I will not yield, + To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, + And to be baited with the rabble's curse. + Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, + And thou 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. + + + + +SCENE IX. + +Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors, Malcolm, old 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 honor 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. + -THE END- + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1605 + + +MEASURE FOR MEASURE + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + VINCENTIO, the Duke + ANGELO, the Deputy + ESCALUS, an ancient Lord + CLAUDIO, a young gentleman + LUCIO, a fantastic + Two other like Gentlemen + VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke + PROVOST + THOMAS, friar + PETER, friar + A JUSTICE + ELBOW, a simple constable + FROTH, a foolish gentleman + POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone + ABHORSON, an executioner + BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner + + ISABELLA, sister to Claudio + MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo + JULIET, beloved of Claudio + FRANCISCA, a nun + MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd + + Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Vienna + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS + + DUKE. Escalus! + ESCALUS. My lord. + DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold + Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse, + Since I am put to know that your own science + Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice + My strength can give you; then no more remains + But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able- + And let them work. The nature of our people, + Our city's institutions, and the terms + For common justice, y'are as pregnant in + As art and practice hath enriched any + That we remember. There is our commission, + From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, + I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an ATTENDANT + What figure of us think you he will bear? + For you must know we have with special soul + Elected him our absence to supply; + Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, + And given his deputation all the organs + Of our own power. What think you of it? + ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth + To undergo such ample grace and honour, + It is Lord Angelo. + + Enter ANGELO + + DUKE. Look where he comes. + ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace's will, + I come to know your pleasure. + DUKE. Angelo, + There is a kind of character in thy life + That to th' observer doth thy history + Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings + Are not thine own so proper as to waste + Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. + Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, + Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues + Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike + As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd + But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends + The smallest scruple of her excellence + But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines + Herself the glory of a creditor, + Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech + To one that can my part in him advertise. + Hold, therefore, Angelo- + In our remove be thou at full ourself; + Mortality and mercy in Vienna + Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, + Though first in question, is thy secondary. + Take thy commission. + ANGELO. Now, good my lord, + Let there be some more test made of my metal, + Before so noble and so great a figure + Be stamp'd upon it. + DUKE. No more evasion! + We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice + Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. + Our haste from hence is of so quick condition + That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd + Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, + As time and our concernings shall importune, + How it goes with us, and do look to know + What doth befall you here. So, fare you well. + To th' hopeful execution do I leave you + Of your commissions. + ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord, + That we may bring you something on the way. + DUKE. My haste may not admit it; + Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do + With any scruple: your scope is as mine own, + So to enforce or qualify the laws + As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand; + I'll privily away. I love the people, + But do not like to stage me to their eyes; + Though it do well, I do not relish well + Their loud applause and Aves vehement; + Nor do I think the man of safe discretion + That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. + ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes! + ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness! + DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well. Exit + ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave + To have free speech with you; and it concerns me + To look into the bottom of my place: + A pow'r I have, but of what strength and nature + I am not yet instructed. + ANGELO. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together, + And we may soon our satisfaction have + Touching that point. + ESCALUS. I'll wait upon your honour. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +A street + +Enter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN + + LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition + with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the + King. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of + Hungary's! + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen. + LUCIO. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to + sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap'd one out of the table. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Thou shalt not steal'? + LUCIO. Ay, that he raz'd. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain + and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal. + There's not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before + meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it. + LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was + said. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre? + LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion. + LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as, + for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all + grace. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us. + LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet. + Thou art the list. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou'rt + a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of + an English kersey as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French + velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? + LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of + thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin + thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or + free. + + Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE + + LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have + purchas'd as many diseases under her roof as come to- + SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more. + LUCIO. A French crown more. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou + art full of error; I am sound. + LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things + that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast + of thee. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound + sciatica? + MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there's one yonder arrested and carried + to prison was worth five thousand of you all. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who's that, I pray thee? + MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? 'Tis not so. + MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him + carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his + head to be chopp'd off. + LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art + thou sure of this? + MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam + Julietta with child. + LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis'd to meet me two hours + since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the + speech we had to such a purpose. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation. + LUCIO. Away; let's go learn the truth of it. + Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN + MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what + with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. + + Enter POMPEY + + How now! what's the news with you? + POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison. + MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done? + POMPEY. A woman. + MRS. OVERDONE. But what's his offence? + POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. + MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him? + POMPEY. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not + heard of the proclamation, have you? + MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man? + POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd down. + MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city? + POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that + a wise burgher put in for them. + MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be + pull'd down? + POMPEY. To the ground, mistress. + MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth! + What shall become of me? + POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients. + Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I'll + be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you; + you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will + be considered. + MRS. OVERDONE. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw. + POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison; + and there's Madam Juliet. Exeunt + + Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS; + LUCIO following + + CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world? + Bear me to prison, where I am committed. + PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition, + But from Lord Angelo by special charge. + CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority + Make us pay down for our offence by weight + The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will; + On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. + LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint? + CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty; + As surfeit is the father of much fast, + So every scope by the immoderate use + Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, + Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, + A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die. + LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for + certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief + have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. + What's thy offence, Claudio? + CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again. + LUCIO. What, is't murder? + CLAUDIO. No. + LUCIO. Lechery? + CLAUDIO. Call it so. + PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go. + CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. + LUCIO. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd + after? + CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract + I got possession of Julietta's bed. + You know the lady; she is fast my wife, + Save that we do the denunciation lack + Of outward order; this we came not to, + Only for propagation of a dow'r + Remaining in the coffer of her friends. + From whom we thought it meet to hide our love + Till time had made them for us. But it chances + The stealth of our most mutual entertainment, + With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. + LUCIO. With child, perhaps? + CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so. + And the new deputy now for the Duke- + Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, + Or whether that the body public be + A horse whereon the governor doth ride, + Who, newly in the seat, that it may know + He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; + Whether the tyranny be in his place, + Or in his eminence that fills it up, + I stagger in. But this new governor + Awakes me all the enrolled penalties + Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall + So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round + And none of them been worn; and, for a name, + Now puts the drowsy and neglected act + Freshly on me. 'Tis surely for a name. + LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy + shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. + Send after the Duke, and appeal to him. + CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he's not to be found. + I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service: + This day my sister should the cloister enter, + And there receive her approbation; + Acquaint her with the danger of my state; + Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends + To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him. + I have great hope in that; for in her youth + There is a prone and speechless dialect + Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art + When she will play with reason and discourse, + And well she can persuade. + LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, + which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the + enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus + foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. + CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio. + LUCIO. Within two hours. + CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +A monastery + +Enter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS + + DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought; + Believe not that the dribbling dart of love + Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee + To give me secret harbour hath a purpose + More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends + Of burning youth. + FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it? + DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you + How I have ever lov'd the life removed, + And held in idle price to haunt assemblies + Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps. + I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, + A man of stricture and firm abstinence, + My absolute power and place here in Vienna, + And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; + For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, + And so it is received. Now, pious sir, + You will demand of me why I do this. + FRIAR. Gladly, my lord. + DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, + The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds, + Which for this fourteen years we have let slip; + Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, + That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, + Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, + Only to stick it in their children's sight + For terror, not to use, in time the rod + Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees, + Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; + And liberty plucks justice by the nose; + The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart + Goes all decorum. + FRIAR. It rested in your Grace + To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd; + And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd + Than in Lord Angelo. + DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful. + Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, + 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them + For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done, + When evil deeds have their permissive pass + And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father, + I have on Angelo impos'd the office; + Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home, + And yet my nature never in the fight + To do in slander. And to behold his sway, + I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, + Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee, + Supply me with the habit, and instruct me + How I may formally in person bear me + Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action + At our more leisure shall I render you. + Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise; + Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses + That his blood flows, or that his appetite + Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see, + If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +A nunnery + +Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA + + ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges? + FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough? + ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more, + But rather wishing a more strict restraint + Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. + LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place! + ISABELLA. Who's that which calls? + FRANCISCA. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, + Turn you the key, and know his business of him: + You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn; + When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men + But in the presence of the prioress; + Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, + Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. + He calls again; I pray you answer him. Exit FRANCISCA + ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls? + + Enter LUCIO + + LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses + Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me + As bring me to the sight of Isabella, + A novice of this place, and the fair sister + To her unhappy brother Claudio? + ISABELLA. Why her 'unhappy brother'? Let me ask + The rather, for I now must make you know + I am that Isabella, and his sister. + LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you. + Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. + ISABELLA. Woe me! For what? + LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge, + He should receive his punishment in thanks: + He hath got his friend with child. + ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story. + LUCIO. It is true. + I would not- though 'tis my familiar sin + With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, + Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so: + I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted, + By your renouncement an immortal spirit, + And to be talk'd with in sincerity, + As with a saint. + ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. + LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus: + Your brother and his lover have embrac'd. + As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time + That from the seedness the bare fallow brings + To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb + Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. + ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? + LUCIO. Is she your cousin? + ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names + By vain though apt affection. + LUCIO. She it is. + ISABELLA. O, let him marry her! + LUCIO. This is the point. + The Duke is very strangely gone from hence; + Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, + In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn, + By those that know the very nerves of state, + His givings-out were of an infinite distance + From his true-meant design. Upon his place, + And with full line of his authority, + Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood + Is very snow-broth, one who never feels + The wanton stings and motions of the sense, + But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge + With profits of the mind, study and fast. + He- to give fear to use and liberty, + Which have for long run by the hideous law, + As mice by lions- hath pick'd out an act + Under whose heavy sense your brother's life + Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it, + And follows close the rigour of the statute + To make him an example. All hope is gone, + Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer + To soften Angelo. And that's my pith of business + 'Twixt you and your poor brother. + ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life? + LUCIO. Has censur'd him + Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath + A warrant for his execution. + ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability's in me + To do him good? + LUCIO. Assay the pow'r you have. + ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt! + LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors, + And make us lose the good we oft might win + By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, + And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, + Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, + All their petitions are as freely theirs + As they themselves would owe them. + ISABELLA. I'll see what I can do. + LUCIO. But speedily. + ISABELLA. I will about it straight; + No longer staying but to give the Mother + Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you. + Commend me to my brother; soon at night + I'll send him certain word of my success. + LUCIO. I take my leave of you. + ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. Scene I. +A hall in ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS + + ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, + Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, + And let it keep one shape till custom make it + Their perch, and not their terror. + ESCALUS. Ay, but yet + Let us be keen, and rather cut a little + Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman, + Whom I would save, had a most noble father. + Let but your honour know, + Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, + That, in the working of your own affections, + Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, + Or that the resolute acting of our blood + Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose + Whether you had not sometime in your life + Err'd in this point which now you censure him, + And pull'd the law upon you. + ANGELO. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, + Another thing to fall. I not deny + The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, + May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two + Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice, + That justice seizes. What knows the laws + That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant, + The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't, + Because we see it; but what we do not see + We tread upon, and never think of it. + You may not so extenuate his offence + For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, + When I, that censure him, do so offend, + Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, + And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. + ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will. + ANGELO. Where is the Provost? + PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour. + ANGELO. See that Claudio + Be executed by nine to-morrow morning; + Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar'd; + For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit PROVOST + ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! + Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall; + Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none, + And some condemned for a fault alone. + + Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY + + ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a + commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, + I know no law; bring them away. + ANGELO. How now, sir! What's your name, and what's the matter? + ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable, + and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring + in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. + ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not + malefactors? + ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but + precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all + profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. + ESCALUS. This comes off well; here's a wise officer. + ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why + dost thou not speak, Elbow? + POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. + ANGELO. What are you, sir? + ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad + woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck'd down in the + suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a + very ill house too. + ESCALUS. How know you that? + ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour- + ESCALUS. How! thy wife! + ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman- + ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore? + ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that + this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, + for it is a naughty house. + ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable? + ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman + cardinally given, might have been accus'd in fornication, + adultery, and all uncleanliness there. + ESCALUS. By the woman's means? + ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means; but as she spit in + his face, so she defied him. + POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. + ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man, + prove it. + ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces? + POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your + honour's reverence, for stew'd prunes. Sir, we had but two in the + house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a + fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen + such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes. + ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir. + POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the + right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as + I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I + said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, + Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I + said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you + know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again- + FROTH. No, indeed. + POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb'red, cracking + the stones of the foresaid prunes- + FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed. + POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb'red, + that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you + wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you- + FROTH. All this is true. + POMPEY. Why, very well then- + ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was + done to Elbow's wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me + to what was done to her. + POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. + ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not. + POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, + I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of + fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was't not + at Hallowmas, Master Froth? + FROTH. All-hallond eve. + POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as + I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, + where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not? + FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter. + POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths. + ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia, + When nights are longest there; I'll take my leave, + And leave you to the hearing of the cause, + Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. + ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. + [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow's wife, + once more? + POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once. + ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. + POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me. + ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her? + POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good + Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth + your honour mark his face? + ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well. + POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. + ESCALUS. Well, I do so. + POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? + ESCALUS. Why, no. + POMPEY. I'll be suppos'd upon a book his face is the worst thing + about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, + how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would + know that of your honour. + ESCALUS. He's in the right, constable; what say you to it? + ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, + this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected + woman. + POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than + any of us all. + ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is + yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or + child. + POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. + ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this + true? + ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I + respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was + respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me + the poor Duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or + I'll have mine action of batt'ry on thee. + ESCALUS. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your + action of slander too. + ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your + worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff? + ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that + thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his + courses till thou know'st what they are. + ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked + varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now, + thou varlet; thou art to continue. + ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend? + FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir. + ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? + FROTH. Yes, an't please you, sir. + ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir? + POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow's tapster. + ESCALUS. Your mistress' name? + POMPEY. Mistress Overdone. + ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband? + POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. + ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I + would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you, + Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me + hear no more of you. + FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into + any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in. + ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH] + Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what's your name, Master + Tapster? + POMPEY. Pompey. + ESCALUS. What else? + POMPEY. Bum, sir. + ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so + that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, + you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a + tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better + for you. + POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. + ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you + think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade? + POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir. + ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be + allowed in Vienna. + POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of + the city? + ESCALUS. No, Pompey. + POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If + your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you + need not to fear the bawds. + ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it + is but heading and hanging. + POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten + year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more + heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest + house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come + to pass, say Pompey told you so. + ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, + hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon + any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I + do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd + Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt. + So for this time, Pompey, fare you well. + POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I + shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. + Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; + The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. Exit + ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master + Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable? + ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir. + ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had + continued in it some time. You say seven years together? + ELBOW. And a half, sir. + ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong + to put you so oft upon't. Are there not men in your ward + sufficient to serve it? + ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are + chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some + piece of money, and go through with all. + ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the + most sufficient of your parish. + ELBOW. To your worship's house, sir? + ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW] + What's o'clock, think you? + JUSTICE. Eleven, sir. + ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me. + JUSTICE. I humbly thank you. + ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; + But there's no remedy. + JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe. + ESCALUS. It is but needful: + Mercy is not itself that oft looks so; + Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. + But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy. + Come, sir. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Another room in ANGELO'S house + +Enter PROVOST and a SERVANT + + SERVANT. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight. + I'll tell him of you. + PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I'll know + His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, + He hath but as offended in a dream! + All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he + To die for 't! + + Enter ANGELO + + ANGELO. Now, what's the matter, Provost? + PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? + ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order? + Why dost thou ask again? + PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash; + Under your good correction, I have seen + When, after execution, judgment hath + Repented o'er his doom. + ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine. + Do you your office, or give up your place, + And you shall well be spar'd. + PROVOST. I crave your honour's pardon. + What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? + She's very near her hour. + ANGELO. Dispose of her + To some more fitter place, and that with speed. + + Re-enter SERVANT + + SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd + Desires access to you. + ANGELO. Hath he a sister? + PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, + And to be shortly of a sisterhood, + If not already. + ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT + See you the fornicatress be remov'd; + Let her have needful but not lavish means; + There shall be order for't. + + Enter Lucio and ISABELLA + + PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour! + ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y'are welcome; what's + your will? + ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, + Please but your honour hear me. + ANGELO. Well; what's your suit? + ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor, + And most desire should meet the blow of justice; + For which I would not plead, but that I must; + For which I must not plead, but that I am + At war 'twixt will and will not. + ANGELO. Well; the matter? + ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn'd to die; + I do beseech you, let it be his fault, + And not my brother. + PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces. + ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it! + Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done; + Mine were the very cipher of a function, + To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, + And let go by the actor. + ISABELLA. O just but severe law! + I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour! + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give't not o'er so; to him again, entreat him, + Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; + You are too cold: if you should need a pin, + You could not with more tame a tongue desire it. + To him, I say. + ISABELLA. Must he needs die? + ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy. + ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him. + And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. + ANGELO. I will not do't. + ISABELLA. But can you, if you would? + ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. + ISABELLA. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, + If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse + As mine is to him? + ANGELO. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold. + ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word, + May call it back again. Well, believe this: + No ceremony that to great ones longs, + Not the king's crown nor the deputed sword, + The marshal's truncheon nor the judge's robe, + Become them with one half so good a grace + As mercy does. + If he had been as you, and you as he, + You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like you, + Would not have been so stern. + ANGELO. Pray you be gone. + ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency, + And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus? + No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge + And what a prisoner. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there's the vein. + ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, + And you but waste your words. + ISABELLA. Alas! Alas! + Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; + And He that might the vantage best have took + Found out the remedy. How would you be + If He, which is the top of judgment, should + But judge you as you are? O, think on that; + And mercy then will breathe within your lips, + Like man new made. + ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid. + It is the law, not I condemn your brother. + Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, + It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow. + ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him. + He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens + We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven + With less respect than we do minister + To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you. + Who is it that hath died for this offence? + There's many have committed it. + LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said. + ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. + Those many had not dar'd to do that evil + If the first that did th' edict infringe + Had answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake, + Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, + Looks in a glass that shows what future evils- + Either now or by remissness new conceiv'd, + And so in progress to be hatch'd and born- + Are now to have no successive degrees, + But here they live to end. + ISABELLA. Yet show some pity. + ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice; + For then I pity those I do not know, + Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall, + And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, + Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; + Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. + ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence, + And he that suffers. O, it is excellent + To have a giant's strength! But it is tyrannous + To use it like a giant. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That's well said. + ISABELLA. Could great men thunder + As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet, + For every pelting petty officer + Would use his heaven for thunder, + Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven, + Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, + Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak + Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man, + Dress'd in a little brief authority, + Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, + His glassy essence, like an angry ape, + Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven + As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens, + Would all themselves laugh mortal. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent; + He's coming; I perceive 't. + PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him. + ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself. + Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them; + But in the less foul profanation. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou'rt i' th' right, girl; more o' that. + ISABELLA. That in the captain's but a choleric word + Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis'd o' that? More on't. + ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me? + ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others, + Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself + That skins the vice o' th' top. Go to your bosom, + Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know + That's like my brother's fault. If it confess + A natural guiltiness such as is his, + Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue + Against my brother's life. + ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis + Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well. + ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back. + ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow. + ISABELLA. Hark how I'll bribe you; good my lord, turn back. + ANGELO. How, bribe me? + ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr'd all else. + ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold, + Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor + As fancy values them; but with true prayers + That shall be up at heaven and enter there + Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls, + From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate + To nothing temporal. + ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away. + ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe! + ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I + Am that way going to temptation + Where prayers cross. + ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow + Shall I attend your lordship? + ANGELO. At any time 'fore noon. + ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO + ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue! + What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine? + The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? + Ha! + Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I + That, lying by the violet in the sun, + Do as the carrion does, not as the flow'r, + Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be + That modesty may more betray our sense + Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, + Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, + And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie! + What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? + Dost thou desire her foully for those things + That make her good? O, let her brother live! + Thieves for their robbery have authority + When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, + That I desire to hear her speak again, + And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on? + O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, + With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous + Is that temptation that doth goad us on + To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet, + With all her double vigour, art and nature, + Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid + Subdues me quite. Ever till now, + When men were fond, I smil'd and wond'red how. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +A prison + +Enter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST + + DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are. + PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar? + DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order, + I come to visit the afflicted spirits + Here in the prison. Do me the common right + To let me see them, and to make me know + The nature of their crimes, that I may minister + To them accordingly. + PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful. + + Enter JULIET + + Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, + Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, + Hath blister'd her report. She is with child; + And he that got it, sentenc'd- a young man + More fit to do another such offence + Than die for this. + DUKE. When must he die? + PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow. + [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile + And you shall be conducted. + DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? + JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. + DUKE. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, + And try your penitence, if it be sound + Or hollowly put on. + JULIET. I'll gladly learn. + DUKE. Love you the man that wrong'd you? + JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. + DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act + Was mutually committed. + JULIET. Mutually. + DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. + JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father. + DUKE. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent + As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, + Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven, + Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, + But as we stand in fear- + JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil, + And take the shame with joy. + DUKE. There rest. + Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, + And I am going with instruction to him. + Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit + JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law, + That respites me a life whose very comfort + Is still a dying horror! + PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO + + ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray + To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words, + Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, + Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth, + As if I did but only chew his name, + And in my heart the strong and swelling evil + Of my conception. The state whereon I studied + Is, like a good thing being often read, + Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity, + Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride, + Could I with boot change for an idle plume + Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, + How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, + Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls + To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood. + Let's write 'good angel' on the devil's horn; + 'Tis not the devil's crest. + + Enter SERVANT + + How now, who's there? + SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. + ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens! + Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, + Making both it unable for itself + And dispossessing all my other parts + Of necessary fitness? + So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; + Come all to help him, and so stop the air + By which he should revive; and even so + The general subject to a well-wish'd king + Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness + Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love + Must needs appear offence. + + Enter ISABELLA + + How now, fair maid? + ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure. + ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me + Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. + ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour! + ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be, + As long as you or I; yet he must die. + ISABELLA. Under your sentence? + ANGELO. Yea. + ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve, + Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted + That his soul sicken not. + ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good + To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n + A man already made, as to remit + Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image + In stamps that are forbid; 'tis all as easy + Falsely to take away a life true made + As to put metal in restrained means + To make a false one. + ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. + ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly. + Which had you rather- that the most just law + Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, + Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness + As she that he hath stain'd? + ISABELLA. Sir, believe this: + I had rather give my body than my soul. + ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins + Stand more for number than for accompt. + ISABELLA. How say you? + ANGELO. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak + Against the thing I say. Answer to this: + I, now the voice of the recorded law, + Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life; + Might there not be a charity in sin + To save this brother's life? + ISABELLA. Please you to do't, + I'll take it as a peril to my soul + It is no sin at all, but charity. + ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul, + Were equal poise of sin and charity. + ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, + Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit, + If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer + To have it added to the faults of mine, + And nothing of your answer. + ANGELO. Nay, but hear me; + Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant + Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good. + ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good + But graciously to know I am no better. + ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright + When it doth tax itself; as these black masks + Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder + Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me: + To be received plain, I'll speak more gross- + Your brother is to die. + ISABELLA. So. + ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears, + Accountant to the law upon that pain. + ISABELLA. True. + ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life, + As I subscribe not that, nor any other, + But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister, + Finding yourself desir'd of such a person + Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, + Could fetch your brother from the manacles + Of the all-binding law; and that there were + No earthly mean to save him but that either + You must lay down the treasures of your body + To this supposed, or else to let him suffer- + What would you do? + ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself; + That is, were I under the terms of death, + Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, + And strip myself to death as to a bed + That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield + My body up to shame. + ANGELO. Then must your brother die. + ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way: + Better it were a brother died at once + Than that a sister, by redeeming him, + Should die for ever. + ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence + That you have slander'd so? + ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon + Are of two houses: lawful mercy + Is nothing kin to foul redemption. + ANGELO. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; + And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother + A merriment than a vice. + ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out, + To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: + I something do excuse the thing I hate + For his advantage that I dearly love. + ANGELO. We are all frail. + ISABELLA. Else let my brother die, + If not a fedary but only he + Owe and succeed thy weakness. + ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too. + ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves, + Which are as easy broke as they make forms. + Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar + In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; + For we are soft as our complexions are, + And credulous to false prints. + ANGELO. I think it well; + And from this testimony of your own sex, + Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger + Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold. + I do arrest your words. Be that you are, + That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; + If you be one, as you are well express'd + By all external warrants, show it now + By putting on the destin'd livery. + ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord, + Let me intreat you speak the former language. + ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you. + ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet, + And you tell me that he shall die for't. + ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. + ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in't, + Which seems a little fouler than it is, + To pluck on others. + ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour, + My words express my purpose. + ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, + And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! + I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't. + Sign me a present pardon for my brother + Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world aloud + What man thou art. + ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel? + My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, + My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state, + Will so your accusation overweigh + That you shall stifle in your own report, + And smell of calumny. I have begun, + And now I give my sensual race the rein: + Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; + Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes + That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother + By yielding up thy body to my will; + Or else he must not only die the death, + But thy unkindness shall his death draw out + To ling'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, + Or, by the affection that now guides me most, + I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, + Say what you can: my false o'erweighs your true. Exit + ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, + Who would believe me? O perilous mouths + That bear in them one and the self-same tongue + Either of condemnation or approof, + Bidding the law make curtsy to their will; + Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, + To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother. + Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood, + Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour + That, had he twenty heads to tender down + On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up + Before his sister should her body stoop + To such abhorr'd pollution. + Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: + More than our brother is our chastity. + I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, + And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +The prison + +Enter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST + + DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? + CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine + But only hope: + I have hope to Eve, and am prepar'd to die. + DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life + Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life. + If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing + That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art, + Servile to all the skyey influences, + That dost this habitation where thou keep'st + Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death's fool; + For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun + And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; + For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st + Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means valiant; + For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork + Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, + And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st + Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; + For thou exists on many a thousand grains + That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; + For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, + And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; + For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, + After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; + For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, + Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, + And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; + For thine own bowels which do call thee sire, + The mere effusion of thy proper loins, + Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, + For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, + But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, + Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth + Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms + Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, + Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, + To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this + That bears the name of life? Yet in this life + Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, + That makes these odds all even. + CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you. + To sue to live, I find I seek to die; + And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on. + ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! + PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome. + DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. + CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you. + + Enter ISABELLA + + ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio. + PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. + DUKE. Provost, a word with you. + PROVOST. As many as you please. + DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd. + Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST + CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort? + ISABELLA. Why, + As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed. + Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, + Intends you for his swift ambassador, + Where you shall be an everlasting leiger. + Therefore, your best appointment make with speed; + To-morrow you set on. + CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy? + ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head, + To cleave a heart in twain. + CLAUDIO. But is there any? + ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live: + There is a devilish mercy in the judge, + If you'll implore it, that will free your life, + But fetter you till death. + CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance? + ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, + Though all the world's vastidity you had, + To a determin'd scope. + CLAUDIO. But in what nature? + ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't, + Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, + And leave you naked. + CLAUDIO. Let me know the point. + ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, + Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, + And six or seven winters more respect + Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? + The sense of death is most in apprehension; + And the poor beetle that we tread upon + In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great + As when a giant dies. + CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame? + Think you I can a resolution fetch + From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die, + I will encounter darkness as a bride + And hug it in mine arms. + ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father's grave + Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: + Thou art too noble to conserve a life + In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, + Whose settled visage and deliberate word + Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth enew + As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; + His filth within being cast, he would appear + A pond as deep as hell. + CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo! + ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell + The damned'st body to invest and cover + In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, + If I would yield him my virginity + Thou mightst be freed? + CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be. + ISABELLA. Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence, + So to offend him still. This night's the time + That I should do what I abhor to name, + Or else thou diest to-morrow. + CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't. + ISABELLA. O, were it but my life! + I'd throw it down for your deliverance + As frankly as a pin. + CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel. + ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. + CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him + That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose + When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; + Or of the deadly seven it is the least. + ISABELLA. Which is the least? + CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise, + Why would he for the momentary trick + Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel! + ISABELLA. What says my brother? + CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing. + ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful. + CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; + To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; + This sensible warm motion to become + A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit + To bathe in fiery floods or to reside + In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; + To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, + And blown with restless violence round about + The pendent world; or to be worse than worst + Of those that lawless and incertain thought + Imagine howling- 'tis too horrible. + The weariest and most loathed worldly life + That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, + Can lay on nature is a paradise + To what we fear of death. + ISABELLA. Alas, alas! + CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live. + What sin you do to save a brother's life, + Nature dispenses with the deed so far + That it becomes a virtue. + ISABELLA. O you beast! + O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! + Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? + Is't not a kind of incest to take life + From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? + Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! + For such a warped slip of wilderness + Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance; + Die; perish. Might but my bending down + Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. + I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, + No word to save thee. + CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel. + ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie! + Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. + Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd; + 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. + CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella. + + Re-enter DUKE + + DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. + ISABELLA. What is your will? + DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have + some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is + likewise your own benefit. + ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out + of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. + [Walks apart] + DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your + sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath + made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the + disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, + hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to + receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; + therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your + resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die; + go to your knees and make ready. + CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life + that I will sue to be rid of it. + DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with + you. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. What's your will, father? + DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while + with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch + her by my company. + PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST + DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the + goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; + but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body + of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, + fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty + hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How + will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? + ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother + die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how + much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and + I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his + government. + DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands, + he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only. + Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in + doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe + that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited + benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to + your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if + peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this + business. + ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do + anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. + DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not + heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great + soldier who miscarried at sea? + ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her + name. + DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by + oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the + contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was + wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his + sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: + there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward + her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of + her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate + husband, this well-seeming Angelo. + ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? + DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his + comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries + of dishonour; in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which + she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is + washed with them, but relents not. + ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from + the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man + live! But how out of this can she avail? + DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it + not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in + doing it. + ISABELLA. Show me how, good father. + DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her + first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should + have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, + made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his + requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to + the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that + your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all + shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. + This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall + advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your + place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may + compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother + saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and + the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for + his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the + doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What + think you of it? + ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it + will grow to a most prosperous perfection. + DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to + Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him + promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there, + at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that + place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be + quickly. + ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. + Exeunt severally + + + + +Scene II. +The street before the prison + +Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, +and OFFICERS with POMPEY + + ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs + buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the + world drink brown and white bastard. + DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here? + POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest + was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd + gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox on lamb-skins too, to + signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the + facing. + ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar. + DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made + you, sir? + ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him + to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a + strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy. + DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd! + The evil that thou causest to be done, + That is thy means to live. Do thou but think + What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back + From such a filthy vice; say to thyself + 'From their abominable and beastly touches + I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.' + Canst thou believe thy living is a life, + So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. + POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, + I would prove- + DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, + Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer; + Correction and instruction must both work + Ere this rude beast will profit. + ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning. + The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger, + and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. + DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be, + From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free. + ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir. + + Enter LUCIO + + POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend + of mine. + LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art + thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, + newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the + pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st + thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th' + last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, + man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The + trick of it? + DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse! + LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, + ha? + POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is + herself in the tub. + LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever + your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd + consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? + POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir. + LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee + thither. For debt, Pompey- or how? + ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. + LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a + bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of + antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to + the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you + will keep the house. + POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. + LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will + pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not + patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey. + Bless you, friar. + DUKE. And you. + LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? + ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. + POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir? + LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news? + ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. + LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go. + + Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS + + What news, friar, of the Duke? + DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any? + LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is + in Rome; but where is he, think you? + DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well. + LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the + state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo + dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't. + DUKE. He does well in't. + LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him; + something too crabbed that way, friar. + DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. + LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is + well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till + eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not + made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it + true, think you? + DUKE. How should he be made, then? + LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot + between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes + water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he + is a motion generative; that's infallible. + DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. + LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion + of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that + is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the + getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a + thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, + and that instructed him to mercy. + DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was + not inclin'd that way. + LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd. + DUKE. 'Tis not possible. + LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use + was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in + him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. + DUKE. You do him wrong, surely. + LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and + I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. + DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause? + LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth + and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file + of the subject held the Duke to be wise. + DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was. + LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. + DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very + stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a + warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but + testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to + the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you + speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much + dark'ned in your malice. + LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him. + DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer + love. + LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know. + DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. + But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me + desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you + have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call + upon you; and I pray you your name? + LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke. + DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. + LUCIO. I fear you not. + DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me + too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm: + you'll forswear this again. + LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no + more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? + DUKE. Why should he die, sir? + LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke + we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will + unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in + his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would + have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to + light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned + for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The + Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not + past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar + though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so. + Farewell. Exit + DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality + Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny + The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong + Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? + But who comes here? + + Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with + MISTRESS OVERDONE + + ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison. + MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is + accounted a merciful man; good my lord. + ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the + same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. + PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your + honour. + MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. + Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time; + he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old + come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes + about to abuse me. + ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd + before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt + OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will + not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd + with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother + wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. + PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd + him for th' entertainment of death. + ESCALUS. Good even, good father. + DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you! + ESCALUS. Of whence are you? + DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now + To use it for my time. I am a brother + Of gracious order, late come from the See + In special business from his Holiness. + ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world? + DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the + dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and, + as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is + virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce + truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough + to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the + wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every + day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke? + ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to + know himself. + DUKE. What pleasure was he given to? + ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at + anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all + temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they + may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find + Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him + visitation. + DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his + judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of + justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his + frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good + leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die. + ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner + the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor + gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother + justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him + he is indeed Justice. + DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it + shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath + sentenc'd himself. + ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. + DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST + + He who the sword of heaven will bear + Should be as holy as severe; + Pattern in himself to know, + Grace to stand, and virtue go; + More nor less to others paying + Than by self-offences weighing. + Shame to him whose cruel striking + Kills for faults of his own liking! + Twice treble shame on Angelo, + To weed my vice and let his grow! + O, what may man within him hide, + Though angel on the outward side! + How may likeness, made in crimes, + Make a practice on the times, + To draw with idle spiders' strings + Most ponderous and substantial things! + Craft against vice I must apply. + With Angelo to-night shall lie + His old betrothed but despised; + So disguise shall, by th' disguised, + Pay with falsehood false exacting, + And perform an old contracting. Exit + + + + +Act IV. Scene I. +The moated grange at Saint Duke's + +Enter MARIANA; and BOY singing + + SONG + + Take, O, take those lips away, + That so sweetly were forsworn; + And those eyes, the break of day, + Lights that do mislead the morn; + But my kisses bring again, bring again; + Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away; + Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice + Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. Exit BOY + I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish + You had not found me here so musical. + Let me excuse me, and believe me so, + My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. + DUKE. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm + To make bad good and good provoke to harm. + I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir'd for me here to-day. Much + upon this time have I promis'd here to meet. + MARIANA. You have not been inquir'd after; I have sat here all day. + + Enter ISABELLA + + DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I + shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon + you anon, for some advantage to yourself. + MARIANA. I am always bound to you. Exit + DUKE. Very well met, and well come. + What is the news from this good deputy? + ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, + Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; + And to that vineyard is a planched gate + That makes his opening with this bigger key; + This other doth command a little door + Which from the vineyard to the garden leads. + There have I made my promise + Upon the heavy middle of the night + To call upon him. + DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way? + ISABELLA. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't; + With whispering and most guilty diligence, + In action all of precept, he did show me + The way twice o'er. + DUKE. Are there no other tokens + Between you 'greed concerning her observance? + ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i' th' dark; + And that I have possess'd him my most stay + Can be but brief; for I have made him know + I have a servant comes with me along, + That stays upon me; whose persuasion is + I come about my brother. + DUKE. 'Tis well borne up. + I have not yet made known to Mariana + A word of this. What ho, within! come forth. + + Re-enter MARIANA + + I pray you be acquainted with this maid; + She comes to do you good. + ISABELLA. I do desire the like. + DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? + MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. + DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand, + Who hath a story ready for your ear. + I shall attend your leisure; but make haste; + The vaporous night approaches. + MARIANA. Will't please you walk aside? + Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA + DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes + Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report + Run with these false, and most contrarious quest + Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit + Make thee the father of their idle dream, + And rack thee in their fancies. + + Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA + + Welcome, how agreed? + ISABELLA. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, + If you advise it. + DUKE. It is not my consent, + But my entreaty too. + ISABELLA. Little have you to say, + When you depart from him, but, soft and low, + 'Remember now my brother.' + MARIANA. Fear me not. + DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. + He is your husband on a pre-contract. + To bring you thus together 'tis no sin, + Sith that the justice of your title to him + Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go; + Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The prison + +Enter PROVOST and POMPEY + + PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head? + POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a + married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut of a + woman's head. + PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct + answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here + is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a + helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem + you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of + imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for + you have been a notorious bawd. + POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet + I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to + receive some instructions from my fellow partner. + PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there? + + Enter ABHORSON + + ABHORSON. Do you call, sir? + PROVOST. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your + execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, + and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, + and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath + been a bawd. + ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery. + PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the + scale. Exit + POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good + favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call, + sir, your occupation a mystery? + ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery. + POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your + whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do + prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be + in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. + ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery. + POMPEY. Proof? + ABHORSON. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too + little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it + be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so + every true man's apparel fits your thief. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Are you agreed? + POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more + penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. + PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow + four o'clock. + ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow. + POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion + to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly, + sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. + PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. + Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY + Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other, + Being a murderer, though he were my brother. + + Enter CLAUDIO + + Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death; + 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow + Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? + CLAUDIO. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour + When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones. + He will not wake. + PROVOST. Who can do good on him? + Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what + noise? + Heaven give your spirits comfort! Exit CLAUDIO + [Knocking continues] By and by. + I hope it is some pardon or reprieve + For the most gentle Claudio. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + Welcome, father. + DUKE. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night + Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late? + PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung. + DUKE. Not Isabel? + PROVOST. No. + DUKE. They will then, ere't be long. + PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio? + DUKE. There's some in hope. + PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy. + DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd + Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; + He doth with holy abstinence subdue + That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r + To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that + Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; + But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they + come. Exit PROVOST + This is a gentle provost; seldom when + The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within] + How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste + That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer + Arise to let him in; he is call'd up. + DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet + But he must die to-morrow? + PROVOST. None, sir, none. + DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, + You shall hear more ere morning. + PROVOST. Happily + You something know; yet I believe there comes + No countermand; no such example have we. + Besides, upon the very siege of justice, + Lord Angelo hath to the public ear + Profess'd the contrary. + + Enter a MESSENGER + This is his lordship's man. + DUKE. And here comes Claudio's pardon. + MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further + charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, + neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for + as I take it, it is almost day. + PROVOST. I shall obey him. Exit MESSENGER + DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin + For which the pardoner himself is in; + Hence hath offence his quick celerity, + When it is borne in high authority. + When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended + That for the fault's love is th' offender friended. + Now, sir, what news? + PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine + office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks + strangely, for he hath not us'd it before. + DUKE. Pray you, let's hear. + PROVOST. [Reads] 'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let + Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon, + Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's + head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought + that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not + to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.' + What say you to this, sir? + DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th' + afternoon? + PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs'd up and bred. + One that is a prisoner nine years old. + DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him + to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his + manner to do so. + PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed, + his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to + an undoubted proof. + DUKE. It is now apparent? + PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. + DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to + be touch'd? + PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a + drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what's past, + present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately + mortal. + DUKE. He wants advice. + PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the + prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many + times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft + awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a + seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all. + DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost, + honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill + beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself + in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no + greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc'd him. To + make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four + days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and + a dangerous courtesy. + PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what? + DUKE. In the delaying death. + PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an + express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view + of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the + smallest. + DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions + may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, + and his head borne to Angelo. + PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. + DUKE. O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave + the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the + penitent to be so bar'd before his death. You know the course is + common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and + good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against + it with my life. + PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath. + DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy? + PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes. + DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch + the justice of your dealing? + PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that? + DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you + fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can + with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck + all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of + the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is + not strange to you. + PROVOST. I know them both. + DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall + anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within + these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows + not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour, + perchance of the Duke's death, perchance entering into some + monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th' + unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into + amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but + easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with + Barnardine's head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise + him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall + absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The prison + +Enter POMPEY + + POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of + profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own + house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young + Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old + ginger, nine score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five + marks ready money. Marry, then ginger was not much in request, + for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master + Caper, at the suit of Master Threepile the mercer, for some four + suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar. + Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deepvow, and + Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey, the rapier and dagger + man, and young Dropheir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and Master + Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie the great + traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb'd Pots, and, I think, + forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the + Lord's sake.' + + Enter ABHORSON + + ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. + POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang'd, Master + Barnardine! + ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine! + BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise + there? What are you? + POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, + to rise and be put to death. + BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy. + ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. + POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and + sleep afterwards. + ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out. + POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. + + Enter BARNARDINE + + ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? + POMPEY. Very ready, sir. + BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what's the news with you? + ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; + for, look you, the warrant's come. + BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not + fitted for't. + POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is + hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next + day. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father. + Do we jest now, think you? + DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are + to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with + you. + BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and + I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my + brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that's + certain. + DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you + Look forward on the journey you shall go. + BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion. + DUKE. But hear you- + BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to + my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Exit + DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart! + After him, fellows; bring him to the block. + Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY + + Enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? + DUKE. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death; + And to transport him in the mind he is + Were damnable. + PROVOST. Here in the prison, father, + There died this morning of a cruel fever + One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, + A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head + Just of his colour. What if we do omit + This reprobate till he were well inclin'd, + And satisfy the deputy with the visage + Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? + DUKE. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides! + Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on + Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done, + And sent according to command; whiles I + Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. + PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently. + But Barnardine must die this afternoon; + And how shall we continue Claudio, + To save me from the danger that might come + If he were known alive? + DUKE. Let this be done: + Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio. + Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting + To the under generation, you shall find + Your safety manifested. + PROVOST. I am your free dependant. + DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo. + Exit PROVOST + Now will I write letters to Angelo- + The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents + Shall witness to him I am near at home, + And that, by great injunctions, I am bound + To enter publicly. Him I'll desire + To meet me at the consecrated fount, + A league below the city; and from thence, + By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form. + We shall proceed with Angelo. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. + DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return; + For I would commune with you of such things + That want no ear but yours. + PROVOST. I'll make all speed. Exit + ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here! + DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know + If yet her brother's pardon be come hither; + But I will keep her ignorant of her good, + To make her heavenly comforts of despair + When it is least expected. + + Enter ISABELLA + + ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave! + DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. + ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man. + Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? + DUKE. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world. + His head is off and sent to Angelo. + ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so. + DUKE. It is no other. + Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience, + ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes! + DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight. + ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! + Injurious world! Most damned Angelo! + DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; + Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven. + Mark what I say, which you shall find + By every syllable a faithful verity. + The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes. + One of our covent, and his confessor, + Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried + Notice to Escalus and Angelo, + Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, + There to give up their pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom + In that good path that I would wish it go, + And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, + Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart, + And general honour. + ISABELLA. I am directed by you. + DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; + 'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return. + Say, by this token, I desire his company + At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours + I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you + Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo + Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, + I am combined by a sacred vow, + And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. + Command these fretting waters from your eyes + With a light heart; trust not my holy order, + If I pervert your course. Who's here? + + Enter LUCIO + + LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where's the Provost? + DUKE. Not within, sir. + LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes + so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with + water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one + fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be + here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother. If the + old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had + lived. Exit ISABELLA + DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; + but the best is, he lives not in them. + LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a + better woodman than thou tak'st him for. + DUKE. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well. + LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty + tales of the Duke. + DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be + true; if not true, none were enough. + LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child. + DUKE. Did you such a thing? + LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would + else have married me to the rotten medlar. + DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well. + LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy + talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a + kind of burr; I shall stick. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS + + ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other. + ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much + like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why + meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there? + ESCALUS. I guess not. + ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his + ent'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should + exhibit their petitions in the street? + ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of + complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which + shall then have no power to stand against us. + ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd; + Betimes i' th' morn I'll call you at your house; + Give notice to such men of sort and suit + As are to meet him. + ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well. + ANGELO. Good night. Exit ESCALUS + This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant + And dull to all proceedings. A deflow'red maid! + And by an eminent body that enforc'd + The law against it! But that her tender shame + Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, + How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no; + For my authority bears a so credent bulk + That no particular scandal once can touch + But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, + Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, + Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, + By so receiving a dishonour'd life + With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd! + Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, + Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. Exit + + + + +SCENE V. +Fields without the town + +Enter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER + + DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters] + The Provost knows our purpose and our plot. + The matter being afoot, keep your instruction + And hold you ever to our special drift; + Though sometimes you do blench from this to that + As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house, + And tell him where I stay; give the like notice + To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, + And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; + But send me Flavius first. + PETER. It shall be speeded well. Exit FRIAR + + Enter VARRIUS + + DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste. + Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends + Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +A street near the city gate + +Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA + + ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath; + I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, + That is your part. Yet I am advis'd to do it; + He says, to veil full purpose. + MARIANA. Be rul'd by him. + ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure + He speak against me on the adverse side, + I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic + That's bitter to sweet end. + MARIANA. I would Friar Peter- + + Enter FRIAR PETER + + ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come. + PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, + Where you may have such vantage on the Duke + He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded; + The generous and gravest citizens + Have hent the gates, and very near upon + The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +The city gate + +Enter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio, +PROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS + + DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met! + Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. + ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace! + DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both. + We have made inquiry of you, and we hear + Such goodness of your justice that our soul + Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, + Forerunning more requital. + ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater. + DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it + To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, + When it deserves, with characters of brass, + A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time + And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand. + And let the subject see, to make them know + That outward courtesies would fain proclaim + Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus, + You must walk by us on our other hand, + And good supporters are you. + + Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA + + PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him. + ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard + Upon a wrong'd- I would fain have said a maid! + O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye + By throwing it on any other object + Till you have heard me in my true complaint, + And given me justice, justice, justice, justice. + DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief. + Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice; + Reveal yourself to him. + ISABELLA. O worthy Duke, + You bid me seek redemption of the devil! + Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak + Must either punish me, not being believ'd, + Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here! + ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm; + She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, + Cut off by course of justice- + ISABELLA. By course of justice! + ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange. + ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak. + That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange? + That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange? + That Angelo is an adulterous thief, + An hypocrite, a virgin-violator, + Is it not strange and strange? + DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange. + ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo + Than this is all as true as it is strange; + Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth + To th' end of reck'ning. + DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul, + She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense. + ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ'st + There is another comfort than this world, + That thou neglect me not with that opinion + That I am touch'd with madness. Make not impossible + That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible + But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, + May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, + As Angelo; even so may Angelo, + In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, + Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince, + If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, + Had I more name for badness. + DUKE. By mine honesty, + If she be mad, as I believe no other, + Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, + Such a dependency of thing on thing, + As e'er I heard in madness. + ISABELLA. O gracious Duke, + Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason + For inequality; but let your reason serve + To make the truth appear where it seems hid, + And hide the false seems true. + DUKE. Many that are not mad + Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? + ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio, + Condemn'd upon the act of fornication + To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo. + I, in probation of a sisterhood, + Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio + As then the messenger- + LUCIO. That's I, an't like your Grace. + I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her + To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo + For her poor brother's pardon. + ISABELLA. That's he, indeed. + DUKE. You were not bid to speak. + LUCIO. No, my good lord; + Nor wish'd to hold my peace. + DUKE. I wish you now, then; + Pray you take note of it; and when you have + A business for yourself, pray heaven you then + Be perfect. + LUCIO. I warrant your honour. + DUKE. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't. + ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. + LUCIO. Right. + DUKE. It may be right; but you are i' the wrong + To speak before your time. Proceed. + ISABELLA. I went + To this pernicious caitiff deputy. + DUKE. That's somewhat madly spoken. + ISABELLA. Pardon it; + The phrase is to the matter. + DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed. + ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by, + How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, + How he refell'd me, and how I replied, + For this was of much length- the vile conclusion + I now begin with grief and shame to utter: + He would not, but by gift of my chaste body + To his concupiscible intemperate lust, + Release my brother; and, after much debatement, + My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, + And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes, + His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant + For my poor brother's head. + DUKE. This is most likely! + ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true! + DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st, + Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour + In hateful practice. First, his integrity + Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason + That with such vehemency he should pursue + Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended, + He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, + And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on; + Confess the truth, and say by whose advice + Thou cam'st here to complain. + ISABELLA. And is this all? + Then, O you blessed ministers above, + Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time, + Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up + In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe, + As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! + DUKE. I know you'd fain be gone. An officer! + To prison with her! Shall we thus permit + A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall + On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. + Who knew of your intent and coming hither? + ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. + DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick? + LUCIO. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar. + I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord, + For certain words he spake against your Grace + In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. + DUKE. Words against me? This's a good friar, belike! + And to set on this wretched woman here + Against our substitute! Let this friar be found. + LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, + I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar, + A very scurvy fellow. + PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace! + I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard + Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman + Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute; + Who is as free from touch or soil with her + As she from one ungot. + DUKE. We did believe no less. + Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? + PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy; + Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, + As he's reported by this gentleman; + And, on my trust, a man that never yet + Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace. + LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it. + PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself; + But at this instant he is sick, my lord, + Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request- + Being come to knowledge that there was complaint + Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither + To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know + Is true and false; and what he, with his oath + And all probation, will make up full clear, + Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman- + To justify this worthy nobleman, + So vulgarly and personally accus'd- + Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, + Till she herself confess it. + DUKE. Good friar, let's hear it. Exit ISABELLA guarded + Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? + O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools! + Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo; + In this I'll be impartial; be you judge + Of your own cause. + + Enter MARIANA veiled + + Is this the witness, friar? + FIRST let her show her face, and after speak. + MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face + Until my husband bid me. + DUKE. What, are you married? + MARIANA. No, my lord. + DUKE. Are you a maid? + MARIANA. No, my lord. + DUKE. A widow, then? + MARIANA. Neither, my lord. + DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife. + LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither + maid, widow, nor wife. + DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause + To prattle for himself. + LUCIO. Well, my lord. + MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married, + And I confess, besides, I am no maid. + I have known my husband; yet my husband + Knows not that ever he knew me. + LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better. + DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too! + LUCIO. Well, my lord. + DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. + MARIANA. Now I come to't, my lord: + She that accuses him of fornication, + In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; + And charges him, my lord, with such a time + When I'll depose I had him in mine arms, + With all th' effect of love. + ANGELO. Charges she moe than me? + MARIANA. Not that I know. + DUKE. No? You say your husband. + MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, + Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, + But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. + ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face. + MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. + [Unveiling] + This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, + Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on; + This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, + Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body + That took away the match from Isabel, + And did supply thee at thy garden-house + In her imagin'd person. + DUKE. Know you this woman? + LUCIO. Carnally, she says. + DUKE. Sirrah, no more. + LUCIO. Enough, my lord. + ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman; + And five years since there was some speech of marriage + Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, + Partly for that her promised proportions + Came short of composition; but in chief + For that her reputation was disvalued + In levity. Since which time of five years + I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, + Upon my faith and honour. + MARIANA. Noble Prince, + As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, + As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, + I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly + As words could make up vows. And, my good lord, + But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house, + He knew me as a wife. As this is true, + Let me in safety raise me from my knees, + Or else for ever be confixed here, + A marble monument! + ANGELO. I did but smile till now. + Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; + My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive + These poor informal women are no more + But instruments of some more mightier member + That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, + To find this practice out. + DUKE. Ay, with my heart; + And punish them to your height of pleasure. + Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, + Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, + Though they would swear down each particular saint, + Were testimonies against his worth and credit, + That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, + Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains + To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. + There is another friar that set them on; + Let him be sent for. + PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed + Hath set the women on to this complaint. + Your provost knows the place where he abides, + And he may fetch him. + DUKE. Go, do it instantly. Exit PROVOST + And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, + Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, + Do with your injuries as seems you best + In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you; + But stir not you till you have well determin'd + Upon these slanderers. + ESCALUS. My lord, we'll do it throughly. Exit DUKE + Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be + a dishonest person? + LUCIO. 'Cucullus non facit monachum': honest in nothing but in his + clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the + Duke. + ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and + enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable + fellow. + LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word. + ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with + her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to + question; you shall see how I'll handle her. + LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report. + ESCALUS. Say you? + LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would + sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she'll be asham'd. + + Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the + DUKE in his friar's habit + + ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her. + LUCIO. That's the way; for women are light at midnight. + ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here's a gentlewoman denies all that + you have said. + LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the + Provost. + ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon + you. + LUCIO. Mum. + ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord + Angelo? They have confess'd you did. + DUKE. 'Tis false. + ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are? + DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil + Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne! + Where is the Duke? 'Tis he should hear me speak. + ESCALUS. The Duke's in us; and we will hear you speak; + Look you speak justly. + DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, + Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox, + Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone? + Then is your cause gone too. The Duke's unjust + Thus to retort your manifest appeal, + And put your trial in the villain's mouth + Which here you come to accuse. + LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. + ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar, + Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women + To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth, + And in the witness of his proper ear, + To call him villain; and then to glance from him + To th' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice? + Take him hence; to th' rack with him! We'll touze you + Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. + What, 'unjust'! + DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke + Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he + Dare rack his own; his subject am I not, + Nor here provincial. My business in this state + Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, + Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble + Till it o'errun the stew: laws for all faults, + But faults so countenanc'd that the strong statutes + Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, + As much in mock as mark. + ESCALUS. Slander to th' state! Away with him to prison! + ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio? + Is this the man that you did tell us of? + LUCIO. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate. + Do you know me? + DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at + the prison, in the absence of the Duke. + LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke? + DUKE. Most notedly, sir. + LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and + a coward, as you then reported him to be? + DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my + report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse. + LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for + thy speeches? + DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself. + ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable + abuses! + ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal. Away with him to + prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts + enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets + too, and with the other confederate companion! + [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE] + DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile. + ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. + LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you + bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your + knave's visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face, + and be hang'd an hour! Will't not off? + [Pulls off the FRIAR'S bood and discovers the DUKE] + DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e'er mad'st a duke. + First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three. + [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you + Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. + LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging. + DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down. + We'll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave. + Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, + That yet can do thee office? If thou hast, + Rely upon it till my tale be heard, + And hold no longer out. + ANGELO. O my dread lord, + I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, + To think I can be undiscernible, + When I perceive your Grace, like pow'r divine, + Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good Prince, + No longer session hold upon my shame, + But let my trial be mine own confession; + Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, + Is all the grace I beg. + DUKE. Come hither, Mariana. + Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? + ANGELO. I was, my lord. + DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly. + Do you the office, friar; which consummate, + Return him here again. Go with him, Provost. + Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST + ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour + Than at the strangeness of it. + DUKE. Come hither, Isabel. + Your friar is now your prince. As I was then + Advertising and holy to your business, + Not changing heart with habit, I am still + Attorney'd at your service. + ISABELLA. O, give me pardon, + That I, your vassal have employ'd and pain'd + Your unknown sovereignty. + DUKE. You are pardon'd, Isabel. + And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. + Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; + And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, + Labouring to save his life, and would not rather + Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow'r + Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, + It was the swift celerity of his death, + Which I did think with slower foot came on, + That brain'd my purpose. But peace be with him! + That life is better life, past fearing death, + Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort, + So happy is your brother. + ISABELLA. I do, my lord. + + Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST + + DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here, + Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd + Your well-defended honour, you must pardon + For Mariana's sake; but as he adjudg'd your brother- + Being criminal in double violation + Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach, + Thereon dependent, for your brother's life- + The very mercy of the law cries out + Most audible, even from his proper tongue, + 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!' + Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; + Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. + Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested, + Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage. + We do condemn thee to the very block + Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. + Away with him! + MARIANA. O my most gracious lord, + I hope you will not mock me with a husband. + DUKE. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. + Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, + I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, + For that he knew you, might reproach your life, + And choke your good to come. For his possessions, + Although by confiscation they are ours, + We do instate and widow you withal + To buy you a better husband. + MARIANA. O my dear lord, + I crave no other, nor no better man. + DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive. + MARIANA. Gentle my liege- [Kneeling] + DUKE. You do but lose your labour. + Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you. + MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part; + Lend me your knees, and all my life to come + I'll lend you all my life to do you service. + DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her. + Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, + Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, + And take her hence in horror. + MARIANA. Isabel, + Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; + Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all. + They say best men moulded out of faults; + And, for the most, become much more the better + For being a little bad; so may my husband. + O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? + DUKE. He dies for Claudio's death. + ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir, + Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, + As if my brother liv'd. I partly think + A due sincerity govern'd his deeds + Till he did look on me; since it is so, + Let him not die. My brother had but justice, + In that he did the thing for which he died; + For Angelo, + His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, + And must be buried but as an intent + That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects; + Intents but merely thoughts. + MARIANA. Merely, my lord. + DUKE. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. + I have bethought me of another fault. + Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded + At an unusual hour? + PROVOST. It was commanded so. + DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed? + PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message. + DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office; + Give up your keys. + PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord; + I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; + Yet did repent me, after more advice; + For testimony whereof, one in the prison, + That should by private order else have died, + I have reserv'd alive. + DUKE. What's he? + PROVOST. His name is Barnardine. + DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. + Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit PROVOST + ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise + As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, + Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood + And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. + ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure; + And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart + That I crave death more willingly than mercy; + 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. + + Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled) + and JULIET + + DUKE. Which is that Barnardine? + PROVOST. This, my lord. + DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man. + Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, + That apprehends no further than this world, + And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd; + But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, + And pray thee take this mercy to provide + For better times to come. Friar, advise him; + I leave him to your hand. What muffl'd fellow's that? + PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, + Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; + As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO] + DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake + Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake, + Give me your hand and say you will be mine, + He is my brother too. But fitter time for that. + By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe; + Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye. + Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well. + Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours. + I find an apt remission in myself; + And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. + To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward, + One all of luxury, an ass, a madman! + Wherein have I so deserv'd of you + That you extol me thus? + LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. + If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would + please you I might be whipt. + DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after. + Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city, + If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow- + As I have heard him swear himself there's one + Whom he begot with child, let her appear, + And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish'd, + Let him be whipt and hang'd. + LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your + Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not + recompense me in making me a cuckold. + DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. + Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal + Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; + And see our pleasure herein executed. + LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, + and hanging. + DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it. + Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO + She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. + Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo; + I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. + Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness; + There's more behind that is more gratulate. + Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy; + We shall employ thee in a worthier place. + Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home + The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: + Th' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, + I have a motion much imports your good; + Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, + What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. + So, bring us to our palace, where we'll show + What's yet behind that's meet you all should know. + Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1597 + +THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + THE DUKE OF VENICE + THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia + THE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, " " " + ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice + BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia + SOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio + SALERIO, " " " " " + GRATIANO, " " " " " + LORENZO, in love with Jessica + SHYLOCK, a rich Jew + TUBAL, a Jew, his friend + LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock + OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelot + LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio + BALTHASAR, servant 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, and other Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Venice, and PORTIA'S house at Belmont + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Venice. A street + +Enter ANTONIO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO + + ANTONIO. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad. + It wearies me; you say it wearies you; + But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, + What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, + I am to learn; + And such a want-wit sadness makes of me + That I have much ado to know myself. + SALERIO. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; + There where your argosies, with portly sail- + Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, + Or as it were the pageants of the sea- + Do overpeer the petty traffickers, + That curtsy to them, do them reverence, + As they fly by them with their woven wings. + SOLANIO. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, + The better part of my affections would + Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still + Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, + Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; + And every object that might make me fear + Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, + Would make me sad. + SALERIO. My wind, cooling my broth, + Would blow me to an ague when I thought + What harm a wind too great might do at sea. + I should not see the sandy hour-glass run + But I should think of shallows and of flats, + And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, + Vailing her high top lower than her ribs + To kiss her burial. Should I go to church + And see the holy edifice of stone, + And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, + Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, + Would scatter all her spices on the stream, + Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, + And, in a word, but even now worth this, + And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought + To think on this, and shall I lack the thought + That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad? + But tell not me; I know Antonio + Is sad to think upon his merchandise. + ANTONIO. Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it, + My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, + Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate + Upon the fortune of this present year; + Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. + SOLANIO. Why then you are in love. + ANTONIO. Fie, fie! + SOLANIO. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad + Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy + For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, + Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, + Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: + Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, + And laugh like parrots at a 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 + + Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, + Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well; + We leave you now with better company. + SALERIO. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, + If worthier friends had not prevented me. + ANTONIO. Your worth is very dear in my regard. + I take it your own business calls on you, + And you embrace th' occasion to depart. + SALERIO. Good morrow, my good lords. + BASSANIO. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when. + You grow exceeding strange; must it be so? + SALERIO. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. + Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO + LORENZO. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, + We two will leave you; but at dinner-time, + I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. + BASSANIO. I will not fail you. + GRATIANO. You look not well, Signior Antonio; + You have too much respect upon the world; + They lose it that do buy it with much care. + Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. + ANTONIO. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano- + A stage, where every man must play a part, + And mine a sad one. + GRATIANO. Let me play the fool. + With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; + And let my liver rather heat with wine + Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. + Why should a man whose blood is warm within + Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster, + Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice + By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio- + I love thee, and 'tis my love that speaks- + There are a sort of men whose visages + Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, + And do a wilful stillness entertain, + With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion + Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; + As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle, + And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.' + O my Antonio, I do know of these + That therefore only are reputed wise + For saying nothing; when, I am very sure, + If they should speak, would almost damn those ears + Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. + I'll tell thee more of this another time. + But fish not with this melancholy bait + For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. + Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well 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. Fare you well; I'll grow a talker for this gear. + GRATIANO. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable + In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. + Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO + ANTONIO. Is that anything now? + BASSANIO. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than + any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid + in, two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find + them, and when you have them they are not worth the search. + ANTONIO. Well; tell me now what lady is the same + To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, + That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? + BASSANIO. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, + How much I have disabled mine estate + By something showing a more swelling port + Than my faint means would grant continuance; + Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd + From such a noble rate; but my chief care + Is to come fairly off from the great debts + Wherein my time, something too prodigal, + Hath left me gag'd. To you, Antonio, + I owe the most, in money and in love; + And from your love I have a warranty + To unburden all my plots and purposes + How to get clear of all the debts I owe. + ANTONIO. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; + And if it stand, as you yourself still do, + Within the eye of honour, be assur'd + My purse, my person, my extremest means, + Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. + BASSANIO. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, + I shot his fellow of the self-same flight + The self-same way, with more advised watch, + To find the other forth; and by adventuring both + I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof, + Because what follows is pure innocence. + I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, + That which I owe is lost; but if you please + To shoot another arrow that self way + Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, + As I will watch the aim, or to find both, + Or bring your latter hazard back again + And thankfully rest debtor for the first. + ANTONIO. You know me well, and herein spend but time + To wind about my love with circumstance; + And out of doubt you do me now more wrong + In making question of my uttermost + Than if you had made waste of all I have. + Then do but say to me what I should do + That in your knowledge may by me be done, + And I am prest unto it; therefore, speak. + BASSANIO. In Belmont is a lady richly left, + And she is fair and, fairer than that word, + Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes + I did receive fair speechless messages. + Her name is Portia- nothing undervalu'd + To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. + Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; + For the four winds blow in from every coast + Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks + Hang on her temples like a golden fleece, + Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strond, + And many Jasons come in quest of her. + O my Antonio, had I but the means + To hold a rival place with one of them, + I have a mind presages me such thrift + That I should questionless be fortunate. + ANTONIO. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; + Neither have I money nor commodity + To raise a present sum; therefore go forth, + Try what my credit can in Venice do; + That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, + To furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia. + Go presently inquire, and so will I, + Where money is; and I no question make + To have it of my trust or for my sake. Exeunt + + + + + +SCENE II. +Belmont. PORTIA'S house + +Enter PORTIA with her waiting-woman, NERISSA + + PORTIA. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this + great world. + NERISSA. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the + same abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet, for aught I + see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that + starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be + seated in the mean: superfluity come sooner by white hairs, but + competency lives longer. + PORTIA. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd. + NERISSA. They would be better, if well followed. + PORTIA. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, + chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' + palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions; I + can easier teach twenty what were good to be done than to be one + of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise + laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree; + such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good + counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to + choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose'! I may neither + choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a + living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father. Is it not + hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? + NERISSA. Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death + have good inspirations; therefore the lott'ry that he hath + devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead- whereof + who chooses his meaning chooses you- will no doubt never be + chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. But + what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these + princely suitors that are already come? + PORTIA. I pray thee over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will + describe them; and according to my description, level at my + affection. + NERISSA. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. + PORTIA. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of + his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good + parts that he can shoe him himself; I am much afear'd my lady his + mother play'd false with a smith. + NERISSA. Then is there the County Palatine. + PORTIA. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'An you will + not have me, choose.' He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear + he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so + full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married + to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of + these. God defend me from these two! + NERISSA. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon? + PORTIA. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In + truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he- why, he hath a + horse better than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of + frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man. If a + throstle sing he falls straight a-cap'ring; he will fence with + his own shadow; if I should marry him, I should marry twenty + husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he + love me to madness, I shall never requite him. + NERISSA. What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of + England? + PORTIA. You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, + nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you + will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth + in the English. He is a proper man's picture; but alas, who can + converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he + bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet + in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere. + NERISSA. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? + PORTIA. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed + a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him + again when he was able; I think the Frenchman became his surety, + and seal'd under for another. + NERISSA. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's + nephew? + PORTIA. Very vilely in the morning when he is sober; and most + vilely in the afternoon when he is drunk. When he is best, he is + a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little + better than a beast. An the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I + shall make shift to go without him. + NERISSA. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, + you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should + refuse to accept him. + PORTIA. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep + glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for if the devil be + within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I + will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. + NERISSA. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; + they have acquainted me with their determinations, which is + indeed to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more + suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's + imposition, depending on the caskets. + PORTIA. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as + Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will. I + am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not + one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God + grant them a fair departure. + NERISSA. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a + Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of + the Marquis of Montferrat? + PORTIA. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he call'd. + NERISSA. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes + look'd upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. + PORTIA. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy + praise. + + Enter a SERVINGMAN + + How now! what news? + SERVINGMAN. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their + leave; and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of + Morocco, who brings word the Prince his master will be here + to-night. + PORTIA. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I + can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his + approach; if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion + of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. + Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. + Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the + door. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Venice. A public place + +Enter BASSANIO With SHYLOCK the Jew + + SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats- well. + BASSANIO. Ay, sir, for three months. + SHYLOCK. For three months- well. + BASSANIO. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. + SHYLOCK. Antonio shall become bound- well. + BASSANIO. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your + answer? + SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound. + BASSANIO. Your answer to that. + SHYLOCK. Antonio is a good man. + BASSANIO. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? + SHYLOCK. Ho, no, no, no, no; my meaning in saying he is a good man + is to have you understand me that he is sufficient; yet his means + are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another + to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a + third at Mexico, a fourth for England- and other ventures he + hath, squand'red 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 assur'd you may. + SHYLOCK. I will be assur'd I may; and, that I may be assured, I + will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? + BASSANIO. If it please you to dine with us. + SHYLOCK. Yes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your + prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into! I will buy with + you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so + following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray + with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here? + + Enter ANTONIO + + BASSANIO. This is Signior Antonio. + SHYLOCK. [Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks! + I hate him for he is a Christian; + But more for that in low simplicity + He lends out money gratis, and brings down + The rate of usance here with us in Venice. + If I can catch him once upon the hip, + I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. + He hates our sacred nation; and he rails, + Even there where merchants most do congregate, + On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, + Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe + If I forgive him! + BASSANIO. Shylock, do you hear? + SHYLOCK. I am debating of my present store, + And, by the near guess of my memory, + I cannot instantly raise up the gross + Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? + Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, + Will furnish me. But soft! how many months + Do you desire? [To ANTONIO] Rest you fair, good signior; + Your worship was the last man in our mouths. + ANTONIO. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow + By taking nor by giving of excess, + Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, + I'll break a custom. [To BASSANIO] Is he yet possess'd + How much ye would? + SHYLOCK. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. + ANTONIO. And for three months. + SHYLOCK. I had forgot- three months; you told me so. + Well then, your bond; and, let me see- but hear you, + Methoughts you said you neither lend nor borrow + Upon advantage. + ANTONIO. I do never use it. + SHYLOCK. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep- + This Jacob from our holy Abram was, + As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, + The third possessor; ay, he was the third- + ANTONIO. And what of him? Did he take interest? + SHYLOCK. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, + Directly int'rest; mark what Jacob did: + When Laban and himself were compromis'd + That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied + Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank, + In end of autumn turned to the rams; + And when the work of generation was + Between these woolly breeders in the act, + The skilful shepherd pill'd me certain wands, + And, in the doing of the deed of kind, + He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, + Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time + Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. + This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; + And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. + ANTONIO. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; + A thing not in his power to bring to pass, + But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. + Was this inserted to make interest good? + Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? + SHYLOCK. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast. + But note me, signior. + ANTONIO. [Aside] Mark you this, Bassanio, + The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. + An evil soul producing holy witness + Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, + A goodly apple rotten at the heart. + O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! + SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats- 'tis a good round sum. + Three months from twelve; then let me see, the rate- + ANTONIO. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you? + SHYLOCK. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft + In the Rialto you have rated me + About my moneys and my usances; + Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, + For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe; + You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, + And 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 whisp'ring 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, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond, + And say there is much kindness in the Jew. + BASSANIO. You shall not seal to such a bond for me; + I'll rather dwell in my necessity. + ANTONIO. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it; + Within these two months- that's a month before + This bond expires- I do expect return + Of thrice three times the value of this bond. + SHYLOCK. O father Abram, what these Christians are, + Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect + The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this: + If he should break his day, what should I gain + By the exaction of the forfeiture? + A pound of man's flesh taken from a man + Is not so estimable, profitable neither, + As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, + To buy his favour, I extend this friendship; + If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; + And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. + ANTONIO. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. + SHYLOCK. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; + Give him direction for this merry bond, + And I will go and purse the ducats straight, + See to my house, left in the fearful guard + Of an unthrifty knave, and presently + I'll be with you. + ANTONIO. Hie thee, gentle Jew. Exit SHYLOCK + 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Belmont. PORTIA'S house + +Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, a tawny Moor all in white, +and three or four FOLLOWERS accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA, and train + + PRINCE OF Morocco. Mislike me not for my complexion, + The shadowed livery of the burnish'd sun, + To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. + Bring me the fairest creature northward born, + Where 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 lov'd it too. I would not change this hue, + Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. + PORTIA. In terms of choice I am not solely led + By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; + Besides, the lott'ry of my destiny + Bars me the right of voluntary choosing. + But, if my father had not scanted me, + And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself + His wife who wins me by that means I told you, + Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair + As any comer I have look'd on yet + For my affection. + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Even for that I thank you. + Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets + To try my fortune. By this scimitar, + That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince, + That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, + I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look, + Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, + Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, + Yea, mock the lion when 'a 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 band. + 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 advis'd. + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. + PORTIA. First, forward to the temple. After dinner + Your hazard shall be made. + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Good fortune then, + To make me blest or cursed'st among men! + [Cornets, and exeunt] + + + + +SCENE II. +Venice. A street + +Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO + + 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 rul'd by my conscience, I should stay with + the Jew my master, who- God bless the mark!- is a kind of devil; + and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, + who- saving your reverence!- is the devil himself. Certainly the + Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my + conscience is but a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel + me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly + counsel. I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I + will run. + + Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket + + GOBBO. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to + master Jew's? + 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. Be 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't, 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 in the end 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 worshipp'd + 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 chang'd! 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 famish'd 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, with a FOLLOWER or two + + BASSANIO. You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper be + ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters + delivered, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to + come anon to my lodging. Exit a SERVANT + 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. [To a SERVANT] 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! [Looking on his palm] Well; if any man in + Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book- I + shall have good fortune. Go to, here's a simple line of life; + here's a small trifle of wives; alas, fifteen wives is nothing; + a'leven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man. + And then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life + with the edge of a feather-bed-here are simple scapes. Well, if + Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father, + come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling. + Exeunt LAUNCELOT and OLD GOBBO + BASSANIO. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. + These things being bought and orderly bestowed, + 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's your master? + LEONARDO. Yonder, sir, he walks. Exit + GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio! + BASSANIO. Gratiano! + GRATIANO. I have suit to you. + BASSANIO. You have obtain'd it. + GRATIANO. You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont. + BASSANIO. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano: + Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice- + Parts that become thee happily enough, + And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; + But where thou art not known, why there they show + Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain + To allay with some cold drops of modesty + Thy skipping spirit; lest through thy wild behaviour + I be misconst'red in the place I go to + And lose my hopes. + GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio, hear me: + If I do not put on a sober habit, + Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, + Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, + Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes + Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen, + Use all the observance of civility + Like one well studied in a sad ostent + To please his grandam, never trust me more. + BASSANIO. Well, we shall see your bearing. + GRATIANO. Nay, but I bar 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 + + + + +SCENE III. +Venice. 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 do not play the knave and get + thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! these foolish drops do + something drown my manly spirit; adieu! + JESSICA. Farewell, good Launcelot. Exit LAUNCELOT + Alack, what heinous sin is it in me + To be asham'd to be my father's child! + But though I am a daughter to his blood, + I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, + If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, + Become a Christian and thy loving wife. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Venice. A street + +Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO + + LORENZO. Nay, we will slink away in suppertime, + Disguise us at my lodging, and return + All in an hour. + GRATIANO. We have not made good preparation. + SALERIO. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. + SOLANIO. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered; + 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 to-night? + I am provided of a torch-bearer. + SALERIO. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. + SOLANIO. And so will I. + LORENZO. Meet me and Gratiano + At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. + SALERIO. 'Tis good we do so. Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO + GRATIANO. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? + LORENZO. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed + How I shall take her from her father's house; + What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with; + What page's suit she hath in readiness. + If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, + It will be for his gentle daughter's sake; + And never dare misfortune cross her foot, + Unless she do it under this excuse, + That she is issue to a faithless Jew. + Come, go with me, peruse this as thou goest; + Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Venice. 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 gormandize + 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 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. And they have conspired together; I will not say you + shall see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing + that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o'clock + i' th' morning, falling out that year on Ash Wednesday was four + year, in th' afternoon. + SHYLOCK. What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica: + Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum, + And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife, + Clamber not you up to the casements then, + Nor thrust your head into the public street + To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces; + But stop my house's ears- I mean my casements; + Let not the sound of shallow fopp'ry enter + My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear + I have no mind of feasting forth 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 by + 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 I would have him help to waste + His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in; + Perhaps I will return immediately. + Do as I bid you, shut doors after you. + Fast bind, fast find- + A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. Exit + JESSICA. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, + I have a father, you a daughter, lost. Exit + + + + +SCENE VI. +Venice. Before SHYLOCK'S house + +Enter the maskers, GRATIANO and SALERIO + + GRATIANO. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo + Desired us to make stand. + SALERIO. His hour is almost past. + GRATIANO. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, + For lovers ever run before the clock. + SALERIO. 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 enjoyed. + 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! + + Enter LORENZO + + SALERIO. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter. + LORENZO. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode! + Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait. + When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, + I'll watch as long for you then. Approach; + Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within? + + Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes + + JESSICA. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, + Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. + LORENZO. Lorenzo, and thy love. + JESSICA. Lorenzo, certain; and my love indeed; + For who love I so much? And now who knows + But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? + LORENZO. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. + JESSICA. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. + I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, + For I am much asham'd of my exchange; + But love is blind, and lovers cannot see + The pretty follies that themselves commit, + For, if they could, Cupid himself would blush + To see me thus transformed to a boy. + LORENZO. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. + JESSICA. What! must I hold a candle to my shames? + They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. + Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love, + And I should be obscur'd. + LORENZO. So are you, sweet, + Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. + But come at once, + For the close night doth play the runaway, + And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. + JESSICA. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself + With some moe ducats, and be with you straight. + Exit above + + GRATIANO. Now, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew. + LORENZO. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily, + For she is wise, if I can judge of her, + And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, + And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; + And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, + Shall she be placed in my constant soul. + + Enter JESSICA, below + + What, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away; + Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. + Exit with JESSICA and SALERIO + + 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 + + + + +SCENE VII. +Belmont. 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. + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears: + 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' + The second, silver, which this promise carries: + 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' + This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt: + 'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' + How shall I know if I do choose the right? + PORTIA. The one of them contains my picture, Prince; + If you choose that, then I am yours withal. + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; + I will survey th' 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 beest rated by thy estimation, + Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough + May not extend so far as to the lady; + And yet to be afeard of my deserving + Were but a weak disabling of myself. + As much as I deserve? Why, that's the lady! + I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, + In graces, and in qualities of breeding; + But more than these, in love I do deserve. + What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here? + Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold: + 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' + Why, that's the lady! All the world desires her; + From the four corners of the earth they come + To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint. + The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds + Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now + For princes to come view fair Portia. + The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head + 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 immur'd, + Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? + O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem + Was set in worse than gold. They have in England + A coin that bears the figure of an angel + Stamp'd 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 opens the golden casket] + PRINCE OF MOROCCO. O hell! what have we here? + A carrion Death, within whose empty eye + There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing. + 'All that glisters is not gold, + Often have you heard that told; + Many a man his life hath sold + But my outside to behold. + Gilded tombs do worms infold. + Had you been as wise as bold, + Young in limbs, in judgment old, + Your answer had not been inscroll'd. + Fare you well, your suit is cold.' + Cold indeed, and labour lost, + Then farewell, heat, and welcome, frost. + Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart + To take a tedious leave; thus losers part. + Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets + PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. + Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VIII. +Venice. A street + +Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO + + SALERIO. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail; + With him is Gratiano gone along; + And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. + SOLANIO. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke, + Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. + SALERIO. He came too late, the ship was under sail; + But there the Duke was given to understand + That in a gondola were seen together + Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica; + Besides, Antonio certified the Duke + They were not with Bassanio in his ship. + SOLANIO. I never heard a passion so confus'd, + So strange, outrageous, and so variable, + As the dog Jew did utter in the streets. + 'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! + Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! + Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter! + A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, + Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! + And jewels- two stones, two rich and precious stones, + Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl; + She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.' + SALERIO. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, + Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. + SOLANIO. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, + Or he shall pay for this. + SALERIO. Marry, well rememb'red; + I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, + Who told me, in the narrow seas that part + The French and English, there miscarried + A vessel of our country richly fraught. + I thought upon Antonio when he told me, + And wish'd in silence that it were not his. + SOLANIO. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; + Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. + SALERIO. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. + I saw Bassanio and Antonio part. + Bassanio told him he would make some speed + Of his return. He answered 'Do not so; + Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, + But stay the very riping of the time; + And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me, + Let it not enter in your mind of love; + Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts + To courtship, and such fair ostents of love + As shall conveniently become you there.' + And even there, his eye being big with tears, + Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, + And with affection wondrous sensible + He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted. + SOLANIO. I think he only loves the world for him. + I pray thee, let us go and find him out, + And quicken his embraced heaviness + With some delight or other. + SALERIO. Do we so. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IX. +Belmont. PORTIA'S house + +Enter NERISSA, and a SERVITOR + + NERISSA. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight; + The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, + And comes to his election presently. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, + 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 solemniz'd; + But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, + You must be gone from hence immediately. + ARRAGON. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things: + First, never to unfold to 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 th' interior, but, like the martlet, + Builds in the weather on the outward wall, + Even in the force and road of casualty. + I will not choose what many men desire, + Because I will not jump with common spirits + And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. + Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house! + Tell me once more what title thou dost bear. + 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' + And well said too; for who shall go about + To cozen fortune, and be honourable + Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume + To wear an undeserved dignity. + O that estates, degrees, and offices, + Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear honour + Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! + How many then should cover that stand bare! + How many be commanded that command! + How much low peasantry would then be gleaned + From the true seed of honour! and how much honour + Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, + To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice. + 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' + I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, + And instantly unlock my fortunes here. + [He opens the silver casket] + PORTIA. [Aside] 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 iwis + Silver'd o'er, and so was this. + Take what wife you will to bed, + I will ever be your head. + So be gone; you are sped.' + + Still more fool I shall appear + By the time I linger here. + With one fool's head I came to woo, + But I go away with two. + Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath, + Patiently to bear my wroth. Exit with his train + + PORTIA. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. + O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose, + They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. + NERISSA. The ancient saying is no heresy: + Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. + PORTIA. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. + + Enter a 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 th' approaching of his lord, + From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; + To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, + Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen + So likely an ambassador of love. + A day in April never came so sweet + To show how costly summer was at hand + As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. + PORTIA. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard + Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, + Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him. + Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see + Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. + NERISSA. Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be! Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Venice. A street + +Enter SOLANIO and SALERIO + + SOLANIO. Now, what news on the Rialto? + SALERIO. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath a ship + of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins I think + they call the place, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the + carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my + gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. + SOLANIO. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapp'd + 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!- + SALERIO. Come, the full stop. + SOLANIO. Ha! What sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a + ship. + SALERIO. I would it might prove the end of his losses. + SOLANIO. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, + for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. + + Enter SHYLOCK + + How now, Shylock? What news among the merchants? + SHYLOCK. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my + daughter's flight. + SALERIO. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made + the wings she flew withal. + SOLANIO. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was flidge; + and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. + SHYLOCK. She is damn'd for it. + SALERIO. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. + SHYLOCK. My own flesh and blood to rebel! + SOLANIO. Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years? + SHYLOCK. I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood. + SALERIO. 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 + us'd 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. + SALERIO. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his + flesh. What's that good for? + SHYLOCK. To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing else, it will + feed my revenge. He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a + million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my + nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine + enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? + Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, + passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, + subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed + and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If + you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? + If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we + not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you + in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? + Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance + be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me + I will execute; and itshall go hard but I will better the + instruction. + + Enter a MAN from ANTONIO + + MAN. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to + speak with you both. + SALERIO. We have been up and down to seek him. + + Enter TUBAL + + SOLANIO. Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be + match'd, unless the devil himself turn Jew. + Exeunt SOLANIO, SALERIO, and MAN + 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 + hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No news of + them? Why, so- and I know not what's spent in the search. Why, + thou- loss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so much to + find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge; nor no ill luck + stirring but what lights o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my + breathing; no tears but o' my shedding! + TUBAL. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in + Genoa- + SHYLOCK. What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck? + TUBAL. Hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis. + SHYLOCK. I thank God, I thank God. Is it true, is it true? + TUBAL. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. + SHYLOCK. I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news- ha, ha!- + heard in Genoa. + TUBAL. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, + fourscore ducats. + SHYLOCK. Thou stick'st a dagger in me- I shall never see my gold + again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats! + TUBAL. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to + Venice that swear he cannot choose but break. + SHYLOCK. I am very glad of it; I'll plague him, I'll torture him; I + am glad of it. + TUBAL. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter + for a monkey. + SHYLOCK. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my + turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor; I would not + have given it for a wilderness of monkeys. + TUBAL. But Antonio is certainly undone. + SHYLOCK. Nay, that's true; that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an + officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of + him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what + merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, + good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Belmont. PORTIA'S house + +Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and all their trains + + PORTIA. I pray you tarry; pause a day or two + Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong, + I lose your company; therefore forbear a while. + There's something tells me- but it is not love- + I would not lose you; and you know yourself + Hate counsels not in such a quality. + But lest you should not understand me well- + And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought- + I would detain you here some month or two + Before you venture for me. I could teach you + How to choose right, but then I am forsworn; + So will I never be; so may you miss me; + But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, + That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes! + They have o'erlook'd me and divided me; + One half of me is yours, the other half yours- + Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, + And so all yours. O! these naughty times + Puts bars between the owners and their rights; + And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so, + Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. + I speak too long, but 'tis to 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 th' enjoying of my love; + There may as well be amity and life + 'Tween snow and fire as treason and my love. + PORTIA. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, + Where men enforced do speak anything. + BASSANIO. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. + PORTIA. Well then, confess and live. + BASSANIO. 'Confess' and 'love' + Had been the very sum of my confession. + O happy torment, when my torturer + Doth teach me answers for deliverance! + But let me to my fortune and the caskets. + PORTIA. Away, then; I am lock'd in one of them. + If you do love me, you will find me out. + Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof; + Let music sound while he doth make his choice; + Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, + Fading in music. That the comparison + May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream + And wat'ry death-bed for him. He may win; + And what is music then? Then music is + Even as the flourish when true subjects bow + To a new-crowned monarch; such it is + As are those dulcet sounds in break of day + That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear + And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, + With no less presence, but with much more love, + Than young Alcides when he did redeem + The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy + To the sea-monster. I stand for sacrifice; + The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, + With bleared visages come forth to view + The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules! + Live thou, I live. With much much more dismay + I view the fight than thou that mak'st the fray. + + A SONG + + the whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself + + Tell me where is fancy bred, + Or in the heart or in the head, + How begot, how nourished? + Reply, reply. + It is engend'red in the eyes, + With gazing fed; and fancy dies + In the cradle where it lies. + Let us all ring fancy's knell: + I'll begin it- Ding, dong, bell. + ALL. Ding, dong, bell. + + BASSANIO. So may the outward shows be least themselves; + The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. + In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt + But, being season'd with a gracious voice, + Obscures the show of evil? In religion, + What damned error but some sober brow + Will bless it, and approve it with a text, + Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? + There is no vice so simple but assumes + Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. + How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false + As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins + The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; + Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk! + And these assume but valour's excrement + To render them redoubted. Look on beauty + And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight, + Which therein works a miracle in nature, + Making them lightest that wear most of it; + So are those crisped snaky golden locks + Which make such wanton gambols with the wind + Upon supposed fairness often known + To be the dowry of a second head- + The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. + Thus ornament is but the guiled shore + To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf + Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, + The seeming truth which cunning times put on + To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, + Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; + Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge + 'Tween man and man; but thou, thou meagre lead, + Which rather threaten'st than dost promise aught, + Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, + And here choose I. Joy be the consequence! + PORTIA. [Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air, + As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, + And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy! + O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, + In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess! + I feel too much thy blessing. Make it less, + For fear I surfeit. + BASSANIO. [Opening the leaden casket] What find I here? + Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god + Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? + Or whether riding on the balls of mine + Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, + Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar + Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs + The painter plays the spider, and hath woven + A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men + Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes- + How could he see to do them? Having made one, + Methinks it should have power to steal both his, + And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look how far + The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow + In underprizing it, so far this shadow + Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll, + The continent and summary of my fortune. + 'You that choose not by the view, + Chance as fair and choose as true! + Since this fortune falls to you, + Be content and seek no new. + If you be well pleas'd with this, + And hold your fortune for your bliss, + Turn to where your lady is + And claim her with a loving kiss.' + A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave; + I come by note, to give and to receive. + Like one of two contending in a prize, + That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, + Hearing applause and universal shout, + Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt + Whether those peals of praise be his or no; + So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so, + As doubtful whether what I see be true, + Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. + PORTIA. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am. Though for myself alone + I would not be ambitious in my wish + To wish myself much better, yet for you + I would be trebled twenty times myself, + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich, + That only to stand high in your account + I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, + Exceed account. But the full sum of me + Is sum of something which, to term in gross, + Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd; + Happy in this, she is not yet so old + But she may learn; happier than this, + She is not bred so dull but she can learn; + Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit + Commits itself to yours to be directed, + As from her lord, her governor, her king. + Myself and what is mine to you and yours + Is now converted. But now I was the lord + Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, + Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, + This house, these servants, and this same myself, + Are yours- my lord's. I give them with this ring, + Which when you part from, lose, or give away, + Let it presage the ruin of your love, + And be my vantage to exclaim on you. + BASSANIO. Madam, you have bereft me of all words; + Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; + And there is such confusion in my powers + As, after some oration fairly spoke + By a beloved prince, there doth appear + Among the buzzing pleased multitude, + Where every something, being blent together, + Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy + Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring + Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; + O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead! + NERISSA. My lord and lady, it is now our time + That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper + To cry 'Good joy.' Good joy, my lord and lady! + GRATIANO. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, + I wish you all the joy that you can wish, + For I am sure you can wish none from me; + And, when your honours mean to solemnize + The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you + Even at that time I may be married too. + BASSANIO. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. + GRATIANO. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. + My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: + You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid; + You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission + No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. + Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, + And so did mine too, as the matter falls; + For wooing here until I sweat again, + And swearing till my very roof was dry + With oaths of love, at last- if promise last- + I got a promise of this fair one here + To have her love, provided that your fortune + Achiev'd her mistress. + PORTIA. Is this true, Nerissa? + NERISSA. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. + BASSANIO. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? + GRATIANO. Yes, faith, my lord. + BASSANIO. Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage. + GRATIANO. We'll play with them: the first boy for a thousand + ducats. + NERISSA. What, and stake down? + GRATIANO. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down- + But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? + What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio! + + Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a messenger + from Venice + + BASSANIO. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither, + If that the youth of my new int'rest here + Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, + I bid my very friends and countrymen, + Sweet Portia, welcome. + PORTIA. So do I, my lord; + They are entirely welcome. + LORENZO. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, + My purpose was not to have seen you here; + But meeting with Salerio by the way, + He did entreat me, past all saying nay, + To come with him along. + SALERIO. I did, my lord, + And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio + Commends him to you. [Gives BASSANIO a letter] + BASSANIO. Ere I ope his letter, + I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. + SALERIO. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; + Nor well, unless in mind; his letter there + Will show you his estate. [BASSANIO opens the letter] + GRATIANO. Nerissa, cheer yond stranger; bid her welcome. + Your hand, Salerio. What's the news from Venice? + How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? + I know he will be glad of our success: + We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. + SALERIO. I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost. + PORTIA. There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper + That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek: + Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world + Could turn so much the constitution + Of any constant man. What, worse and worse! + With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself, + And I must freely have the half of anything + That this same paper brings you. + BASSANIO. O sweet Portia, + Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words + That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, + When I did first impart my love to you, + I freely told you all the wealth I had + Ran in my veins- I was a gentleman; + And then I told you true. And yet, dear lady, + Rating myself at nothing, you shall see + How much I was a braggart. When I told you + My state was nothing, I should then have told you + That I was worse than nothing; for indeed + I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, + Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, + To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady, + The paper as the body of my friend, + And every word in it a gaping wound + Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? + Hath all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? + From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, + From Lisbon, Barbary, and India, + And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch + Of merchant-marring rocks? + SALERIO. Not one, my lord. + Besides, it should appear that, if he had + The present money to discharge the Jew, + He would not take it. Never did I know + A creature that did bear the shape of man + So keen and greedy to confound a man. + He plies the Duke at morning and at night, + And doth impeach the freedom of the state, + If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants, + The Duke himself, and the magnificoes + Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; + But none can drive him from the envious plea + Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. + JESSICA. When I was with him, I have heard him swear + To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, + That he would rather have Antonio's flesh + Than twenty times the value of the sum + That he did owe him; and I know, my lord, + If law, authority, and power, deny not, + It will go hard with poor Antonio. + PORTIA. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? + BASSANIO. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, + The best condition'd and unwearied spirit + In doing courtesies; and one in whom + The ancient Roman honour more appears + Than any that draws breath in Italy. + PORTIA. What sum owes he the Jew? + BASSANIO. For me, three thousand ducats. + PORTIA. What! no more? + Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; + Double six thousand, and then treble that, + Before a friend of this description + Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. + First go with me to church and call me wife, + And then away to Venice to your friend; + For never shall you lie by Portia's side + With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold + To pay the petty debt twenty times over. + When it is paid, bring your true friend along. + My maid Nerissa and myself meantime + Will live as maids and widows. Come, away; + For you shall hence upon your wedding day. + Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer; + Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. + But let me hear the letter of your friend. + BASSANIO. [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 clear'd between you and I, if I might + but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if + your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.' + PORTIA. O love, dispatch all business and be gone! + BASSANIO. Since I have your good leave to go away, + I will make haste; but, till I come again, + No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, + Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Venice. A street + +Enter SHYLOCK, SOLANIO, 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-ey'd 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 + SOLANIO. 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. + SOLANIO. 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 the state, + Since that the trade and profit of the city + Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go; + These griefs and losses have so bated me + That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh + 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 + + + + +SCENE IV. +Belmont. 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 bestowed + In purchasing the semblance of my soul + From out the state of hellish cruelty! + This comes too near the praising of myself; + Therefore, no more of it; hear other things. + Lorenzo, I commit into your hands + The husbandry and manage of my house + Until my lord's return; for mine own part, + I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow + To live in prayer and contemplation, + Only attended by Nerissa here, + Until her husband and my lord's return. + There is a monastery two miles off, + And there we will abide. I do desire you + Not to deny this imposition, + The which my love and some necessity + Now lays upon you. + LORENZO. Madam, with all my heart + I shall obey you in an fair commands. + PORTIA. My people do already know my mind, + And will acknowledge you and Jessica + In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. + So fare you well till we shall meet again. + LORENZO. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you! + JESSICA. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. + PORTIA. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd + To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica. + Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO + Now, Balthasar, + As I have ever found thee honest-true, + So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, + And use thou all th' endeavour of a man + In speed to Padua; see thou render this + Into my cousin's hands, Doctor Bellario; + And look what notes and garments he doth give thee, + Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed + Unto the traject, to the common ferry + Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, + But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee. + 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 kill'd them. + And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, + That men shall swear I have discontinued school + About a twelvemonth. I have within my mind + A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, + Which I will practise. + NERISSA. Why, shall we turn to men? + PORTIA. Fie, what a question's that, + If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! + But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device + When I am in my coach, which stays for us + At the park gate; and therefore haste away, + For we must measure twenty miles to-day. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Belmont. The 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 you, I fear you. + I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of + the matter; therefore be o' good cheer, for truly I think you are + damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, and + that is but a kind of bastard hope, neither. + JESSICA. And what hope is that, I pray thee? + 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 damn'd both by father and + mother; thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into + Charybdis, your mother; well, you are gone both ways. + JESSICA. I shall be sav'd 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 of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all + to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the + coals for money. + + Enter LORENZO + + JESSICA. I'll tell my husband, 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 nor fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelot and I are + out; he tells me flatly there's no mercy for me in heaven, + because I am a Jew's daughter; and he says you are no good member + of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians you + raise the price of pork. + LORENZO. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you + can the getting up of the negro's belly; the Moor is with child + by you, 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 thee understand a + plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover + the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner. + LAUNCELOT. For the table, sir, it shall be serv'd in; for the meat, + sir, it shall be cover'd; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, + let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. + Exit + LORENZO. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! + The fool hath planted in his memory + An army of good words; and I do know + A many fools that stand in better place, + Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word + Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? + And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, + How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? + JESSICA. Past all expressing. It is very meet + The Lord Bassanio live an upright life, + For, having such a blessing in his lady, + He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; + And if on earth he do not merit it, + In reason he should never come to heaven. + Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, + And on the wager lay two earthly women, + And Portia one, there must be something else + Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world + Hath not her fellow. + LORENZO. Even such a husband + Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. + JESSICA. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. + LORENZO. I will anon; first let us go to dinner. + JESSICA. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. + LORENZO. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; + Then howsome'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things + I shall digest it. + JESSICA. Well, I'll set you forth. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Venice. The court of justice + +Enter the DUKE, the MAGNIFICOES, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, +and OTHERS + + DUKE OF VENICE. What, is Antonio here? + ANTONIO. Ready, so please your Grace. + DUKE OF VENICE. 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 OF VENICE. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. + SALERIO. He is ready at the door; he comes, my lord. + + Enter SHYLOCK + + DUKE OF VENICE. Make room, and let him stand before our face. + Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, + That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice + To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought, + Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange + Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; + And where thou now exacts the penalty, + Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, + Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, + But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, + Forgive a moiety of the principal, + Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, + That have of late so huddled on his back- + Enow to press a royal merchant down, + And pluck commiseration of his state + From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, + From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd + To offices of tender courtesy. + We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. + SHYLOCK. I have possess'd your Grace of what I purpose, + And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn + To have the due and forfeit of my bond. + If you deny it, let the danger light + Upon your charter and your city's freedom. + You'll ask me why I rather choose to have + A weight of carrion flesh than to receive + Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that, + But say it is my humour- is it answer'd? + What if my house be troubled with a rat, + And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats + To have it ban'd? What, are you answer'd yet? + Some men there are love not a gaping pig; + Some that are mad if they behold a cat; + And others, when the bagpipe sings i' th' 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 rend'red + Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; + Why he, a harmless necessary cat; + Why he, a woollen bagpipe, but of force + Must yield to such inevitable shame + As to offend, himself being offended; + So can I give no reason, nor I will not, + More than a lodg'd hate and a certain loathing + I bear Antonio, that I follow thus + A losing suit against him. Are you answered? + BASSANIO. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, + To excuse the current of thy cruelty. + SHYLOCK. I am not bound to please thee with my 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 moe offers, use no farther means, + But with all brief and plain conveniency + Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. + BASSANIO. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. + SHYLOCK. If every ducat in six thousand ducats + Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, + I would not draw them; I would have my bond. + DUKE OF VENICE. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none? + SHYLOCK. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? + You have among you many a purchas'd slave, + Which, fike your asses and your dogs and mules, + You use in abject and in slavish parts, + Because you bought them; shall I say to you + 'Let them be free, marry them to your heirs- + Why sweat they under burdens?- let their beds + Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates + Be season'd with such viands'? You will answer + 'The slaves are ours.' So do I answer you: + The pound of flesh which I demand of him + Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it. + If you deny me, fie upon your law! + There is no force in the decrees of Venice. + I stand for judgment; answer; shall I have it? + DUKE OF VENICE. 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 OF VENICE. Bring us the letters; call the messenger. + BASSANIO. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet! + The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, + Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. + ANTONIO. I am a tainted wether of the flock, + Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit + Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. + You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, + Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. + + Enter NERISSA dressed like a lawyer's clerk + + DUKE OF VENICE. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? + NERISSA. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace. + [Presents a letter] + BASSANIO. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? + SHYLOCK. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. + GRATIANO. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, + Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can, + No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness + Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? + SHYLOCK. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. + GRATIANO. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog! + And for thy life let justice be accus'd. + Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, + To hold opinion with Pythagoras + That souls of animals infuse themselves + Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit + Govern'd a wolf who, hang'd for human slaughter, + Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, + And, whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam, + Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires + Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd and ravenous. + SHYLOCK. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, + Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud; + Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall + To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. + DUKE OF VENICE. This letter from Bellario doth commend + A young and learned doctor to our court. + Where is he? + NERISSA. He attendeth here hard by + To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. + DUKE OF VENICE. With all my heart. Some three or four of you + Go give him courteous conduct to this place. + Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. + 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 Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause + in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant; we + turn'd o'er many books together; he is furnished with my opinion + which, bettered with his own learning-the greatness whereof I + cannot enough commend- comes with him at my importunity to fill + up your Grace's request in my stead. I beseech you let his lack + of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation, + for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him + to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his + commendation.' + + Enter PORTIA for BALTHAZAR, dressed like a Doctor of Laws + + DUKE OF VENICE. YOU hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes; + And here, I take it, is the doctor come. + Give me your hand; come you from old Bellario? + PORTIA. I did, my lord. + DUKE OF VENICE. You are welcome; take your place. + Are you acquainted with the difference + That holds this present question in the court? + PORTIA. I am informed throughly of the cause. + Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? + DUKE OF VENICE. 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. + 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 off'red thee. + SHYLOCK. An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven. + Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? + No, not for Venice. + PORTIA. Why, this bond is forfeit; + And lawfully by this the Jew may claim + A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off + Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful. + Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. + SHYLOCK. When it is paid according to the tenour. + It doth appear you are a worthy judge; + You know the law; your exposition + Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law, + Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, + Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear + There is no power in the tongue of man + To alter me. I stay here on my bond. + ANTONIO. Most heartily I do beseech the court + To give the judgment. + PORTIA. Why then, thus it is: + You must prepare your bosom for his knife. + SHYLOCK. O noble judge! O excellent young man! + PORTIA. For the intent and purpose of the law + Hath full relation to the penalty, + Which here appeareth due upon the bond. + SHYLOCK. 'Tis very true. O wise and upright judge, + How much more elder art thou than thy looks! + PORTIA. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. + SHYLOCK. Ay, his breast- + So says the bond; doth it not, noble judge? + 'Nearest his heart,' those are the very words. + PORTIA. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh + The flesh? + SHYLOCK. I have them ready. + PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, + To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. + SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond? + PORTIA. It is not so express'd, but what of that? + 'Twere good you do so much for charity. + SHYLOCK. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. + PORTIA. You, merchant, have you anything to say? + ANTONIO. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd. + Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well. + Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you, + For herein Fortune shows herself more kind + Than is her custom. It is still her use + To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, + To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow + An age of poverty; from which ling'ring penance + Of such misery doth she cut me off. + Commend me to your honourable wife; + Tell her the process of Antonio's end; + Say how I lov'd you; speak me fair in death; + And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge + Whether Bassanio had not once a love. + Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, + And he repents not that he pays your debt; + For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, + I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. + BASSANIO. Antonio, I am married to a wife + Which is as dear to me as life itself; + But life itself, my wife, and all the world, + Are not with me esteem'd above thy life; + I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all + Here to this devil, to deliver you. + PORTIA. Your wife would give you little thanks for that, + If she were by to hear you make the offer. + GRATIANO. I have a wife who I protest I love; + I would she were in heaven, so she could + Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. + NERISSA. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back; + The wish would make else an unquiet house. + SHYLOCK. [Aside] These be the Christian husbands! I have a + daughter- + Would any of the stock of Barrabas + Had been her husband, rather than a Christian!- + We trifle time; I pray thee pursue sentence. + PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine. + The court awards it and the law doth give it. + SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge! + PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. + The law allows it and the court awards it. + SHYLOCK. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare. + PORTIA. Tarry a little; there is something else. + This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood: + The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh.' + Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; + But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed + One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods + Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate + Unto the state of Venice. + GRATIANO. O upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge! + SHYLOCK. Is that the law? + PORTIA. Thyself shalt see the act; + For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd + Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. + GRATIANO. O learned judge! Mark, Jew. A learned judge! + SHYLOCK. I take this offer then: pay the bond thrice, + And let the Christian go. + BASSANIO. Here is the money. + PORTIA. Soft! + The Jew shall have all justice. Soft! No haste. + He shall have nothing but the penalty. + GRATIANO. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! + PORTIA. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. + Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more + But just a pound of flesh; if thou tak'st more + Or less than a just pound- be it but so much + As makes it light or heavy in the substance, + Or the division of the twentieth part + Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn + But in the estimation of a hair- + Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. + GRATIANO. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! + Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. + PORTIA. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture. + SHYLOCK. Give me my principal, and let me go. + BASSANIO. I have it ready for thee; here it is. + PORTIA. He hath refus'd it in the open court; + He shall have merely justice, and his bond. + GRATIANO. A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel! + I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. + SHYLOCK. Shall I not have barely my principal? + PORTIA. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture + To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. + SHYLOCK. Why, then the devil give him good of it! + I'll stay no longer question. + PORTIA. Tarry, Jew. + The law hath yet another hold on you. + It is enacted in the laws of Venice, + If it be proved against an alien + That by direct or indirect attempts + He seek the life of any citizen, + The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive + Shall seize one half his goods; the other half + Comes to the privy coffer of the state; + And the offender's life lies in the mercy + Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. + In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st; + For it appears by manifest proceeding + That indirectly, and directly too, + Thou hast contrived against the very life + Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd + The danger formerly by me rehears'd. + Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. + GRATIANO. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself; + And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, + Thou hast not left the value of a cord; + Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. + DUKE OF VENICE. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, + I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. + For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; + The other half comes to the general state, + Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. + PORTIA. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio. + SHYLOCK. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that. + You take my house when you do take the prop + That doth sustain my house; you take my life + When you do take the means whereby I live. + PORTIA. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? + GRATIANO. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake! + ANTONIO. So please my lord the Duke and all the court + To quit the fine for one half of his goods; + I am content, so he will let me have + The other half in use, to render it + Upon his death unto the gentleman + That lately stole his daughter- + Two things provided more; that, for this favour, + He presently become a Christian; + The other, that he do record a gift, + Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd + Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. + DUKE OF VENICE. 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 OF VENICE. Get thee gone, but do it. + GRATIANO. In christ'ning shalt thou have two god-fathers; + Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, + To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font. + Exit SHYLOCK + DUKE OF VENICE. 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 OF VENICE. 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, MAGNIFICOES, and train + BASSANIO. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend + Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted + Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof + Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, + We freely cope your courteous pains withal. + ANTONIO. And stand indebted, over and above, + In love and service to you evermore. + PORTIA. He is well paid that is well satisfied, + And I, delivering you, am satisfied, + And therein do account myself well paid. + My mind was never yet more mercenary. + I pray you, know me when we meet again; + I wish you well, and so I take my leave. + BASSANIO. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further; + Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, + Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you, + Not to deny me, and to pardon me. + PORTIA. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. + [To ANTONIO] Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake. + [To BASSANIO] And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you. + Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more, + And you in love shall not deny me this. + BASSANIO. This ring, good sir- alas, it is a trifle; + I will not shame myself to give you this. + PORTIA. I will have nothing else but only this; + And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. + BASSANIO.. There's more depends on this than on the value. + The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, + And find it out by proclamation; + Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. + PORTIA. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers; + You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks, + You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. + BASSANIO. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; + And, when she put it on, she made me vow + That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. + PORTIA. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. + And if your wife be not a mad woman, + And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, + She would not hold out enemy for ever + For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! + Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA + ANTONIO. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring. + Let his deservings, and my love withal, + Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. + BASSANIO. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; + Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst, + Unto Antonio's house. Away, make haste. Exit GRATIANO + Come, you and I will thither presently; + And in the morning early will we both + Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Venice. A street + +Enter PORTIA and NERISSA + + PORTIA. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed, + And let him sign it; we'll away tonight, + And be a day before our husbands home. + This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. + + Enter GRATIANO + + GRATIANO. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en. + My Lord Bassanio, upon more advice, + Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat + Your company at dinner. + PORTIA. That cannot be. + His ring I do accept most thankfully, + And so, I pray you, tell him. Furthermore, + I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house. + GRATIANO. That will I do. + NERISSA. Sir, I would speak with you. + [Aside to PORTIA] I'll See if I can get my husband's ring, + Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. + PORTIA. [To NERISSA] Thou Mayst, I warrant. We shall have old + swearing + That they did give the rings away to men; + But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. + [Aloud] Away, make haste, thou know'st where I will tarry. + NERISSA. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? + Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Belmont. The garden before 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 Thisby fearfully o'ertrip the dew, + And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, + And ran dismayed away. + LORENZO. In such a night + Stood Dido with a willow in her hand + Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love + To come again to Carthage. + JESSICA. In such a night + Medea gathered the enchanted herbs + That did renew old 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 lov'd 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 holloaing, 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-ey'd 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 mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, + Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; + The motions of his spirit are dull:as night, + And his affections dark as Erebus. + Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. + + Enter PORTIA and NERISSA + + PORTIA. That light we see is burning in my hall. + How far that little candle throws his beams! + So shines a good deed in a naughty world. + NERISSA. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. + PORTIA. So doth the greater glory dim the less: + A substitute shines brightly as a king + Until a king be by, and then his state + Empties itself, as doth an inland brook + Into the main of waters. Music! hark! + NERISSA. It is your music, madam, of the house. + PORTIA. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; + Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. + NERISSA. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. + PORTIA. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark + When neither is attended; and I think + ne 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 awak'd. [Music ceases] + LORENZO. That is the voice, + Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. + PORTIA. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, + By the bad voice. + LORENZO. Dear lady, welcome home. + PORTIA. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, + Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. + Are they return'd? + LORENZO. Madam, they are not yet; + But there is come a messenger before, + To signify their coming. + PORTIA.. Go in, Nerissa; + Give order to my servants that they take + No note at all of our being absent hence; + Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. [A tucket sounds] + LORENZO. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet. + We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. + PORTIA. This night methinks is but the daylight sick; + It looks a little paler; 'tis a day + Such as the day is when the sun is hid. + + Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers + + BASSANIO. We should hold day with the Antipodes, + If you would walk in absence of the sun. + PORTIA. Let me give light, but let me not be light, + For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, + And never be Bassanio so for me; + But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord. + BASSANIO. I thank you, madam; give welcome to my friend. + This is the man, this is Antonio, + To whom I am so infinitely bound. + PORTIA. You should in all sense be much bound to him, + For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. + ANTONIO. No more than I am well acquitted of. + PORTIA. Sir, you are very welcome to our house. + It must appear in other ways than words, + Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. + GRATIANO. [To NERISSA] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong; + In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. + Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, + Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. + PORTIA. A quarrel, ho, already! What's the matter? + GRATIANO. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring + That she did give me, whose posy was + For all the world like 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 + Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, + That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; + And neither man nor master would take aught + But the two rings. + PORTIA. What ring gave you, my lord? + Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. + BASSANIO. If I could add a lie unto a fault, + I would deny it; but you see my finger + Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone. + PORTIA. Even so void is your false heart of truth; + By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed + Until I see the ring. + NERISSA. Nor I in yours + Till I again see mine. + BASSANIO. Sweet Portia, + If you did know to whom I gave the ring, + If you did know for whom I gave the ring, + And would conceive for what I gave the ring, + And how unwillingly I left the ring, + When nought would be accepted but the ring, + You would abate the strength of your displeasure. + PORTIA. If you had known the virtue of the ring, + Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, + Or your own honour to contain the ring, + You would not then have parted with the ring. + What man is there so much unreasonable, + If you had pleas'd to have defended it + With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty + To urge the thing held as a ceremony? + Nerissa teaches me what to believe: + I'll die for't but some woman had the ring. + BASSANIO. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, + No woman had it, but a civil doctor, + Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, + And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him, + And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away- + Even he that had held up the very life + Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? + I was enforc'd to send it after him; + I was beset with shame and courtesy; + My honour would not let ingratitude + So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; + For by these blessed candles of the night, + Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd + The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. + PORTIA. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house; + Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, + And that which you did swear to keep for me, + I will become as liberal as you; + I'll not deny him anything I have, + No, not my body, nor my husband's bed. + Know him I shall, I am well sure of it. + Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus; + If you do not, if I be left alone, + Now, by mine honour which is yet mine own, + I'll have that doctor for mine bedfellow. + NERISSA. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd + How you do leave me to mine own protection. + GRATIANO. Well, do you so, let not me take him then; + For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. + ANTONIO. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. + PORTIA. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome not withstanding. + BASSANIO. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; + And in the hearing of these many friends + I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, + Wherein I see myself- + PORTIA. Mark you but that! + In both my eyes he doubly sees himself, + In each eye one; swear by your double self, + And there's an oath of credit. + BASSANIO. Nay, but hear me. + Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear + I never more will break an oath with thee. + ANTONIO. I once did lend my body for his wealth, + Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, + Had quite miscarried; I dare be bound again, + My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord + Will never more break faith advisedly. + PORTIA. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this, + And bid him keep it better than the other. + ANTONIO. Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring. + BASSANIO. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! + PORTIA. I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio, + For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. + NERISSA. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano, + For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, + In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. + GRATIANO. Why, this is like the mending of highways + In summer, where the ways are fair enough. + What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv'd it? + PORTIA. Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz'd. + Here is a letter; read it at your leisure; + It comes from Padua, from Bellario; + There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, + Nerissa there her clerk. Lorenzo here + Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, + And even but now return'd; I have not yet + Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome; + And I have better news in store for you + Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon; + There you shall find three of your argosies + Are richly come to harbour suddenly. + You shall not know by what strange accident + I chanced on this letter. + ANTONIO. I am dumb. + BASSANIO. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? + GRATIANO. Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold? + NERISSA. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, + Unless he live until he be a man. + BASSANIO. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; + When I am absent, then lie with my wife. + ANTONIO. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; + For here I read for certain that my ships + Are safely come to road. + PORTIA. How now, Lorenzo! + My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. + NERISSA. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. + There do I give to you and Jessica, + From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, + After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. + LORENZO. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way + Of starved people. + PORTIA. It is almost morning, + And yet I am sure you are not satisfied + Of these events at full. Let us go in, + And charge us there upon inter'gatories, + And we will answer all things faithfully. + GRATIANO. Let it be so. The first inter'gatory + That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, + Whether till the next night she had rather stay, + Or go to bed now, being two hours to day. + But were the day come, I should wish it dark, + Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk. + Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing + So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1601 + +THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + SIR JOHN FALSTAFF + FENTON, a young gentleman + SHALLOW, a country justice + SLENDER, cousin to Shallow + + Gentlemen of Windsor + FORD + PAGE + WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page + SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson + DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician + HOST of the Garter Inn + + Followers of Falstaff + BARDOLPH + PISTOL + NYM + ROBIN, page to Falstaff + SIMPLE, servant to Slender + RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius + + MISTRESS FORD + MISTRESS PAGE + MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter + MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius + SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Windsor, and the neighbourhood + + +The Merry Wives of Windsor + + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +Windsor. Before PAGE'S house + +Enter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star + Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, + he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. + SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and + Coram. + SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum. + SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born, + Master Parson, who writes himself 'Armigero' in any bill, + warrant, quittance, or obligation-'Armigero.' + SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three + hundred years. + SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done't; + and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may + give the dozen white luces in their coat. + SHALLOW. It is an old coat. + EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well; + it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and + signifies love. + SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old + coat. + SLENDER. I may quarter, coz. + SHALLOW. You may, by marrying. + EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. + SHALLOW. Not a whit. + EVANS. Yes, py'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there + is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures; + but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed + disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be + glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and + compremises between you. + SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot. + EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no + fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire + to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your + vizaments in that. + SHALLOW. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword + should end it. + EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it; + and there is also another device in my prain, which + peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne + Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is + pretty virginity. + SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and + speaks small like a woman. + EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you + will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and + gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got + deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to + overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we + leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage + between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page. + SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound? + EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. + SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good + gifts. + EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts. + SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff + there? + EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do + despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not + true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be + ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master + Page. + [Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here! + PAGE. [Within] Who's there? + + Enter PAGE + + EVANS. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice + Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures + shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your + likings. + PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for + my venison, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do + it your good heart! I wish'd your venison better; it was ill + kill'd. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you + always with my heart, la! with my heart. + PAGE. Sir, I thank you. + SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. + PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender. + SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say + he was outrun on Cotsall. + PAGE. It could not be judg'd, sir. + SLENDER. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. + SHALLOW. That he will not. 'Tis your fault; 'tis your fault; + 'tis a good dog. + PAGE. A cur, sir. + SHALLOW. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be + more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here? + PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office + between you. + EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. + SHALLOW. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page. + PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. + SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that + so, Master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed he hath; at a + word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith + he is wronged. + PAGE. Here comes Sir John. + + Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL + + FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to + the King? + SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer, + and broke open my lodge. + FALSTAFF. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. + SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd. + FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this. + That is now answer'd. + SHALLOW. The Council shall know this. + FALSTAFF. 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel: + you'll be laugh'd at. + EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts. + FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your + head; what matter have you against me? + SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you; + and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym, + and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me + drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket. + BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese! + SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter. + PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus! + SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter. + NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That's my humour. + SLENDER. Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin? + EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is + three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is, + Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself, + fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and + finally, mine host of the Garter. + PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them. + EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book; + and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great + discreetly as we can. + FALSTAFF. Pistol! + PISTOL. He hears with ears. + EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, 'He hears + with ear'? Why, it is affectations. + FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse? + SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might + never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of + seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward + shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece + of Yead Miller, by these gloves. + FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol? + EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse. + PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master + mine, + I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. + Word of denial in thy labras here! + Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest. + SLENDER. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. + NYM. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I will say + 'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on + me; that is the very note of it. + SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for + though I cannot remember what I did when you made me + drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. + FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John? + BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had + drunk himself out of his five sentences. + EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is! + BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd; + and so conclusions pass'd the careers. + SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no matter; + I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, + civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be + drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with + drunken knaves. + EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind. + FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni'd, gentlemen; you + hear it. + + Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS + FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following + + PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within. + Exit ANNE PAGE + SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page. + PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford! + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well + met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her] + PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a + hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we + shall drink down all unkindness. + Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS + SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of + Songs and Sonnets here. + + Enter SIMPLE + + How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on + myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you, + have you? + SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice + Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore + Michaelmas? + SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word + with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a + tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do + you understand me? + SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I + shall do that that is reason. + SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me. + SLENDER. So I do, sir. + EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will + description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. + SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray + you pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country, + simple though I stand here. + EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is + concerning your marriage. + SHALLOW. Ay, there's the point, sir. + EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne + Page. + SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any + reasonable demands. + EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to + know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers + hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore, + precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid? + SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? + SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that + would do reason. + EVANS. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable, + if you can carry her your desires towards her. + SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, + marry her? + SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request, + cousin, in any reason. + SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what + I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid? + SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there + be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease + it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and + have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon + familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say + 'marry her,' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved, + and dissolutely. + EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the + ord 'dissolutely': the ort is, according to our meaning, + 'resolutely'; his meaning is good. + SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. + SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la! + + Re-enter ANNE PAGE + + SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were + young for your sake, Mistress Anne! + ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your + worships' company. + SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne! + EVANS. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace. + Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS + ANNE. Will't please your worship to come in, sir? + SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very + well. + ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir. + SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go, + sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin + Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may + be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men + and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though? + Yet I live like a poor gentleman born. + ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not + sit till you come. + SLENDER. I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as + though I did. + ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in. + SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis'd my + shin th' other day with playing at sword and dagger with + a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes + -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin, + and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat + since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i' th' + town? + ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk'd of. + SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at + it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the + bear loose, are you not? + ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir. + SLENDER. That's meat and drink to me now. I have seen + Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the + chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and + shriek'd at it that it pass'd; but women, indeed, cannot + abide 'em; they are very ill-favour'd rough things. + + Re-enter PAGE + + PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you. + SLENDER. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. + PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come, + come. + SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way. + PAGE. Come on, sir. + SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. + ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on. + SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do + you that wrong. + ANNE. I pray you, sir. + SLENDER. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You + do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE + + EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which + is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which + is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, + or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer. + SIMPLE. Well, sir. + EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a + oman that altogether's acquaintance with Mistress Anne + Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit + your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you + be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins + and cheese to come. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN + + FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter! + HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and + wisely. + FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my + followers. + HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, + trot. + FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week. + HOST. Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I + will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I + well, bully Hector? + FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host. + HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me + see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST + FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade; + an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a + fresh tapster. Go; adieu. + BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive. + PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot + wield? Exit BARDOLPH + NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited? + FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his + thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful + singer-he kept not time. + NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest. + PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal' foh! A fico for the + phrase! + FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. + PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue. + FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must + shift. + PISTOL. Young ravens must have food. + FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town? + PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. + FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. + PISTOL. Two yards, and more. + FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist + two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about + thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I + spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she + gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her + familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be + English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.' + PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out + of honesty into English. + NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass? + FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her + husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels. + PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I. + NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels. + FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here + another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes + too, examin'd my parts with most judicious oeillades; + sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my + portly belly. + PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. + NYM. I thank thee for that humour. + FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such + a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to + scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to + her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all + gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they + shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West + Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this + letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We + will thrive, lads, we will thrive. + PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, + And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all! + NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the + humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation. + FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters + tightly; + Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. + Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go; + Trudge, plod away i' th' hoof; seek shelter, pack! + Falstaff will learn the humour of the age; + French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN + PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam + holds, + And high and low beguiles the rich and poor; + Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack, + Base Phrygian Turk! + NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of + revenge. + PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge? + NYM. By welkin and her star! + PISTOL. With wit or steel? + NYM. With both the humours, I. + I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. + PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold + How Falstaff, varlet vile, + His dove will prove, his gold will hold, + And his soft couch defile. + NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal + with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the + revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour. + PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee; + troop on. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +DOCTOR CAIUS'S house + +Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY + + QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement + and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor + Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find anybody in the + house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and + the King's English. + RUGBY. I'll go watch. + QUICKLY. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in + faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An + honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in + house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no + breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is + something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault; + but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is? + SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better. + QUICKLY. And Master Slender's your master? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth. + QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a + glover's paring-knife? + SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a + little yellow beard, a Cain-colour'd beard. + QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as + any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a + warrener. + QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does + he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait? + SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he. + QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! + Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your + master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish- + + Re-enter RUGBY + + RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master. + QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young + man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He + will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John, + I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be + not well that he comes not home. [Singing] + And down, down, adown-a, etc. + + Enter DOCTOR CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go + and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a + box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box. + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad + he went not in himself; if he had found the young man, + he would have been horn-mad. + CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a + la cour-la grande affaire. + QUICKLY. Is it this, sir? + CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere + is dat knave, Rugby? + QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John! + RUGBY. Here, sir. + CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby. + Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the + court. + RUGBY. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. + CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me! Qu'ai j'oublie? + Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the + varld I shall leave behind. + QUICKLY. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, and be + mad! + CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron! + [Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier! + QUICKLY. Good master, be content. + CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a? + QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man. + CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is + no honest man dat shall come in my closet. + QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the + truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh. + CAIUS. Vell? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to- + QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you. + CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale. + SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to + speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master, + in the way of marriage. + QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my finger + in the fire, and need not. + CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper. + Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes] + QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he + had been throughly moved, you should have heard him + so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll + do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and + the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him + my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash, + wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the + beds, and do all myself- + SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] 'Tis a great charge to come + under one body's hand. + QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis'd o' that? You + shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down + late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would + have no words of it-my master himself is in love with + Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know + Anne's mind-that's neither here nor there. + CAIUS. You jack'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar, + it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will + teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You + may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will + cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone + to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE + QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. + CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I + shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack + priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to + measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne + Page. + QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We + must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year! + CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have + not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door. + Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY + QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool's-head of your own. No, + I know Anne's mind for that; never a woman in Windsor + knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more + than I do with her, I thank heaven. + FENTON. [Within] Who's within there? ho! + QUICKLY. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray + you. + + Enter FENTON + + FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou? + QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to + ask. + FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne? + QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and + gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by + the way; I praise heaven for it. + FENTON. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not lose + my suit? + QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but + notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book + she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye? + FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? + QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such + another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke + bread. We had an hour's talk of that wart; I shall never + laugh but in that maid's company! But, indeed, she is + given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well, + go to. + FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money + for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest + her before me, commend me. + QUICKLY. Will I? I' faith, that we will; and I will tell your + worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence; + and of other wooers. + FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. + QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly, + an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know + Anne's mind as well as another does. Out upon 't, what + have I forgot? Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter + + MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap'd love-letters in the holiday-time + of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let + me see. [Reads] + 'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use + Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. + You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's + sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's + more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you + desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page + at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love + thee. I will not say, Pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; + but I say, Love me. By me, + Thine own true knight, + By day or night, + Or any kind of light, + With all his might, + For thee to fight, + JOHN FALSTAFF.' + What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world! + One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show + himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour + hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd-with the devil's name! + -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner + assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! + What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth. + Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament + for the putting down of men. How shall I be + reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as his guts + are made of puddings. + + Enter MISTRESS FORD + + MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your + house. + MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look + very ill. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to + the contrary. + MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind. + MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to + the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel. + MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman? + MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, + I could come to such honour! + MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What + is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it? + MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment + or so, I could be knighted. + MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights + will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy + gentry. + MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive + how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat + men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's + liking. And yet he would not swear; prais'd women's + modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof + to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition + would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no + more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth + Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.' What tempest, I trow, + threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, + ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I + think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till + the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease. + Did you ever hear the like? + MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and + Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill + opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine + inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he + hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for + different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second + edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not + what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I + had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, + I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste + man. + MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the + very words. What doth he think of us? + MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to + wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like + one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he + know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would + never have boarded me in this fury. + MRS. FORD. 'Boarding' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him + above deck. + MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never + to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a + meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead + him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his + horses to mine host of the Garter. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against + him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O + that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food + to his jealousy. + MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man + too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him + cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance. + MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman. + MRS. PAGE. Let's consult together against this greasy knight. + Come hither. [They retire] + + Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym + + FORD. Well, I hope it be not so. + PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs. + Sir John affects thy wife. + FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young. + PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, + Both young and old, one with another, Ford; + He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend. + FORD. Love my wife! + PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou, + Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels. + O, odious is the name! + FORD. What name, sir? + PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell. + Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night; + Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. + Away, Sir Corporal Nym. + Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL + FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this. + NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of + lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should + have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword, + and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife; + there's the short and the long. + My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch; + 'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. + Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and + there's the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym + PAGE. 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights + English out of his wits. + FORD. I will seek out Falstaff. + PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue. + FORD. If I do find it-well. + PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o' + th' town commended him for a true man. + FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well. + + MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward + + PAGE. How now, Meg! + MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you. + MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy? + FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home; + go. + MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. + Will you go, Mistress Page? + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George? + [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall + be our messenger to this paltry knight. + MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on + her; she'll fit it. + MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne? + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne? + MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour's talk + with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and + MISTRESS QUICKLY + PAGE. How now, Master Ford! + FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not? + PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me? + FORD. Do you think there is truth in them? + PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it; + but these that accuse him in his intent towards our + wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now + they be out of service. + FORD. Were they his men? + PAGE. Marry, were they. + FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the + Garter? + PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage + toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what + he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head. + FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to + turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would + have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied. + + Enter HOST + + PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes. + There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse + when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host! + HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou'rt a gentleman. [To + SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say. + + Enter SHALLOW + + SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and + twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with + us? We have sport in hand. + HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook. + SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh + the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor. + FORD. Good mine host o' th' Garter, a word with you. + HOST. What say'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside] + SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My + merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and, + I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe + me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you + what our sport shall be. [They converse apart] + HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro. + FORD. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt + sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is + Brook-only for a jest. + HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress- + said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry + knight. Will you go, Mynheers? + SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host. + PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his + rapier. + SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these + times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and + I know not what. 'Tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis here, + 'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would + have made you four tall fellows skip like rats. + HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag? + PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than + fight. Exeunt all but FORD + FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on + his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so + easily. She was in his company at Page's house, and what + they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into + 't, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her + honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour + well bestowed. Exit + + + + +SCENE 2. + +A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL + + FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny. + PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage. + FALSTAFF. Not a penny. + PISTOL. Why, then the world's mine oyster. Which I with + sword will open. + FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should + lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good + friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow, + Nym; or else you had look'd through the grate, like a + geminy of baboons. I am damn'd in hell for swearing to + gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows; + and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, + I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not. + PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence? + FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st thou I'll + endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me, + I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!- + to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You'll not bear a letter + for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why, + thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to + keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself + sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding + mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, + and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags, + your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and + your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour! + You will not do it, you! + PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man? + + Enter ROBIN + + ROBIN. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. + FALSTAFF. Let her approach. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow. + FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife. + QUICKLY. Not so, an't please your worship. + FALSTAFF. Good maid, then. + QUICKLY. I'll be sworn; + As my mother was, the first hour I was born. + FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me? + QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two? + FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouchsafe + thee the hearing. + QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little + nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor + Caius. + FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say- + QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship + come a little nearer this ways. + FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people, + mine own people. + QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his + servants! + FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her? + QUICKLY. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, Lord, your + worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of + us, I pray. + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford- + QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you + have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful. + The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor, + could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet + there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with + their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after + letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so + rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant + terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the + fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; and I + warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her. + I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I + defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the + way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get + her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all; + and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, + pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. + FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she- + Mercury. + QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter; for the + which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you + to notify that her husband will be absence from his house + between ten and eleven. + FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven? + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see + the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her + husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads + an ill life with him! He's a very jealousy man; she leads a + very frampold life with him, good heart. + FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I + will not fail her. + QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger + to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations + to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as + fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will + not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in + Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your + worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she + hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so + dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes, + in truth. + FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my + good parts aside, I have no other charms. + QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for 't! + FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and + Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me? + QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little + grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page + would desire you to send her your little page of all loves. + Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page; + and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in + Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will, + say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she + list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she + deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she + is one. You must send her your page; no remedy. + FALSTAFF. Why, I will. + QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come + and go between you both; and in any case have a + nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy + never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that + children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you + know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world. + FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both. + There's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with + this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news + distracts me. + PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid's carriers; + Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights; + Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit + FALSTAFF. Say'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I'll make + more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look + after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money, + be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say + 'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would + fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath + sent your worship a moming's draught of sack. + FALSTAFF. Brook is his name? + BARDOLPH. Ay, sir. + FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are + welcome to me, that o'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress + Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to; + via! + + Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised + + FORD. Bless you, sir! + FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with me? + FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon + you. + FALSTAFF. You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave, + drawer. Exit BARDOLPH + FORD. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; my name + is Brook. + FALSTAFF. Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance + of you. + FORD. Good Sir John, I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I + must let you understand I think myself in better plight for + a lender than you are; the which hath something + embold'ned me to this unseason'd intrusion; for they say, if + money go before, all ways do lie open. + FALSTAFF. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. + FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me; if + you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing + me of the carriage. + FALSTAFF. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your + porter. + FORD. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing. + FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook; I shall be glad to be + your servant. + FORD. Sir, I hear you are a scholar-I will be brief with you + -and you have been a man long known to me, though I + had never so good means as desire to make myself acquainted + with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein + I must very much lay open mine own imperfection; but, + good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you + hear them unfolded, turn another into the register of your + own, that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you + yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender. + FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed. + FORD. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's + name is Ford. + FALSTAFF. Well, sir. + FORD. I have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestowed + much on her; followed her with a doting observance; + engross'd opportunities to meet her; fee'd every slight occasion + that could but niggardly give me sight of her; not + only bought many presents to give her, but have given + largely to many to know what she would have given; + briefly, I have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me; which + hath been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I + have merited, either in my mind or in my means, meed, I + am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a jewel; + that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath + taught me to say this: + 'Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues; + Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.' + FALSTAFF. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfaction at + her hands? + FORD. Never. + FALSTAFF. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose? + FORD. Never. + FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then? + FORD. Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so + that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place where + erected it. + FALSTAFF. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me? + FORD. When I have told you that, I have told you all. Some + say that though she appear honest to me, yet in other + places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is shrewd + construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart + of my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent + breeding, admirable discourse, of great admittance, authentic in + your place and person, generally allow'd for your many + war-like, courtlike, and learned preparations. + FALSTAFF. O, sir! + FORD. Believe it, for you know it. There is money; spend it, + spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only give me so + much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an amiable + siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife; use your art of + wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you + may as soon as any. + FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your + affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? + Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. + FORD. O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on the + excellency of her honour that the folly of my soul dares + not present itself; she is too bright to be look'd against. + Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand, + my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; + I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, + her reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her + defences, which now are too too strongly embattl'd against + me. What say you to't, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your + money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, + you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. + FORD. O good sir! + FALSTAFF. I say you shall. + FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none. + FALSTAFF. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall + want none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her own + appointment; even as you came in to me her assistant, or + go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be with her between + ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally + knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at + night; you shall know how I speed. + FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, + Sir? + FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him + not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the + jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which + his wife seems to me well-favour'd. I will use her as the + key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home. + FORD. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him + if you saw him. + FALSTAFF. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will + stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my cudgel; + it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master + Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate over the + peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at + night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou, + Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. + Come to me soon at night. Exit + FORD. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is + ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is improvident + jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the hour is fix'd; + the match is made. Would any man have thought this? See + the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus'd, + my coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall + not only receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the + adoption of abominable terms, and by him that does me + this wrong. Terms! names! Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, + well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' additions, the names + of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold! the devil himself + hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust + his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a Fleming + with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my + cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to + walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself. Then + she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what + they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break + their hearts but they will effect. God be prais'd for my + jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent this, detect + my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. + I will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute + too late. Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit + + + + +SCENE 3. + +A field near Windsor + +Enter CAIUS and RUGBY + + CAIUS. Jack Rugby! + RUGBY. Sir? + CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack? + RUGBY. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to + meet. + CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has + pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby, + he is dead already, if he be come. + RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill + him if he came. + CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take + your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him. + RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence! + CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier. + RUGBY. Forbear; here's company. + + Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE + + HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor! + SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius! + PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor! + SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir. + CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? + HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse; + to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy + punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant. + Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha, + bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart + of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead? + CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is + not show his face. + HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece, + my boy! + CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or + seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come. + SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer + of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight, + you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true, + Master Page? + PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, + though now a man of peace. + SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and + of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make + one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen, + Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are + the sons of women, Master Page. + PAGE. 'Tis true, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor + CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace; + you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh + hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You + must go with me, Master Doctor. + HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater. + CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat? + HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully. + CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman. + Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears. + HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. + CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat? + HOST. That is, he will make thee amends. + CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for, + by gar, me vill have it. + HOST. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. + CAIUS. Me tank you for dat. + HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others] + Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender, + go you through the town to Frogmore. + PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he? + HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and + I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well? + SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it. + PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor. + Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack- + an-ape to Anne Page. + HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water + on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore; + I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a + farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried + game! Said I well? + CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and + I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de + lords, de gentlemen, my patients. + HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne + Page. Said I well? + CAIUS. By gar, 'tis good; vell said. + HOST. Let us wag, then. + CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III SCENE 1. + +A field near Frogmore + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE + + EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man, + and friend Simple by your name, which way have you + look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of + Physic? + SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every + way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way. + EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that + way. + SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit + EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling + of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How + melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's + costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless + my soul! [Sings] + To shallow rivers, to whose falls + Melodious birds sings madrigals; + There will we make our peds of roses, + And a thousand fragrant posies. + To shallow- + Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings] + Melodious birds sing madrigals- + Whenas I sat in Pabylon- + And a thousand vagram posies. + To shallow, etc. + + Re-enter SIMPLE + + SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh. + EVANS. He's welcome. [Sings] + To shallow rivers, to whose falls- + Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he? + SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master + Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the + stile, this way. + EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your + arms. [Takes out a book] + + Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + + SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good + Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student + from his book, and it is wonderful. + SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page! + PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh! + EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you! + SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study + them both, Master Parson? + PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw + rheumatic day! + EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it. + PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master + Parson. + EVANS. Fery well; what is it? + PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having + received wrong by some person, is at most odds with + his own gravity and patience that ever you saw. + SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never + heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of + his own respect. + EVANS. What is he? + PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the + renowned French physician. + EVANS. Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief + you would tell me of a mess of porridge. + PAGE. Why? + EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and + Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you + would desires to be acquainted withal. + PAGE. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him. + SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page! + SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder; + here comes Doctor Caius. + + Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY + + PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon. + SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor. + HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep + their limbs whole and hack our English. + CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear. + Verefore will you not meet-a me? + EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in + good time. + CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape. + EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be + laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in + friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends. + [Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb + for missing your meetings and appointments. + CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I + not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did + appoint? + EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the + place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the + Garter. + HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, + soul-curer and body-curer. + CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent! + HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I + politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my + doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I + lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me + the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; + so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have + deceiv'd you both; I have directed you to wrong places; + your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt + sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow + me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow. + SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow. + SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page! + Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS + CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us, + ha, ha? + EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I + desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains + together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging + companion, the host of the Garter. + CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me + where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too. + EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE 2. + +The street in Windsor + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN + + MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were + wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether + had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels? + ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than + follow him like a dwarf. + MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you'll be a + courtier. + + Enter FORD + + FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you? + MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home? + FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of + company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two + would marry. + MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands. + FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock? + MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my + husband had him of. What do you call your knight's + name, sirrah? + ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff. + FORD. Sir John Falstaff! + MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such + a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at + home indeed? + FORD. Indeed she is. + MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her. + Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN + FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any + thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why, + this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon + will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's + inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and + now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A + man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's + boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted + wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him, + then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty + from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself + for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings + all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes] + The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me + search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais'd + for this than mock'd; for it is as positive as the earth is firm + that Falstaff is there. I will go. + + Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS, + CAIUS, and RUGBY + + SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford. + FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home, + and I pray you all go with me. + SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford. + SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with + Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more + money than I'll speak of. + SHALLOW. We have linger'd about a match between Anne + Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have + our answer. + SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page. + PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But + my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether. + CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a + Quickly tell me so mush. + HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers, + he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks + holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry 't, he will + carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't. + PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is + of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and + Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No, + he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of + my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the + wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes + not that way. + FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me + to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will + show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall + you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh. + SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer + wooing at Master Page's. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER + CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY + HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight + Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST + FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with + him. I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles? + ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE 3. + +FORD'S house + +Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert! + MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket- + MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say! + + Enter SERVANTS with a basket + + MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come. + MRS. FORD. Here, set it down. + MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief. + MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be + ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly + call you, come forth, and, without any pause or + staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done, + trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters + in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch + close by the Thames side. + Mrs. PAGE. You will do it? + MRS. FORD. I ha' told them over and over; they lack no + direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd. + Exeunt SERVANTS + MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin. + + Enter ROBIN + + MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with + you? + ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door, + Mistress Ford, and requests your company. + MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us? + ROBIN. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your + being here, and hath threat'ned to put me into everlasting + liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away. + MRS. PAGE. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall + be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and + hose. I'll go hide me. + MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit + ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue. + MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me. + Exit MRS. PAGE + MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome + humidity, this gross wat'ry pumpion; we'll teach him to + know turtles from jays. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? + Why, now let me die, for I have liv'd long enough; this is + the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour! + MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John! + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, + Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy + husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I + would make thee my lady. + MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful + lady. + FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I + see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast + the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the + ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance. + MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become + nothing else, nor that well neither. + FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou + wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of + thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a + semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune + thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not + hide it. + MRS. FORD. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. + FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee + there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot + cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these + lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's + apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I + cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it. + MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress + Page. + FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the + Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a + lime-kiln. + MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you + shall one day find it. + FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could + not be in that mind. + ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's + Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking + wildly, and would needs speak with you presently. + FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind + the arras. + MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman. + [FALSTAFF hides himself] + + Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN + + What's the matter? How now! + MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're + sham'd, y'are overthrown, y'are undone for ever. + MRS. FORD. What's the matter, good Mistress Page? + MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest + man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion! + MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion? + MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how + am I mistook in you! + MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what's the matter? + MRS. PAGE. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all + the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he + says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an + ill advantage of his absence. You are undone. + MRS. FORD. 'Tis not so, I hope. + MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a + man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming, + with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I + come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why, + I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey, + convey him out. Be not amaz'd; call all your senses to you; + defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life + for ever. + MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear + friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril. + I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the + house. + MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand 'you had rather' and 'you + had rather'! Your husband's here at hand; bethink you of + some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O, + how have you deceiv'd me! Look, here is a basket; if he be + of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw + foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is + whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet + Mead. + MRS. FORD. He's too big to go in there. What shall I do? + FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see 't, let me see 't. O, + let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel; + I'll in. + MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF] + Are these your letters, knight? + FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but + thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I'll never- + [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen] + MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men, + Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight! + MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN + + Re-enter SERVANTS + + Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the + cowl-staff? Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress + in Datchet Mead; quickly, come. + + Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why + then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve + it. How now, whither bear you this? + SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth. + MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? + You were best meddle with buck-washing. + FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck! + Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of + the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with + basket] Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my + dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers, + search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox. + Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now + uncape. + PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself + too much. + FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport + anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit + EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies. + CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous + in France. + PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his + search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS + MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this? + MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my + husband is deceived, or Sir John. + MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband + ask'd who was in the basket! + MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so + throwing him into the water will do him a benefit. + MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the + same strain were in the same distress. + MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion + of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his + jealousy till now. + MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have + more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce + obey this medicine. + MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress + Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water, + and give him another hope, to betray him to another + punishment? + MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow + eight o'clock, to have amends. + + Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg'd of that + he could not compass. + MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that? + MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you? + FORD. Ay, I do so. + MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts! + FORD. Amen. + MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford. + FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it. + EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the + chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive + my sins at the day of judgment! + CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies. + PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham'd? What + spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha' + your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor + Castle. + FORD. 'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it. + EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as + honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five + hundred too. + CAIUS. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. + FORD. Well, I promis'd you a dinner. Come, come, walk in + the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make + known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come, + Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly, + pardon me. + PAGE. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him. + I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast; + after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for + the bush. Shall it be so? + FORD. Any thing. + EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. + CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd. + FORD. Pray you go, Master Page. + EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the + lousy knave, mine host. + CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart. + EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries! + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE + + FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father's love; + Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. + ANNE. Alas, how then? + FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself. + He doth object I am too great of birth; + And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, + I seek to heal it only by his wealth. + Besides these, other bars he lays before me, + My riots past, my wild societies; + And tells me 'tis a thing impossible + I should love thee but as a property. + ANNE.. May be he tells you true. + FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come! + Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth + Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne; + Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value + Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; + And 'tis the very riches of thyself + That now I aim at. + ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton, + Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir. + If opportunity and humblest suit + Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither. + [They converse apart] + + Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY + + SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman + shall speak for himself. + SLENDER. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't; 'slid, 'tis but + venturing. + SHALLOW. Be not dismay'd. + SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that, + but that I am afeard. + QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word + with you. + ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father's choice. + O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults + Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! + QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a + word with you. + SHALLOW. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a + father! + SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell + you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne + the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good + uncle. + SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. + SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in + Gloucestershire. + SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. + SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the + degree of a squire. + SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds + jointure. + ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself. + SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that + good comfort. She calls you, coz; I'll leave you. + ANNE. Now, Master Slender- + SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne- + ANNE. What is your will? + SLENDER. My Will! 'Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest + indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not + such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. + ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me? + SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing + with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions; + if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They + can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask + your father; here he comes. + + Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE + + PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne- + Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here? + You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house. + I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. + FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. + MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child. + PAGE. She is no match for you. + FENTON. Sir, will you hear me? + PAGE. No, good Master Fenton. + Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in. + Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton. + Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page. + FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter + In such a righteous fashion as I do, + Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, + I must advance the colours of my love, + And not retire. Let me have your good will. + ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool. + MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband. + QUICKLY. That's my master, Master Doctor. + ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' th' earth. + And bowl'd to death with turnips. + MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master + Fenton, + I will not be your friend, nor enemy; + My daughter will I question how she loves you, + And as I find her, so am I affected; + Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in; + Her father will be angry. + FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan. + Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE + QUICKLY. This is my doing now: 'Nay,' said I 'will you cast + away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on + Master Fenton.' This is my doing. + FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night + Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy pains. + QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit + FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through + fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my + master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had + her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will + do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis'd, + and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master + Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff + from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it! + Exit + + + + +SCENE 5. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say! + BARDOLPH. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't. + Exit BARDOLPH + Have I liv'd to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of + butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if + I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out + and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift. + The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse + as they would have drown'd a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen + i' th' litter; and you may know by my size that I have + a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as + hell I should down. I had been drown'd but that the shore + was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water + swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when + had been swell'd! I should have been a mountain of + mummy. + + Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack + + BARDOLPH. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you + FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames + water; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd + snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. + BARDOLPH. Come in, woman. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your + worship good morrow. + FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle + of sack finely. + BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir? + FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my + brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now! + QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress + Ford. + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was + thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford. + QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault! + She does so take on with her men; they mistook their + erection. + FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's + promise. + QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn + your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning + a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between + eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She'll make + you amends, I warrant you. + FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her + think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then + judge of my merit. + QUICKLY. I will tell her. + FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? + QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir. + FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her. + QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit + FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me + word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he + comes. + + Enter FORD disguised + + FORD. Bless you, sir! + FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what + hath pass'd between me and Ford's wife? + FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business. + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her + house the hour she appointed me. + FORD. And sped you, sir? + FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook. + FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination? + FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her + husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of + jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after + we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and, as it were, spoke + the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his + companions, thither provoked and instigated by his + distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's + love. + FORD. What, while you were there? + FALSTAFF. While I was there. + FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you? + FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes + in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach; + and, in her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they + convey'd me into a buck-basket. + FORD. A buck-basket! + FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm'd me in with + foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy + napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound + of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. + FORD. And how long lay you there? + FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have + suffer'd to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being + thus cramm'd in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his + hinds, were call'd forth by their mistress to carry me in + the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on + their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the + door; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their + basket. I quak'd for fear lest the lunatic knave would have + search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, + held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away + went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master + Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, + an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten + bell-wether; next, to be compass'd like a good bilbo in the + circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and + then, to be stopp'd in, like a strong distillation, with + stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that + -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to + heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It + was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of + this bath, when I was more than half-stew'd in grease, like + a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd, + glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that + -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook. + FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you + have suffer'd all this. My suit, then, is desperate; + you'll undertake her no more. + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I + have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her + husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from + her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is + the hour, Master Brook. + FORD. 'Tis past eight already, sir. + FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment. + Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall + know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned + with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master + Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit + FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep? + Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There's a hole + made in your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be + married; this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will + proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he + is at my house. He cannot scape me; 'tis impossible he + should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into + a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid + him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I + cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make + me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb + go with me-I'll be horn mad. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +Windsor. A street + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM + + MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou? + QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly + he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the + water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly. + MRS. PAGE. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my + young man here to school. Look where his master comes; + 'tis a playing day, I see. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS + + How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day? + EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play. + QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart! + MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits + nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some + questions in his accidence. + EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come. + MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your + master; be not afraid. + EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns? + WILLIAM. Two. + QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number + more, because they say 'Od's nouns.' + EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is 'fair,' William? + WILLIAM. Pulcher. + QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats, + sure. + EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace. + What is 'lapis,' William? + WILLIAM. A stone. + EVANS. And what is 'a stone,' William? + WILLIAM. A pebble. + EVANS. No, it is 'lapis'; I pray you remember in your prain. + WILLIAM. Lapis. + EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that + does lend articles? + WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be + thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc. + EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo, + hujus. Well, what is your accusative case? + WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc. + EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child. + Accusativo, hung, hang, hog. + QUICKLY. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. + EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative + case, William? + WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O. + EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret. + QUICKLY. And that's a good root. + EVANS. Oman, forbear. + MRS. PAGE. Peace. + EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William? + WILLIAM. Genitive case? + EVANS. Ay. + WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum. + QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny's case; fie on her! Never + name her, child, if she be a whore. + EVANS. For shame, oman. + QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He + teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast + enough of themselves; and to call 'horum'; fie upon you! + EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings + for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou + art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires. + MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace. + EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your + pronouns. + WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot. + EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui's, your + quae's, and your quod's, you must be preeches. Go your + ways and play; go. + MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was. + EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page. + MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH + Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +FORD'S house + +Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD + + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my + sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I + profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in + the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, + complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your + husband now? + MRS. FORD. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John. + MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa! + MRS. FORD. Step into th' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF + + Enter MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who's at home besides + yourself? + MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people. + MRS. PAGE. Indeed? + MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder. + MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here. + MRS. FORD. Why? + MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes + again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails + against all married mankind; so curses an Eve's daughters, + of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the + forehead, crying 'Peer-out, peer-out!' that any madness I + ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, civility, and patience, + to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight + is not here. + MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him? + MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out, + the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protests to + my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the + rest of their company from their sport, to make another + experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not + here; now he shall see his own foolery. + MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page? + MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon. + MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here. + MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham'd, and he's but + a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him, + away with him; better shame than murder. + MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow + him? Shall I put him into the basket again? + + Re-enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket. May I not go + out ere he come? + MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the + door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you + might slip away ere he came. But what make you here? + FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney. + MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their + birding-pieces. + MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole. + FALSTAFF. Where is it? + MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, + coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for + the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his + note. There is no hiding you in the house. + FALSTAFF. I'll go out then. + MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die, + Sir John. Unless you go out disguis'd. + MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him? + MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's + gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a + hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape. + FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity + rather than a mischief. + MRS. FORD. My Maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has + a gown above. + MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he + is; and there's her thrumm'd hat, and her muffler too. Run + up, Sir John. + MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will + look some linen for your head. + MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight. Put + on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF + MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this + shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he + swears she's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath + threat'ned to beat her. + MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and + the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! + MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming? + MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket + too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. + MRS. FORD. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry + the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they + did last time. + MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress + him like the witch of Brainford. + MRS. FORD. I'll first direct my men what they shall do with + the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight. Exit + MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse + him enough. + We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, + Wives may be merry and yet honest too. + We do not act that often jest and laugh; + 'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit + + Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS + + MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders; + your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey + him; quickly, dispatch. Exit + FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up. + SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again. + FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead. + + Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any + way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain! + Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly + rascals, there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy + against me. Now shall the devil be sham'd. What, wife, I + say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you + send forth to bleaching. + PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose + any longer; you must be pinion'd. + EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog. + SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed. + FORD. So say I too, sir. + + Re-enter MISTRESS FORD + + Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest + woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath + the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause, + Mistress, do I? + MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect + me in any dishonesty. + FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah. + [Pulling clothes out of the basket] + PAGE. This passes! + MRS. FORD. Are you not asham'd? Let the clothes alone. + FORD. I shall find you anon. + EVANS. 'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife's + clothes? Come away. + FORD. Empty the basket, I say. + MRS. FORD. Why, man, why? + FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd + out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not + he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my + intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable. + Pluck me out all the linen. + MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's + death. + PAGE. Here's no man. + SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this + wrongs you. + EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the + imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies. + FORD. Well, he's not here I seek for. + PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain. + FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not + what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for + ever be your table sport; let them say of me 'As jealous as + Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.' + Satisfy me once more; once more search with me. + MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old + woman down; my husband will come into the chamber. + FORD. Old woman? what old woman's that? + MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford. + FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not + forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We + are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass + under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by + charms, by spells, by th' figure, and such daub'ry as this + is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you + witch, you hag you; come down, I say. + MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let + him not strike the old woman. + + Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand. + FORD. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you + witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon! + Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you. + Exit FALSTAFF + MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the + poor woman. + MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you. + FORD. Hang her, witch! + EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I + like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard + under his muffler. + FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow; + see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no + trail, never trust me when I open again. + PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come, + gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE + MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. + MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him + most unpitifully methought. + MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the + altar; it hath done meritorious service. + MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of + womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue + him with any further revenge? + MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar'd out of + him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and + recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, + attempt us again. + MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv'd + him? + MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the + figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their + hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further + afflicted, we two will still be the ministers. + MRS. FORD. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly sham'd; + and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should + he not be publicly sham'd. + MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I + would not have things cool. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter HOST and BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your + horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and + they are going to meet him. + HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear + not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen; + they speak English? + BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. + HOST. They shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay; + I'll sauce them; they have had my house a week at + command; I have turn'd away my other guests. They must + come off; I'll sauce them. Come. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4 + +FORD'S house + +Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + EVANS. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever + did look upon. + PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant? + MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour. + FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt; + I rather will suspect the sun with cold + Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand, + In him that was of late an heretic, + As firm as faith. + PAGE. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. + Be not as extreme in submission as in offence; + But let our plot go forward. Let our wives + Yet once again, to make us public sport, + Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, + Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. + FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of. + PAGE. How? To send him word they'll meet him in the Park + at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come! + EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has + been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there + should be terrors in him, that he should not come; + methinks his flesh is punish'd; he shall have no desires. + PAGE. So think I too. + MRS. FORD. Devise but how you'll use him when he comes, + And let us two devise to bring him thither. + MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter, + Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, + Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight, + Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; + And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, + And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain + In a most hideous and dreadful manner. + You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know + The superstitious idle-headed eld + Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, + This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth. + PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear + In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak. + But what of this? + MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device- + That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, + Disguis'd, like Heme, with huge horns on his head. + PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, + And in this shape. When you have brought him thither, + What shall be done with him? What is your plot? + MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and + thus: + Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, + And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress + Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white, + With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, + And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden, + As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, + Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once + With some diffused song; upon their sight + We two in great amazedness will fly. + Then let them all encircle him about, + And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight; + And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel, + In their so sacred paths he dares to tread + In shape profane. + MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth, + Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, + And burn him with their tapers. + MRS. PAGE. The truth being known, + We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit, + And mock him home to Windsor. + FORD. The children must + Be practis'd well to this or they'll nev'r do 't. + EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will + be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my + taber. + FORD. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards. + MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies, + Finely attired in a robe of white. + PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time + Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away, + And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight. + FORD. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook; + He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come. + MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties + And tricking for our fairies. + EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery + honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS + MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford. + Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind. + Exit MRS. FORD + I'll to the Doctor; he hath my good will, + And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. + That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; + And he my husband best of all affects. + The Doctor is well money'd, and his friends + Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her, + Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit + + + + +SCENE 5. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter HOST and SIMPLE + + HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin? + Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap. + SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff + from Master Slender. + HOST. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his + standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the + story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he'll + speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say. + SIMPLE. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into + his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down; + I come to speak with her, indeed. + HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb'd. I'll call. + Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs + military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. + FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host? + HOST. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of + thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend; + my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie! + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even + now with, me; but she's gone. + SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of + Brainford? + FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you + with her? + SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her, + seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one + Nym, sir, that beguil'd him of a chain, had the chain or no. + FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it. + SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir? + FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that + beguil'd Master Slender of his chain cozen'd him of it. + SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman + herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too, + from him. + FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know. + HOST. Ay, come; quick. + SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir. + FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest. + SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress + Anne Page: to know if it were my master's fortune to + have her or no. + FALSTAFF. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. + SIMPLE. What sir? + FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me + so. + SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir? + FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold? + SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad + with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE + HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was + there a wise woman with thee? + FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath + taught me more wit than ever I learn'd before in my life; + and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my + learning. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage! + HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto. + BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I + came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of + them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like + three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. + HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not + say they be fled. Germans are honest men. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS + + EVANS. Where is mine host? + HOST. What is the matter, sir? + EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend + of mine come to town tells me there is three + cozen-germans that has cozen'd all the hosts of Readins, + of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for + good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and + vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient you should be + cozened. Fare you well. Exit + + Enter DOCTOR CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer? + HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful + dilemma. + CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you + make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my + trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I + tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit + HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am + undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone. + Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH + FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen'd, for I have + been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should come to the car + of the court how I have been transformed, and how my + transformation hath been wash'd and cudgell'd, they + would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor + fishermen's boots with me; I warrant they would whip me + with their fine wits till I were as crestfall'n as a dried pear. + I never prosper'd since I forswore myself at primero. Well, + if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers, + would repent. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + Now! whence come you? + QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth. + FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other! + And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer'd more + for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of + man's disposition is able to bear. + QUICKLY. And have not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant; + speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten + black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her. + FALSTAFF. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was + beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and + was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But + that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the + action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable + had set me i' th' stocks, i' th' common stocks, for a witch. + QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you + shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content. + Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado + here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not + serve heaven well, that you are so cross'd. + FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 6. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FENTON and HOST + + HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I + will give over all. + FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, + And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give the + A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. + HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least, + keep your counsel. + FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you + With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; + Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection, + So far forth as herself might be her chooser, + Even to my wish. I have a letter from her + Of such contents as you will wonder at; + The mirth whereof so larded with my matter + That neither, singly, can be manifested + Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff + Hath a great scene. The image of the jest + I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: + To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, + Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen- + The purpose why is here-in which disguise, + While other jests are something rank on foot, + Her father hath commanded her to slip + Away with Slender, and with him at Eton + Immediately to marry; she hath consented. + Now, sir, + Her mother, even strong against that match + And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed + That he shall likewise shuffle her away + While other sports are tasking of their minds, + And at the dean'ry, where a priest attends, + Straight marry her. To this her mother's plot + She seemingly obedient likewise hath + Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests: + Her father means she shall be all in white; + And in that habit, when Slender sees his time + To take her by the hand and bid her go, + She shall go with him; her mother hath intended + The better to denote her to the doctor- + For they must all be mask'd and vizarded- + That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd, + With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head; + And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, + To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, + The maid hath given consent to go with him. + HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother? + FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me. + And here it rests-that you'll procure the vicar + To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, + And in the lawful name of marrying, + To give our hearts united ceremony. + HOST. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar. + Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. + FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; + Besides, I'll make a present recompense. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY + + FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll, hold. This is + the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. + Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either + in nativity, chance, or death. Away. + QUICKLY. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to + get you a pair of horns. + FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and + mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY + + Enter FORD disguised + + How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will + be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about + midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders. + FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me + you had appointed? + FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a + poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a + poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath + the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that + ever govern'd frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously + in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master + Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because + I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with + me; I'll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese, + play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I knew not what 'twas to + be beaten till lately. Follow me. I'll tell you strange things + of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, + and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange + things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +Windsor Park + +Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + + PAGE. Come, come; we'll couch i' th' Castle ditch till we + see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter. + SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have + a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in + white and cry 'mum'; she cries 'budget,' and by that we + know one another. + SHALLOW. That's good too; but what needs either your mum + or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough. + It hath struck ten o'clock. + PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well. + Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the + devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away; + follow me. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +A street leading to the Park + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS + + MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when + you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to + the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the + Park; we two must go together. + CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu. + MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband + will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will + chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter; but 'tis no + matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of + heartbreak. + MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and + the Welsh devil, Hugh? + MRS. PAGE. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Heme's + oak, with obscur'd lights; which, at the very instant of + Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the + night. + MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him. + MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd; if he be + amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd. + MRS. FORD. We'll betray him finely. + MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery, + Those that betray them do no treachery. + MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak! + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +Windsor Park + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies + + EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts. + Be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I + give the watch-ords, do as I pid you. Come, come; trib, + trib. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 5. + +Another part of the Park + +Enter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE + + FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute + draws on. Now the hot-blooded gods assist me! + Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy + horns. O powerful love! that in some respects makes a + beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were also, + Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love! + how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A + fault done first in the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly + fault!-and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl- + think on't, Jove, a foul fault! When gods have hot backs + what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor + stag; and the fattest, I think, i' th' forest. Send me a cool + rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? + Who comes here? my doe? + + Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer. + FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain + potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail + kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest + of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her] + MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart. + FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch; I + will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow + of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am + I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why, + now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. + As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns] + MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise? + MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins! + FALSTAFF. What should this be? + MRS. FORD. } Away, away. + MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off] + FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the + oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would never else + cross me thus. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as + a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and + Hobgoblin; all with tapers + + FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, + You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, + You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, + Attend your office and your quality. + Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. + PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. + Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap; + Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept, + There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry; + Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery. + FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. + I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye. + [Lies down upon his face] + EVANS. Where's Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid + That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, + Raise up the organs of her fantasy + Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; + But those as sleep and think not on their sins, + Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. + FAIRY QUEEN. About, about; + Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out; + Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, + That it may stand till the perpetual doom + In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit, + Worthy the owner and the owner it. + The several chairs of order look you scour + With juice of balm and every precious flower; + Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest, + With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! + And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, + Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring; + Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be, + More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; + And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write + In em'rald tufts, flow'rs purple, blue and white; + Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, + Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee. + Fairies use flow'rs for their charactery. + Away, disperse; but till 'tis one o'clock, + Our dance of custom round about the oak + Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget. + EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set; + And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, + To guide our measure round about the tree. + But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth. + FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he + transform me to a piece of cheese! + PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth. + FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end; + If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, + And turn him to no pain; but if he start, + It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. + PUCK. A trial, come. + EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire? + [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts] + FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh! + FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! + About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme; + And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. + THE SONG. + Fie on sinful fantasy! + Fie on lust and luxury! + Lust is but a bloody fire, + Kindled with unchaste desire, + Fed in heart, whose flames aspire, + As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. + Pinch him, fairies, mutually; + Pinch him for his villainy; + Pinch him and burn him and turn him about, + Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out. + + During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR + CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in + green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in + white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise + of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away. + FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises + + Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and + SIR HUGH EVANS + + PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now. + Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn? + MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher. + Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? + See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes + Become the forest better than the town? + FORD. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook, + Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, + Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of + Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds + of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses + are arrested for it, Master Brook. + MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never + meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will + always count you my deer. + FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. + FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. + FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four + times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the + guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, + drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, + in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they + were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent + when 'tis upon ill employment. + EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, + and fairies will not pinse you. + FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh. + EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. + FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able + to woo her in good English. + FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that + it wants matter to prevent so gross, o'er-reaching as this? + Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb + of frieze? 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of + toasted cheese. + EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all + putter. + FALSTAFF. 'Seese' and 'putter'! Have I liv'd to stand at the + taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough + to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm. + MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would + have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and + shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, + that ever the devil could have made you our delight? + FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? + MRS. PAGE. A puff'd man? + PAGE. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails? + FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? + PAGE. And as poor as Job? + FORD. And as wicked as his wife? + EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, + and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, + and starings, pribbles and prabbles? + FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me; + I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; + ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will. + FORD. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master + Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you + should have been a pander. Over and above that you have + suffer'd, I think to repay that money will be a biting + affliction. + PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset + tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my + wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath + married her daughter. + MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be + my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife. + + Enter SLENDER + + SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page! + PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch'd'? + SLENDER. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire + know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else! + PAGE. Of what, son? + SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne + Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i' + th' church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have + swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, + would I might never stir!-and 'tis a postmaster's boy. + PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. + SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I + took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all + he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. + PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how + you should know my daughter by her garments? + SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried 'mum' and she + cried 'budget' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was + not Anne, but a postmaster's boy. + MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your + purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, she + is now with the Doctor at the dean'ry, and there married. + + Enter CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' + married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is + not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened. + MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green? + CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all + Windsor. Exit CAIUS + FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? + PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton. + + Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE + + How now, Master Fenton! + ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon. + PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master + Slender? + MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid? + FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it. + You would have married her most shamefully, + Where there was no proportion held in love. + The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, + Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. + Th' offence is holy that she hath committed; + And this deceit loses the name of craft, + Of disobedience, or unduteous title, + Since therein she doth evitate and shun + A thousand irreligious cursed hours, + Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. + FORD. Stand not amaz'd; here is no remedy. + In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; + Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. + FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand + to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd. + PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! + What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. + FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. + MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton, + Heaven give you many, many merry days! + Good husband, let us every one go home, + And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; + Sir John and all. + FORD. Let it be so. Sir John, + To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word; + For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1596 + +A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + THESEUS, Duke of Athens + EGEUS, father to Hermia + LYSANDER, in love with Hermia + DEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia + 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, bethrothed 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, fairy + COBWEB, fairy + MOTH, fairy + MUSTARDSEED, fairy + + PROLOGUE, PYRAMUS, THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION are presented by: + QUINCE, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, STARVELING, AND SNUG + + Other Fairies attending their King and Queen + Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Athens and a wood near it + + +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's revenue. + HIPPOLYTA. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night; + Four nights will quickly dream away the time; + And then the moon, like to a silver bow + New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night + Of our solemnities. + THESEUS. Go, Philostrate, + Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; + Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; + Turn melancholy forth to funerals; + The pale companion is not for our pomp. Exit PHILOSTRATE + Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, + And won thy love doing thee injuries; + But I will wed thee in another key, + With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. + + Enter EGEUS, and his daughter 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 interchang'd love-tokens with my child; + Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, + With feigning voice, verses of feigning love, + And stol'n the impression of her fantasy + With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, + Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats- messengers + Of strong prevailment in unhardened youth; + With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; + Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, + To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke, + Be it so she will not here before your Grace + Consent to marry with Demetrius, + I beg the ancient privilege of Athens: + As she is mine I may dispose of her; + Which shall be either to this gentleman + Or to her death, according to our law + Immediately provided in that case. + THESEUS. What say you, Hermia? Be advis'd, fair maid. + To you your father should be as a god; + One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one + To whom you are but as a form in wax, + By him imprinted, and within his power + To leave the figure, or disfigure it. + Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. + HERMIA. So is Lysander. + THESEUS. In himself he is; + But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, + The other must be held the worthier. + HERMIA. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. + THESEUS. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. + HERMIA. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. + I know not by what power I am made bold, + Nor how it may concern my modesty + In such a presence here to plead my thoughts; + But I beseech your Grace that I may know + The worst that may befall me in this case, + If I refuse to wed Demetrius. + THESEUS. Either to die the death, or to abjure + For ever the society of men. + Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, + Know of your youth, examine well your blood, + Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, + You can endure the livery of a nun, + For aye to be 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 yield 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 next new moon- + The sealing-day betwixt my love and me + For everlasting bond of fellowship- + Upon that day either prepare to die + For disobedience to your father's will, + Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, + Or on Diana's altar to protest + For aye austerity and single life. + DEMETRIUS. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield + Thy 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 deriv'd as he, + As well possess'd; my love is more than his; + My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, + If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; + And, which is more than all these boasts can be, + I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. + Why should not I then prosecute my right? + Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, + Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, + And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, + Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, + Upon this spotted and inconstant man. + THESEUS. I must confess that I have heard so much, + And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; + But, being over-full of self-affairs, + My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come; + And come, Egeus; you shall go with me; + I have some private schooling for you both. + For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself + To fit your fancies to your father's will, + Or else the law of Athens yields you up- + Which by no means we may extenuate- + To death, or to a vow of single life. + Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love? + Demetrius, and Egeus, go along; + I must employ you in some business + Against our nuptial, and confer with you + Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. + EGEUS. With duty and desire we follow you. + Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA + LYSANDER. How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? + How chance the roses there do fade so fast? + HERMIA. Belike for want of rain, which I could well + Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. + LYSANDER. Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, + Could ever hear by tale or history, + The course of true love never did run smooth; + But either it was different in blood- + HERMIA. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low. + LYSANDER. Or else misgraffed in respect of years- + HERMIA. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young. + LYSANDER. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends- + HERMIA. O hell! to choose love by another's eyes. + LYSANDER. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, + War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, + Making it momentary as a sound, + Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, + Brief as the lightning in the collied night + That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, + And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' + The jaws of darkness do devour it up; + So quick bright things come to confusion. + HERMIA. If then true lovers have ever cross'd, + It stands as an edict in destiny. + Then let us teach our trial patience, + Because it is a customary cross, + As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, + Wishes and tears, poor Fancy's followers. + LYSANDER. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia. + I have a widow aunt, a dowager + Of great revenue, and she hath no child- + From Athens is her house remote seven leagues- + And she respects me as her only son. + There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; + And to that place the sharp Athenian law + Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, + Steal forth thy father's house 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 wat'ry glass, + Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, + A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, + Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. + HERMIA. And in the wood where often you and I + Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, + Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, + There my Lysander and myself shall meet; + And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, + To seek new friends and stranger companies. + Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us, + And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius! + Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our sight + From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. + LYSANDER. I will, my Hermia. [Exit HERMIA] Helena, adieu; + As you on him, Demetrius dote on you. Exit + HELENA. How happy some o'er other some can be! + Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. + But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; + He will not know what all but he do know. + And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, + So I, admiring of his qualities. + Things base and vile, holding no quantity, + Love can transpose to form and dignity. + Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; + And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. + Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; + Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste; + And therefore is Love said to be a child, + Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. + As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, + So the boy Love is perjur'd everywhere; + For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, + He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine; + And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, + So he dissolv'd, and show'rs 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 + + + + +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 wand'ring knight? + QUINCE. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. + FLUTE. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming. + QUINCE. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may + speak as small as you will. + BOTTOM. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too. + I'll speak in a monstrous little voice: 'Thisne, Thisne!' + [Then speaking small] 'Ah Pyramus, my 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 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-fac'd 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-fac'd. 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 dogg'd with company, and our devices known. + In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our + play wants. I pray you, fail me not. + BOTTOM. We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and + courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu. + QUINCE. At the Duke's oak we meet. + BOTTOM. Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +A wood near Athens + +Enter a FAIRY at One door, and PUCK at another + + PUCK. How now, spirit! whither wander you? + FAIRY. Over hill, over dale, + Thorough bush, thorough brier, + Over park, over pale, + Thorough flood, thorough fire, + I do wander every where, + 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 her 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 speakest aright: + I am that merry wanderer of the night. + I jest to Oberon, and make him smile + When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, + Neighing in likeness of a filly foal; + And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl + In very likeness of a roasted crab, + And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, + And on her withered dewlap pour the ale. + The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, + Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; + Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, + And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; + And then the whole quire hold their hips and 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 OBERON at one door, with his TRAIN, and TITANIA, + at another, with hers + + OBERON. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. + TITANIA. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence; + I have forsworn his bed and company. + OBERON. Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord? + TITANIA. Then I must be thy lady; but I know + When thou hast 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 steep of India, + But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, + Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, + To Theseus must be wedded, and you come + To give their bed joy and prosperity? + OBERON. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, + Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, + Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? + Didst not thou lead him through the glimmering night + From Perigouna, whom he ravished? + And make him with fair Aegles break his faith, + With Ariadne and Antiopa? + TITANIA. These are the forgeries of jealousy; + And never, since the middle summer's spring, + Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, + By 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, + Hath every pelting river made so proud + That they have overborne their continents. + The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, + The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn + Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard; + The fold stands empty in the 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 + Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; + And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown + An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds + Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, + The childing autumn, angry winter, change + Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world, + By their increase, now knows not which is which. + And this same progeny of evils comes + From our debate, from our dissension; + We are their parents and original. + OBERON. Do you amend it, then; it lies in you. + Why should Titania cross her Oberon? + I do but beg a little changeling boy + To be my henchman. + TITANIA. Set your heart at rest; + The fairy land buys not the child of me. + His mother was a vot'ress 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 th' 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 rememb'rest + Since once I sat upon a promontory, + And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back + Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath + That the rude sea grew civil at her song, + And certain stars shot madly from their spheres + To hear the sea-maid's music. + PUCK. I remember. + OBERON. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not, + Flying between the cold moon and the earth + Cupid, all arm'd; a certain aim he took + At a fair vestal, throned by the west, + And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, + As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; + But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft + Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon; + And the imperial vot'ress 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 flow'r, the herb I showed thee once. + The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid + Will make or man or woman madly dote + Upon the next live creature that it sees. + Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again + Ere the leviathan can swim a league. + PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth + In forty minutes. Exit PUCK + OBERON. Having once this juice, + I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, + And drop the liquor of it in her eyes; + The next thing then she waking looks upon, + Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, + On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, + She shall pursue it with the soul of love. + And ere I take this charm from off her sight, + As I can take it with another herb, + I'll make her render up her page to me. + But who comes here? I am invisible; + And I will overhear their conference. + + Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him + + DEMETRIUS. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. + Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? + The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. + Thou told'st me they were stol'n unto this wood, + And here am I, and wood 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 chang'd: + Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; + The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind + Makes speed to catch the tiger- bootless speed, + When cowardice pursues and valour flies. + DEMETRIUS. I will not stay thy questions; let me go; + Or, if thou follow me, do not believe + But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. + HELENA. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, + You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! + Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. + We cannot fight for love as men may do; + We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. + Exit DEMETRIUS + I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, + To die upon the hand I love so well. Exit HELENA + OBERON. Fare thee well, nymph; ere he do leave this grove, + Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. + + 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 + + + + +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 + + FIRST FAIRY. You spotted snakes with double tongue, + Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; + Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, + Come not near our fairy Queen. + CHORUS. Philomel with melody + Sing in our sweet lullaby. + Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. + Never harm + Nor spell nor charm + Come our lovely lady nigh. + So good night, with lullaby. + SECOND FAIRY. Weaving spiders, come not here; + Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence. + Beetles black, approach not near; + Worm nor snail do no offence. + CHORUS. Philomel with melody, etc. [TITANIA Sleeps] + FIRST FAIRY. Hence away; now all is well. + One aloof stand sentinel. Exeunt FAIRIES + + 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 wak'st, it is thy dear. + Wake when some vile thing is near. Exit + + Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA + + LYSANDER. Fair love, you faint with wand'ring in the wood; + And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way; + We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, + And tarry for the comfort of the day. + HERMIA. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed, + For I upon this bank will rest my head. + LYSANDER. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; + One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. + HERMIA. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, + Lie further off yet; do not lie so near. + LYSANDER. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence! + Love takes the meaning in love's conference. + I mean that my heart unto yours is knit, + So that but one heart we can make of it; + Two bosoms 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 wak'st let love forbid + Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. + So awake when I am gone; + For I must now to Oberon. Exit + + Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running + + HELENA. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. + DEMETRIUS. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. + HELENA. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so. + DEMETRIUS. Stay on thy peril; I alone will go. Exit + 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 oft'ner wash'd than hers. + No, no, I am as ugly as a bear, + For beasts that meet me run away for fear; + Therefore no marvel though Demetrius + Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. + What wicked and dissembling glass of mine + Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? + But who is here? Lysander! on the ground! + Dead, or asleep? I see no blood, no wound. + Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. + LYSANDER. [Waking] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. + Transparent Helena! Nature shows art, + That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. + Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word + Is that vile name to perish on my sword! + HELENA. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so. + What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? + Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content. + LYSANDER. Content with Hermia! No: I do repent + The tedious minutes I with her have spent. + Not Hermia but Helena I love: + Who will not change a raven for a dove? + The will of man is by his reason sway'd, + And reason says you are the worthier maid. + Things growing are not ripe until their season; + So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; + And touching now the point of human skill, + Reason becomes the marshal to my will, + And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook + Love's stories, written in Love's richest book. + HELENA. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? + When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? + Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, + That I did never, no, nor never can, + Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, + But you must flout my insufficiency? + Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, + In such disdainful manner me to woo. + But fare you well; perforce I must confess + I thought you lord of more true gentleness. + O, that a lady of one man refus'd + Should of another therefore be abus'd! Exit + LYSANDER. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there; + And never mayst thou come Lysander near! + For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things + The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, + Or as the heresies that men do leave + Are hated most of those they did deceive, + So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, + Of all be hated, but the most of me! + And, all my powers, address your love and might + To honour Helen, and to be her knight! Exit + HERMIA. [Starting] Help me, Lysander, help me; do thy best + To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast. + Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here! + Lysander, look how I do quake with fear. + Methought a serpent eat my heart away, + And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. + Lysander! What, remov'd? 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 are not nigh. + Either death or you I'll find immediately. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 kill'd 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 yourself 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 almanack; find out + moonshine, find out moonshine. + QUINCE. Yes, it doth shine that night. + BOTTOM. Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber + window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the + casement. + QUINCE. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a + lantern, and say he comes to disfigure or to present the person + of Moonshine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in + the great chamber; for Pyramus and 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 homespuns have we swagg'ring 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. 'Odious'- odorous! + 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 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 y et 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 all but BOTTOM and PUCK + 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 chang'd! What do I see on thee? + BOTTOM. What do you see? You see an ass-head 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 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. What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed? + BOTTOM. [Sings] + The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, + The plain-song cuckoo grey, + 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 he, though he cry 'cuckoo' never so? + TITANIA. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. + Mine ear is much enamoured 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 worships mercy, heartily; I beseech your + worship's name. + COBWEB. Cobweb. + BOTTOM. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master + Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your + name, honest gentleman? + PEASEBLOSSOM. Peaseblossom. + BOTTOM. I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and + to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall + desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, + sir? + MUSTARDSEED. Mustardseed. + BOTTOM. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That + same cowardly giant-like ox-beef hath devour'd many a gentleman + of your house. I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water + ere now. I desire you of more acquaintance, good Master + Mustardseed. + TITANIA. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. + The moon, methinks, looks with a wat'ry eye; + And when she weeps, weeps every little flower; + Lamenting some enforced chastity. + Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Another part of the wood + +Enter OBERON + + OBERON. I wonder if Titania be awak'd; + Then, what it was that next came in her eye, + Which she must dote on in extremity. + + Enter PUCK + + Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit! + What night-rule now about this haunted grove? + PUCK. My mistress with a monster is in love. + Near to her close and consecrated bower, + While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, + A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, + That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, + Were met together to rehearse a play + Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. + The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort, + Who Pyramus presented, in their sport + Forsook his scene and ent'red in a brake; + When I did him at this advantage take, + An ass's nole I fixed on his head. + Anon his Thisby 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 wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. + OBERON. This falls out better than I could devise. + But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes + With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? + PUCK. I took him sleeping- that is finish'd too- + And the Athenian woman by his side; + That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. + + Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA + + OBERON. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. + PUCK. This is the woman, but not this the man. + DEMETRIUS. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? + Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. + HERMIA. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse, + For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. + If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, + Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, + And kill me too. + The sun was not so true unto the day + As he to me. Would he have stolen away + From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon + This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon + May through the centre creep and so displease + Her brother's noontide with th' Antipodes. + It cannot be but thou hast murd'red him; + So should a murderer look- so dead, so grim. + DEMETRIUS. So should the murdered look; and so should I, + Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty; + Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, + As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. + HERMIA. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he? + Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? + DEMETRIUS. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. + HERMIA. Out, dog! out, cur! Thou driv'st me past the bounds + Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then? + Henceforth be never numb'red among men! + O, once tell true; tell true, even for my sake! + Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake, + And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch! + Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? + An adder did it; for with doubler tongue + Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. + DEMETRIUS. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood: + I am not guilty of Lysander's blood; + Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. + HERMIA. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. + DEMETRIUS. 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] + OBERON. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite, + And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight. + Of thy misprision must perforce ensue + Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. + PUCK. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding troth, + A million fail, confounding oath on oath. + OBERON. About the wood go swifter than the wind, + And Helena of Athens look thou find; + All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, + With sighs of love that costs the fresh blood dear. + By some illusion see thou bring her here; + I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. + PUCK. I go, I go; look how I go, + Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. Exit + OBERON. Flower of this purple dye, + Hit with Cupid's archery, + Sink in apple of his eye. + When his love he doth espy, + Let her shine as gloriously + As the Venus of the sky. + When thou wak'st, if she be by, + Beg of her for remedy. + + 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 befall prepost'rously. + + Enter LYSANDER and HELENA + + LYSANDER. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? + Scorn and derision never come in tears. + Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, + In their nativity all truth appears. + How can these things in me seem scorn to you, + Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? + HELENA. You do advance your cunning more and more. + When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! + These vows are Hermia's. Will you give her o'er? + Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: + Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, + Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. + LYSANDER. I hod 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 Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! + To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? + Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show + Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! + That pure 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 were civil and knew courtesy, + You would not do me thus much injury. + Can you not hate me, as I know you do, + But you must join in souls to mock me too? + If you were men, as men you are in show, + You would not use a gentle lady so: + To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, + When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. + You both are rivals, and love Hermia; + And now both rivals, to mock Helena. + A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, + To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes + With your derision! None of noble sort + Would so offend a virgin, and extort + A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. + LYSANDER. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; + For you love Hermia. This you know I know; + And here, with all good will, with all my heart, + In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; + And yours of Helena to me bequeath, + Whom I do love and will do till my death. + HELENA. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. + DEMETRIUS. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none. + If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. + My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, + And now to Helen is it home return'd, + There to remain. + LYSANDER. Helen, it is not so. + DEMETRIUS. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, + Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. + Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. + + Enter HERMIA + + HERMIA. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, + The ear more quick of apprehension makes; + Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, + It pays the hearing double recompense. + Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; + Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. + But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? + LYSANDER. Why should he stay whom love doth press to go? + HERMIA. What love could press Lysander from my side? + LYSANDER. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide- + Fair Helena, who more engilds the night + Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. + Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make thee know + The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? + HERMIA. You speak not as you think; it cannot be. + HELENA. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! + Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three + To fashion this false sport in spite of me. + Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! + Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd, + To bait me with this foul derision? + Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, + The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, + When we have chid the hasty-footed time + For parting us- O, is all forgot? + All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? + We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, + Have with our needles created both one flower, + Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, + Both warbling of one song, both in one key; + As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, + Had been incorporate. So we grew together, + Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, + But yet an union in partition, + Two lovely berries moulded on one stern; + 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 though I be not so in grace as you, + So hung upon with love, so fortunate, + But miserable most, to love unlov'd? + This you should pity rather than despise. + HERMIA. I understand not what you mean by this. + HELENA. Ay, do- persever, counterfeit sad looks, + Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, + Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up; + This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. + If you have any pity, grace, or manners, + You would not make me such an argument. + But fare ye well; 'tis partly my own fault, + Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. + LYSANDER. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; + My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! + HELENA. O excellent! + HERMIA. Sweet, do not scorn her so. + DEMETRIUS. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. + LYSANDER. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat; + Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers + Helen, I love thee, by my life I do; + I swear by that which I will lose for thee + To prove him false that says I love thee not. + DEMETRIUS. I say I love thee more than he can do. + LYSANDER. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. + DEMETRIUS. Quick, come. + HERMIA. Lysander, whereto tends all this? + LYSANDER. Away, you Ethiope! + DEMETRIUS. No, no, he will + Seem to break loose- take on as you would follow, + But yet come not. You are a tame man; go! + LYSANDER. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loose, + Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. + HERMIA. Why are you grown so rude? What change is this, + Sweet love? + LYSANDER. Thy love! Out, tawny Tartar, out! + Out, loathed med'cine! O hated potion, hence! + HERMIA. Do you not jest? + HELENA. Yes, sooth; and so do you. + LYSANDER. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. + DEMETRIUS. I would I had your bond; for I perceive + A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word. + LYSANDER. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? + Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. + HERMIA. What! Can you do me greater harm than hate? + Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love? + Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? + I am as fair now as I was erewhile. + Since night you lov'd me; yet since night you left me. + Why then, you left me- O, the gods forbid!- + In earnest, shall I say? + LYSANDER. Ay, by my life! + And never did desire to see thee more. + Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; + Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest + That I do hate thee and love Helena. + HERMIA. O me! you juggler! you cankerblossom! + You thief of love! What! Have you come by night, + And stol'n my love's heart from him? + HELENA. Fine, i' faith! + Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, + No touch of bashfulness? What! Will you tear + Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? + Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet you! + HERMIA. 'Puppet!' why so? Ay, that way goes the game. + Now I perceive that she hath made compare + Between our statures; she hath urg'd her height; + And with her personage, her tall personage, + Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. + And are you grown so high in his esteem + Because I am so dwarfish and so low? + How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak. + How low am I? I am not yet so low + But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. + HELENA. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, + Let her not hurt me. I was never curst; + I have no gift at all in shrewishness; + I am a right maid for my cowardice; + Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, + Because she is something lower than myself, + That I can match her. + HERMIA. 'Lower' hark, again. + HELENA. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. + I evermore did love you, Hermia, + Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you; + Save that, in love unto Demetrius, + I told him of your stealth unto this wood. + He followed you; for love I followed him; + But he hath chid me hence, and threat'ned 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 is angry, she is keen and shrewd; + She was a vixen when she went to school; + And, though she be but little, she is fierce. + HERMIA. 'Little' again! Nothing but 'low' and 'little'! + Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? + Let me come to her. + LYSANDER. Get you gone, you dwarf; + You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made; + You bead, you acorn. + DEMETRIUS. You are too officious + In her behalf that scorns your services. + Let her alone; speak not of Helena; + Take not her part; for if thou dost intend + Never so little show of love to her, + Thou shalt aby it. + LYSANDER. Now she holds me not. + Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, + Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. + DEMETRIUS. Follow! Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl. + Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS + HERMIA. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you. + Nay, go not back. + HELENA. I will not trust you, I; + Nor longer stay in your curst company. + Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray; + My legs are longer though, to run away. Exit + HERMIA. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. Exit + OBERON. This is thy negligence. Still thou mistak'st, + 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 garments he had on? + And so far blameless proves my enterprise + That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes; + And so far am I glad it so did sort, + As this their jangling I esteem a sport. + OBERON. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight. + Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; + The starry welkin cover thou anon + With drooping fog as black as Acheron, + And lead these testy rivals so astray + As one come not within another's way. + Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, + Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; + And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; + And from each other look thou lead them thus, + Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep + With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. + Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye; + Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, + To take from thence all error with his might + And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. + When they next wake, all this derision + Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; + And back to Athens shall the lovers wend + With league whose date till death shall never end. + Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, + I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; + And then I will her 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, wand'ring here and there, + Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits all + That in cross-ways and floods have burial, + Already to their wormy beds are gone, + For fear lest day should look their shames upon; + They wilfully themselves exil'd 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 OBERON + PUCK. Up and down, up and down, + I will lead them up and down. + I am fear'd in field and town. + Goblin, lead them up and down. + Here comes one. + + Enter LYSANDER + + LYSANDER. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now. + PUCK. Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou? + LYSANDER. I will be with thee straight. + PUCK. Follow me, then, + To plainer ground. Exit LYSANDER as following the voice + + Enter DEMETRIUS + + DEMETRIUS. Lysander, speak again. + Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? + Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? + PUCK. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, + Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, + And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child; + I'll whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd + That draws a sword on thee. + DEMETRIUS. Yea, art thou there? + PUCK. Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here. Exeunt + + 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 followed 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 com'st thou not? + DEMETRIUS. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot + Thou run'st before me, shifting every place, + And dar'st 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] + + Enter HELENA + + HELENA. O weary night, O long and tedious night, + Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east, + That I may back to Athens by daylight, + From these that my poor company detest. + And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, + Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps] + PUCK. Yet but three? Come one more; + Two of both kinds makes up four. + Here she comes, curst and sad. + Cupid is a knavish lad, + Thus to make poor females mad. + + Enter HERMIA + + HERMIA. Never so weary, never so in woe, + Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers, + I can no further crawl, no further go; + My legs can keep no pace with my desires. + Here will I rest me till the break of day. + Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! + [Lies down 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 wak'st, + Thou tak'st + True delight + In the sight + Of thy former lady's eye; + And the country proverb known, + That every man should take his own, + In your waking shall be shown: + Jack shall have Jill; + Nought shall go ill; + The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well. + Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The wood. 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 flow'ry 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-hipp'd 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 curtsy, good mounsieur. + MUSTARDSEED. What's your will? + BOTTOM. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to + scratch. I must to the barber's, mounsieur; 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, be gone, 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. Seest thou this sweet + sight? + Her dotage now I do begin to pity; + For, meeting her of late behind the wood, + Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, + I did upbraid her and fall out with her. + For she his hairy temples then had rounded + With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; + And that same dew which sometime on the buds + Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls + Stood now within the pretty 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. + [Touching her eyes] + Be as thou wast wont to be; + See as thou was wont to see. + Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower + Hath such force and blessed power. + Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen. + TITANIA. My Oberon! What visions have I seen! + Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. + OBERON. There lies your love. + TITANIA. How came these things to pass? + O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now! + OBERON. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. + Titania, music call; and strike more dead + Than common sleep of all these five the sense. + TITANIA. Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep! + PUCK. Now when thou wak'st with thine own fool's eyes peep. + OBERON. Sound, music. Come, my Queen, take hands with me, + [Music] + 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, an in jollity. + PUCK. Fairy King, attend and mark; + I do hear the morning lark. + OBERON. Then, my Queen, in silence sad, + Trip we after night's shade. + We the globe can compass soon, + Swifter than the wand'ring moon. + TITANIA. Come, my lord; and in our flight, + Tell me how it came this night + That I sleeping here was found + With these mortals on the ground. Exeunt + + To the winding of horns, 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 of our solemnity. + But speak, Egeus; is not this the day + That Hermia should give answer of her choice? + EGEUS. It is, my lord. + THESEUS. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. + [Horns and shout within. The sleepers + awake and kneel to THESEUS] + 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 I do 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 stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, + Thereby to have defeated you and me: + You of your wife, and me of my consent, + Of my consent that she should be your wife. + DEMETRIUS. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, + Of this their purpose hither to this wood; + And I in fury hither followed them, + Fair Helena in fancy following me. + But, my good lord, I wot not by what power- + But by some power it is- my love to Hermia, + Melted as the snow, seems to me now + As the remembrance of an idle gaud + Which in my childhood I did dote upon; + And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, + The object and the pleasure of mine eye, + Is only Helena. To her, my lord, + Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia. + But, like a sickness, did I loathe this food; + But, as in health, come to my natural taste, + Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, + And will for evermore be true to it. + THESEUS. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met; + Of this discourse we more will hear anon. + Egeus, I will overbear your will; + For in the temple, by and by, with us + These couples shall eternally be knit. + And, for the morning now is something worn, + Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. + Away with us to Athens, three and three; + We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. + Come, Hippolyta. + Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train + DEMETRIUS. These things seem small and undistinguishable, + Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. + 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, + stol'n hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. + I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. + Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought + I was- there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and + methought I had, but man is but a patch'd 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 call'd 'Bottom's Dream,' because it hath no bottom; and I will + sing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. + Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at + her death. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Athens. 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 marr'd; it goes not + forward, doth it? + QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able + to discharge Pyramus but he. + FLUTE. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in + Athens. + QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for + a sweet voice. + FLUTE. You must say 'paragon.' A paramour is- God bless us!- A + thing of naught. + + Enter SNUG + + SNUG. Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple; and there is two + or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone + forward, we had all been made men. + FLUTE. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day + during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence a day. An the + Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll + be hanged. He would have deserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, + or nothing. + + Enter BOTTOM + + BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts? + QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour! + BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not what; + for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you + everything, right as it fell out. + QUINCE. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. + BOTTOM. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the + Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; good strings to your + beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; + every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our + play is preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and + let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall + hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no + onions nor 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 a fine frenzy rolling, + Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; + And as imagination bodies forth + The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen + Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing + A local habitation and a name. + Such tricks hath strong imagination + That, if it would but apprehend some joy, + It comprehends some bringer of that joy; + Or in the night, imagining some fear, + How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear? + HIPPOLYTA. But all the story of the night told over, + And all their minds transfigur'd so together, + More witnesseth than fancy's images, + And grows to something of great constancy, + But howsoever strange and admirable. + + Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA + + THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. + Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love + Accompany your hearts! + LYSANDER. More than to us + Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! + THESEUS. Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have, + To wear away this long age of three hours + Between our after-supper and bed-time? + Where is our usual manager of mirth? + What revels are in hand? Is there no play + To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? + Call Philostrate. + PHILOSTRATE. Here, mighty Theseus. + THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? + What masque? what music? How shall we beguile + The lazy time, if not with some delight? + PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe; + Make choice of which your Highness will see first. + [Giving a paper] + THESEUS. 'The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung + By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' + We'll none of that: that have I told my love, + In glory of my kinsman Hercules. + 'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, + Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' + That is an old device, and it was play'd + When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. + 'The thrice three Muses mourning for the death + Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.' + That is some satire, keen and critical, + Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. + 'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus + And his love Thisby; very tragical mirth.' + Merry and tragical! tedious and brief! + That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow. + How shall we find the concord of this discord? + PHILOSTRATE. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long, + Which is as brief as I have known a play; + But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, + Which makes it tedious; for in all the play + There is not one word apt, one player fitted. + And tragical, my noble lord, it is; + For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. + Which when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, + Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears + The passion of loud laughter never shed. + THESEUS. What are they that do play it? + PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, + Which never labour'd in their minds till now; + And now have toil'd their 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 practis'd accent in their fears, + And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, + Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, + Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome; + And in the modesty of fearful duty + I read as much as from the rattling tongue + Of saucy and audacious eloquence. + Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity + In least speak most to my capacity. + + Re-enter PHILOSTRATE + + PHILOSTRATE. SO please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd. + THESEUS. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets] + + Enter QUINCE as the PROLOGUE + + PROLOGUE. If we offend, it is with our good will. + That you should think, we come not to offend, + But with good will. To show our simple skill, + That is the true beginning of our end. + Consider then, we come but in despite. + We do not come, as minding to content you, + Our true intent is. All for your delight + We are not here. That you should here repent you, + The actors are at band; 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 play'd on this prologue like a child on a + recorder- a sound, but not in government. + THESEUS. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing im paired, + but all disordered. Who is next? + + Enter, with a trumpet before them, as in dumb show, + PYRAMUS and THISBY, 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 Walls 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 his 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, PYRAMUS, THISBY, + 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 what see I? No Thisby do I see. + O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss, + Curs'd he 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 THISBY + + THISBY. O wall, full often hast thou beard 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! + THISBY. 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. + THISBY. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. + PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. + THISBY. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. + PYRAMUS. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall. + THISBY. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. + PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway? + THISBY. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay. + Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBY + WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; + And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. Exit WALL + THESEUS. Now is the moon used 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 as Snug the joiner am + A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam; + For, if I should as lion come in strife + Into this place, 'twere pity on my life. + THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. + DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. + LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour. + THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion. + DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his + discretion, and the fox carries the goose. + THESEUS. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for + the goose carries not the fox. It is well. Leave it to his + discretion, and let us listen to the Moon. + MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the 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' th' Moon do seem to be. + THESEUS. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should + be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i' th' moon? + DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it + is already in snuff. + HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change! + THESEUS. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is + in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay + the time. + LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon. + MOON. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn is + the moon; I, the Man i' th' Moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; + and this dog, my dog. + DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these + are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisby. + + Re-enter THISBY + + THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love? + LION. [Roaring] O- [THISBY runs off] + DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion. + THESEUS. Well run, Thisby. + HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good + grace. [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit] + THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion. + + Re-enter PYRAMUS + + DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus. + LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd. + 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 he? + 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 liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. + Come, tears, confound; + Out, sword, and wound + The pap of Pyramus; + Ay, that left pap, + Where heart doth hop. [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 yet + prove an ass. + HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back + and finds her lover? + + Re-enter THISBY + + THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her + passion ends the play. + HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a + Pyramus; I hope she will be brief. + DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which + Thisby, 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 moans, videlicet:- + THISBY. Asleep, my love? + What, dead, my dove? + O Pyramus, arise, + Speak, speak. Quite dumb? + Dead, dead? A tomb + Must cover thy sweet eyes. + These lily lips, + This cherry nose, + These yellow cowslip cheeks, + Are gone, are gone; + Lovers, make moan; + His eyes were green as leeks. + O Sisters Three, + Come, come to me, + With hands as pale as milk; + Lay them in gore, + Since you have shore + With shears his thread of silk. + Tongue, not a word. + Come, trusty sword; + Come, blade, my breast imbrue. [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, I assure you; the wall is down that + parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or + to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company? + THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. + Never excuse; for when the players are all dead there need none + to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and + hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine + tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. 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 beguil'd + The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. + A fortnight hold we this solemnity, + In nightly revels and new jollity. Exeunt + + Enter PUCK with a broom + + 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 hallowed house. + I am sent with broom before, + To sweep the dust behind the door. + + Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train + + OBERON. Through the house give glimmering light, + By the dead and drowsy fire; + Every elf and fairy sprite + Hop as light as bird from brier; + And this ditty, after me, + Sing and dance it trippingly. + TITANIA. First, rehearse your song by rote, + To each word a warbling note; + Hand in hand, with fairy grace, + Will we sing, and bless this place. + + [OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing 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 all but PUCK + PUCK. If we shadows have offended, + Think but this, and all is mended, + That you have but slumb'red 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. Exit + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1599 + + +MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + + +by William Shakespeare + + + +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, an old man, his brother. + Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro. + Borachio, follower of Don John. + Conrade, follower of Don John. + Friar Francis. + Dogberry, a Constable. + Verges, a Headborough. + A Sexton. + A Boy. + + Hero, daughter to Leonato. + Beatrice, niece to Leonato. + Margaret, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. + Ursula, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. + + Messengers, Watch, Attendants, etc. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE.--Messina. + + +ACT I. Scene I. +An orchard before Leonato's house. + +Enter Leonato (Governor of Messina), Hero (his Daughter), +and Beatrice (his Niece), with a Messenger. + + Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this + night to Messina. + Mess. He is very near by this. He was not three leagues off when I + left him. + Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? + Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. + Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full + numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on + a young Florentine called Claudio. + Mess. Much deserv'd on his part, and equally rememb'red 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 bett'red expectation than you must expect of me to tell + you how. + Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. + Mess. 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. + Leon. Did he break out into tears? + Mess. In great measure. + Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than + those that are so wash'd. How much better is it to weep at joy + than to joy at weeping! + Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return'd from the wars or no? + Mess. I know none of that name, lady. There was none such in the + army of any sort. + Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? + Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua. + Mess. O, he's return'd, and as pleasant as ever he was. + Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and challeng'd Cupid at + the flight, and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, + subscrib'd for Cupid and challeng'd him at the burbolt. I pray + you, how many hath he kill'd and eaten in these wars? But how + many hath he kill'd? For indeed I promised to eat all of his + killing. + Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll + be meet with you, I doubt it not. + Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. + Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it. He is a + very valiant trencherman; he hath an excellent stomach. + Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. + Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord? + Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuff'd with all honourable + virtues. + Beat. It is so indeed. He is no less than a stuff'd man; but for + the stuffing--well, we are all mortal. + Leon. 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. + Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last conflict four of + his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man govern'd + 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. + Mess. Is't possible? + Beat. Very easily possible. He wears his faith but as the fashion + of his hat; it ever changes with the next block. + Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. + Beat. 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? + Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. + Beat. 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. + Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. + Beat. Do, good friend. + Leon. You will never run mad, niece. + Beat. No, not till a hot January. + Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd. + + Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, and John the Bastard. + + Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, are you come to meet your trouble? The + fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. + Leon. 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. + Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your + daughter. + Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. + Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you ask'd her? + Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. + 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. + Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head + on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. + Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick. + Nobody marks you. + Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? + Beat. 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. + Bene. 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. + Beat. 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. + Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman + or other shall scape a predestinate scratch'd face. + Beat. Scratching could not make it worse an 'twere such a face as + yours were. + Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. + Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. + Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a + continuer. But keep your way, a God's name! I have done. + Beat. You always end with a jade's trick. I know you of old. + Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio and Signior + Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him + we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays + some occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no + hypocrite, but prays from his heart. + Leon. 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. + John. I thank you. I am not of many words, but I thank you. + Leon. Please it your Grace lead on? + Pedro. Your hand, Leonato. We will go together. + Exeunt. Manent Benedick and Claudio. + Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? + Bene. I noted her not, but I look'd on her. + Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? + Bene. 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? + Claud. No. I pray thee speak in sober judgment. + Bene. 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. + Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport. I pray thee tell me truly how + thou lik'st her. + Bene. Would you buy her, that you enquire after her? + Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? + Bene. 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? + Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I look'd on. + Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter. + There's her cousin, an she were not possess'd 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? + Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the + contrary, if Hero would be my wife. + Bene. Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but + he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a + bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i' faith! An thou wilt needs + thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away + Sundays. + + Enter Don Pedro. + + Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you. + Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to + Leonato's? + Bene. I would your Grace would constrain me to tell. + Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. + Bene. 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. + Claud. If this were so, so were it utt'red. + Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: 'It is not so, nor 'twas not so; + but indeed, God forbid it should be so!' + Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be + otherwise. + Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy. + Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. + Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. + Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. + Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. + Claud. That I love her, I feel. + Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. + Bene. 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. + Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of + beauty. + Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force of his + will. + Bene. 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 rechate 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. + Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. + Bene. 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. + Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt + prove a notable argument. + Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and + he that hits me, let him be clapp'd on the shoulder and call'd + Adam. + Pedro. Well, as time shall try. + 'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' + Bene. 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.' + Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad. + Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou + wilt quake for this shortly. + Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. + Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, + good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's, commend me to him and + tell him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made + great preparation. + Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and + so I commit you-- + Claud. To the tuition of God. From my house--if I had it-- + Pedro. The sixth of July. Your loving friend, Benedick. + Bene. 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. + Claud. My liege, your Highness now may do me good. + 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. + Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? + Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only heir. + Dost thou affect her, Claudio? + Claud.O my lord, + When you went onward on this ended action, + I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, + That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand + Than to drive liking to the name of love; + But now I am return'd and that war-thoughts + Have left their places vacant, in their rooms + Come thronging soft and delicate desires, + All prompting me how fair young Hero is, + Saying I lik'd her ere I went to wars. + 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. Wast not to this end + That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? + Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love, + That know love's grief by his complexion! + But lest my liking might too sudden seem, + I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. + 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 practice let us put it presently. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +A room in Leonato's house. + +Enter [at one door] Leonato and [at another door, Antonio] an old man, +brother to Leonato. + + Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he + provided this music? + Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange + news that you yet dreamt not of. + Leon. Are they good? + Ant. 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. + Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? + Ant. A good sharp fellow. I will send for him, and question him + yourself. + Leon. 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. [Exit Antonio.] + + [Enter Antonio's Son with a Musician, and others.] + + [To the Son] Cousin, you know what you have to do. + --[To the Musician] O, I cry you mercy, friend. Go you with me, + and I will use your skill.--Good cousin, have a care this busy + time. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +Another room in Leonato's house.] + +Enter Sir John the Bastard and Conrade, his companion. + + Con. What the goodyear, my lord! Why are you thus out of measure + sad? + John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore + the sadness is without limit. + Con. You should hear reason. + John. And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it? + Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance. + John. I wonder that thou (being, as thou say'st thou art, born + under Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a + mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when + I have cause, and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have + stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, + and tend on no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no + man in his humour. + Con. 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. + John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, + and it better fits my blood to be disdain'd 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 + enfranchis'd 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. + Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? + John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. + + Enter Borachio. + + Who comes here? What news, Borachio? + Bora. I came yonder from a great supper. The Prince your brother is + royally entertain'd by Leonato, and I can give you intelligence + of an intended marriage. + John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? + What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness? + Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. + John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? + Bora. Even he. + John. A proper squire! And who? and who? which way looks he? + Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. + John. A very forward March-chick! How came you to this? + Bora. Being entertain'd 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 + obtain'd her, give her to Count Claudio. + 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? + Con. To the death, my lord. + John. Let us to the great supper. Their cheer is the greater that + I am subdued. Would the cook were o' my mind! Shall we go prove + what's to be done? + Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. Scene I. +A hall in Leonato's house. + +Enter Leonato, [Antonio] his Brother, Hero his Daughter, +and Beatrice his Niece, and a Kinsman; [also Margaret and Ursula]. + + Leon. Was not Count John here at supper? + Ant. I saw him not. + Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am + heart-burn'd an hour after. + Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. + Beat. 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. + Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth, + and half Count John's melancholy in Signior Benedick's face-- + Beat. 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. + Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband if + thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. + Ant. In faith, she's too curst. + Beat. 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. + Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns. + Beat. 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! + Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. + Beat. 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 berrord and lead his apes into hell. + Leon. Well then, go you into hell? + Beat. 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. + Ant. [to Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be rul'd by your + father. + Beat. Yes faith. It is my cousin's duty to make cursy and say, + 'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him + be a handsome fellow, or else make another cursy, and say, + 'Father, as it please me.' + Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. + Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would + it not grieve a woman to be overmaster'd with a piece of valiant + dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? + No, uncle, I'll none. Adam's sons are my brethren, and truly I + hold it a sin to match in my kinred. + Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince do solicit + you in that kind, you know your answer. + Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed + in good time. If the Prince be too important, tell him there is + measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, + Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a + measure, and a 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. + Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. + Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight. + Leon. The revellers are ent'ring, brother. Make good room. + [Exit Antonio.] + + Enter, [masked,] Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthasar. + [With them enter Antonio, also masked. After them enter] + Don John [and Borachio (without masks), who stand aside + and look on during the dance]. + + Pedro. Lady, will you walk a bout 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. + Pedro. With me in your company? + Hero. I may say so when I please. + Pedro. And when please you to say so? + Hero. When I like your favour, for God defend the lute should be + like the case! + Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. + Hero. Why then, your visor should be thatch'd. + Pedro. Speak low if you speak love. [Takes her aside.] + Balth. Well, I would you did like me. + Marg. So would not I for your own sake, for I have many ill + qualities. + Balth. Which is one? + Marg. I say my prayers aloud. + Balth. I love you the better. The hearers may cry Amen. + Marg. God match me with a good dancer! + Balth. Amen. + Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! + Answer, clerk. + Balth. No more words. The clerk is answered. + [Takes her aside.] + Urs. I know you well enough. You are Signior Antonio. + Ant. At a word, I am not. + Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. + Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. + Urs. 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! + Ant. At a word, I am not. + Urs. 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. [ They step aside.] + Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? + Bene. No, you shall pardon me. + Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? + Bene. Not now. + Beat. 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. + Bene. What's he? + Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. + Bene. Not I, believe me. + Beat. Did he never make you laugh? + Bene. I pray you, what is he? + Beat. 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. + Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say. + Beat. Do, do. He'll but break a comparison or two on me; which + peradventure, not marked or not laugh'd 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. + Bene. In every good thing. + Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next + turning. + Dance. Exeunt (all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio]. + 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. + Bora. And that is Claudio. I know him by his bearing. + John. Are you not Signior Benedick? + Claud. You know me well. I am he. + John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love. He is + enamour'd 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. + Claud. How know you he loves her? + John. I heard him swear his affection. + Bora. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her tonight. + John. Come, let us to the banquet. + Exeunt. Manet Claudio. + Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick + But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. + [Unmasks.] + '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! + + Enter Benedick [unmasked]. + + Bene. Count Claudio? + Claud. Yea, the same. + Bene. Come, will you go with me? + Claud. Whither? + Bene. 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. + Claud. I wish him joy of her. + Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier. So they sell + bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have served you + thus? + Claud. I pray you leave me. + Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man! 'Twas the boy that + stole your meat, and you'll beat the post. + Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. Exit. + Bene. 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. + + Enter Don Pedro. + + Pedro. Now, signior, where's the Count? Did you see him? + Bene. 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 off'red 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 whipt. + Pedro. To be whipt? What's his fault? + Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy who, being overjoyed + with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals + it. + Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is + in the stealer. + Bene. 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 stol'n + his bird's nest. + Pedro. I will but teach them to sing and restore them to the owner. + Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith you say + honestly. + Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you. The gentleman that + danc'd with her told her she is much wrong'd by you. + Bene. O, she misus'd me past the endurance of a block! An oak but + with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor + began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not + thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jester, that + I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such + impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark, + with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every + word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, + there were no living near her; she would infect to the North + Star. I would not marry her though she were endowed with all that + Adam had left him before he transgress'd. She would have made + Hercules have turn'd 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. + + Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero. + + Pedro. Look, here she comes. + Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I + will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can + devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the + furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's + foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any + embassage to the Pygmies--rather than hold three words' + conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? + Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. + Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not! I cannot endure my Lady + Tongue. [Exit.] + Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior + Benedick. + Beat. 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. + Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have put him down. + Beat. 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. + Pedro. Why, how now, Count? Wherefore are you sad? + Claud. Not sad, my lord. + Pedro. How then? sick? + Claud. Neither, my lord. + Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but + civil count--civil as an orange, and something of that jealous + complexion. + 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! + Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes. His + Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it! + Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue. + Claud. 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. + Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss + and let not him speak neither. + Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. + Beat. 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. + Claud. And so she doth, cousin. + Beat. 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!' + Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. + Beat. 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. + Pedro. Will you have me, lady? + Beat. 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. + Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes + you, for out o' question you were born in a merry hour. + Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star + danc'd, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy! + Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? + Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle, By your Grace's pardon. Exit. + Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. + Leon. 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 dreamt of unhappiness + and wak'd herself with laughing. + Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. + Leon. O, by no means! She mocks all her wooers out of suit. + Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. + Leon. O Lord, my lord! if they were but a week married, they would + talk themselves mad. + Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church? + Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all + his rites. + Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just + sevennight; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer + my mind. + 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 th' one with th' 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. + Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' + watchings. + Claud. And I, my lord. + Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? + Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a + good husband. + 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 confirm'd honesty. I will teach you how to humour + your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, + [to Leonato and Claudio] with your two helps, will so practise on + Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy + stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, + Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are + the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +A hall in Leonato's house. + +Enter [Don] John and Borachio. + + John. It is so. The Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of + Leonato. + Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. + John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be med'cinable 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? + Bora. Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly that no dishonesty + shall appear in me. + John. Show me briefly how. + Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in + the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. + John. I remember. + Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her + to look out at her lady's chamber window. + John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage? + Bora. 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. + John. What proof shall I make of that? + Bora. Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo + Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue? + John. Only to despite them I will endeavour anything. + Bora. 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 cozen'd with the semblance of + a maid--that you have discover'd 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 call'd assurance and all the + preparation overthrown. + John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in + practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a + thousand ducats. + Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not + shame me. + John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +Leonato's orchard. + +Enter Benedick alone. + + Bene. Boy! + + [Enter Boy.] + + Boy. Signior? + Bene. In my chamber window lies a book. Bring it hither to me in + the orchard. + Boy. I am here already, sir. + Bene. I know that, but I would have thee hence and here again. + (Exit Boy.) I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much + another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, + will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow follies in others, + become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love; and such + a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him + but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor + and the pipe. I have known when he would have walk'd ten mile + afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake + carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain + and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is + he turn'd 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. [Hides.] + + Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio. + Music [within]. + + Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? + Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, + As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! + Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? + Claud. O, very well, my lord. The music ended, + We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. + + Enter Balthasar with Music. + + Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again. + Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice + To slander music any more than once. + 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. + Balth. 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. + Pedro. Nay, pray thee come; + Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, + Do it in notes. + Balth. Note this before my notes: + There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. + Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks! + Note notes, forsooth, and nothing! [Music.] + Bene. [aside] Now divine air! Now is his soul ravish'd! Is it not + strange that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies? + Well, a horn for my money, when all's done. + [Balthasar sings.] + The Song. + + 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 leavy. + Then sigh not so, &c. + + Pedro. By my troth, a good song. + Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. + Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith! Thou sing'st well enough for a shift. + Bene. [aside] An he had been a dog that should have howl'd thus, + they would have hang'd him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no + mischief. I had as live have heard the night raven, come what + plague could have come after it. + 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. + Balth. The best I can, my lord. + Pedro. Do so. Farewell. + Exit Balthasar [with Musicians]. + Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day? that + your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick? + Claud. O, ay!-[Aside to Pedro] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. + --I did never think that lady would have loved any man. + Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote + on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours + seem'd ever to abhor. + Bene. [aside] Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? + Leon. 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. + Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit. + Claud. Faith, like enough. + Leon. O God, counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of passion + came so near the life of passion as she discovers it. + Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? + Claud. [aside] Bait the hook well! This fish will bite. + Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you--you heard my + daughter tell you how. + Claud. She did indeed. + Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me. I would have thought her + spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. + Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord--especially against + Benedick. + Bene. [aside] I should think this a gull but that the white-bearded + fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such + reverence. + Claud. [aside] He hath ta'en th' infection. Hold it up. + Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? + Leon. No, and swears she never will. That's her torment. + Claud. 'Tis true indeed. So your daughter says. 'Shall I,' says + she, 'that have so oft encount'red him with scorn, write to him + that I love him?'" + Leon. 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. + Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest + your daughter told us of. + Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found + 'Benedick' and 'Beatrice' between the sheet? + Claud. That. + Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence, rail'd 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.' + Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her + heart, tears her hair, prays, curses--'O sweet Benedick! God give + me patience!' + Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so. And the ecstasy hath so + much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will + do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true. + Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she + will not discover it. + Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of it and torment the + poor lady worse. + 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. + Claud. And she is exceeding wise. + Pedro. In everything but in loving Benedick. + Leon. 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. + Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me. I would have + daff'd all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you + tell Benedick of it and hear what 'a will say. + Leon. Were it good, think you? + Claud. 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. + 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. + Claud. He is a very proper man. + Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness. + Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise. + Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit. + Claud. And I take him to be valiant. + 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 Christianlike fear. + Leon. 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. + 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? + Claud. Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with good + counsel. + Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first. + 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. + Leon. My lord, will you .walk? Dinner is ready. + [They walk away.] + Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my + expectation. + 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 advances from the arbour.] + + Bene. 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 censur'd. 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 + alters? 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. + + Enter Beatrice. + + Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady! I do spy + some marks of love in her. + Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner. + Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. + Beat. 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. + Bene. You take pleasure then in the message? + Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and + choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well. +Exit. + Bene. 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. Scene I. +Leonato's orchard. + +Enter Hero and two Gentlewomen, Margaret and Ursula. + + Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour. + There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice + Proposing with the Prince and Claudio. + Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursley + 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, ripened by the sun, + Forbid the sun to enter--like favourites, + Made proud by princes, that advance their pride + Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her + To listen our propose. This is thy office. + Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. + Marg. 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.] + + Now begin; + For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs + Close by the ground, to hear our conference. + + [Beatrice hides in the arbour]. + + Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish + Cut with her golden oars the silver stream + And greedily devour the treacherous bait. + So angle we for Beatrice, who even now + Is couched in the woodbine coverture. + Fear you not my part of the dialogue. + Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing + Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. + [They approach the arbour.] + No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful. + I know her spirits are as coy and wild + As haggards of the rock. + Urs. But are you sure + That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? + Hero. So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord. + Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? + Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it; + But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, + To wish him wrestle with affection + And never to let Beatrice know of it. + Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman + Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed + As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? + Hero. O god of love! I know he doth deserve + As much as may be yielded to a man: + But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart + Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice. + Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, + Misprizing 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. + Urs. Sure I think so; + And therefore certainly it were not good + She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it. + Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man, + How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, + But she would spell him backward. If fair-fac'd, + She would swear the gentleman should be her sister; + If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic, + 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. + Urs. 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. + Urs. 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. + Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong! + She cannot be so much without true judgment + (Having so swift and excellent a wit + As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse + So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. + Hero. He is the only man of Italy, + Always excepted my dear Claudio. + Urs. 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. + Urs. 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. + [They walk away.] + Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you! We have caught her, madam. + Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps; + Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. + Exeunt [Hero and Ursula]. + + [Beatrice advances from the arbour.] + + Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? + Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? + Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! + No glory lives behind the back of such. + And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, + Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. + If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee + To bind our loves up in a holy band; + For others say thou dost deserve, and I + Believe it better than reportingly. Exit. + + + + +Scene II. +A room in Leonato's house. + +Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. + + Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go + I toward Arragon. + Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me. + Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your + marriage as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear + it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from + the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth. + He hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the little + hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a + bell; and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks, + his tongue speaks. + Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. + Leon. So say I. Methinks you are sadder. + Claud. I hope he be in love. + Pedro. Hang him, truant! There's no true drop of blood in him to be + truly touch'd with love. If he be sad, he wants money. + Bene. I have the toothache. + Pedro. Draw it. + Bene. Hang it! + Claud. You must hang it first and draw it afterwards. + Pedro. What? sigh for the toothache? + Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm. + Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it. + Claud. Yet say I he is in love. + 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 to-day, 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. + Claud. 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? + Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? + Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the + old ornament of his cheek hath already stuff'd tennis balls. + Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. + Pedro. Nay, 'a rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out by + that? + Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love. + Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. + Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? + Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they say + of him. + Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is new-crept into a + lutestring, and now govern'd by stops. + Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude, + he is in love. + Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. + Pedro. That would I know too. I warrant, one that knows him not. + Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for + him. + Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards. + Bene. 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.] + Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice! + Claud. '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 John the Bastard. + + John. My lord and brother, God save you. + Pedro. Good den, brother. + John. If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with you. + Pedro. In private? + John. If it please you. Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I + would speak of concerns him. + Pedro. What's the matter? + John. [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow? + Pedro. You know he does. + John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. + Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it. + 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! + Pedro. Why, what's the matter? + John. I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances short'ned (for + she has been too long a-talking of), the lady is disloyal. + Claud. Who? Hero? + John. Even she--Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. + Claud. Disloyal? + 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 ent'red, 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. + Claud. May this be so? + Pedro. I will not think it. + 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. + Claud. If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her + to-morrow, in the congregation where I should wed, there will I + shame her. + Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with + thee to disgrace her. + John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses. + Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. + Pedro. O day untowardly turned! + Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! + John. O plague right well prevented! + So will you say when you have seen the Sequel. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +A street. + +Enter Dogberry and his compartner [Verges], with the Watch. + + Dog. Are you good men and true? + Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, + body and soul. + Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them if they should + have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince's watch. + Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. + Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable? + 1. Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write + and read. + Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath bless'd you with a + good name. To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but + to write and read comes by nature. + 2. Watch. Both which, Master Constable-- + Dog. You have. I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your + favour, sir, why, give God thanks and make no boast of it; and + for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no + need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most + senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch. Therefore + bear you the lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend + all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's + name. + 2. Watch. How if 'a will not stand? + Dog. 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. + Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the + Prince's subjects. + Dog. 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. + 2. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to + a watch. + Dog. 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 stol'n. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses + and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. + 2. Watch. How if they will not? + Dog. 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. + 2. Watch. Well, sir. + Dog. 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 your honesty. + 2. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on + him? + Dog. Truly, by your office you may; but I think they that touch + pitch will be defil'd. 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. + Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. + Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who + hath any honesty in him. + Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the + nurse and bid her still it. + 2. Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us? + Dog. 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. + Verg. 'Tis very true. + Dog. 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. + Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think 'a cannot. + Dog. 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. + Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. + Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night. An there be any matter + of weight chances, call up me. Keep your fellows' counsels and + your own, and good night. Come, neighbour. + 2. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge. Let us go sit here + upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed. + Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about + Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, + there is a great coil to-night. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech + you. Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges]. + + Enter Borachio and Conrade. + + Bora. What, Conrade! + 2. Watch. [aside] Peace! stir not! + Bora. Conrade, I say! + Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow. + Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd! I thought there would a scab + follow. + Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy + tale. + Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles + rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. + 2. Watch. [aside] Some treason, masters. Yet stand close. + Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. + Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear? + Bora. 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. + Con. I wonder at it. + Bora. That shows thou art unconfirm'd. Thou knowest that the + fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. + Con. Yes, it is apparel. + Bora. I mean the fashion. + Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. + Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But seest thou + not what a deformed thief this fashion is? + 2. Watch. [aside] I know that Deformed. 'A bas been a vile thief + this seven year; 'a goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember + his name. + Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? + Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house. + Bora. 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 reechy painting, sometime like god Bel's priests + in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in + the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as + massy as his club? + Con. 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? + Bora. 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. + Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero? + Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my + master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which + first possess'd 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 enrag'd; 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'ernight and send her home again without a husband. + 2. Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name stand! + 1. Watch. Call up the right Master Constable. We have here + recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known + in the commonwealth. + 2. Watch. And one Deformed is one of them. I know him; 'a wears a + lock. + Con. Masters, masters-- + 1. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. + Con. Masters-- + 2. Watch. Never speak, we charge you. Let us obey you to go with + us. + Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of + these men's bills. + Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +A Room in Leonato's house. + +Enter Hero, and Margaret and Ursula. + + Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice and desire her to rise. + Urs. I will, lady. + Hero. And bid her come hither. + Urs. Well. [Exit.] + Marg. Troth, I think your other rebato were better. + Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. + Marg. 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. + Marg. 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. + Marg. By my troth, 's but a nightgown in respect of yours-- + cloth-o'-gold and cuts, and lac'd with silver, set with pearls + down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with + a blush 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. + Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. + Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? + Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage + honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without + marriage? I think you would have me say, 'saving your reverence, + a husband.' An bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll + offend nobody. Is there any harm in 'the heavier for a husband'? + None, I think, an 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. + Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. + Hero. Why, how now? Do you speak in the sick tune? + Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. + Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love.' That goes without a burden. Do + you sing it, and I'll dance it. + Beat. Yea, 'Light o' love' with your heels! then, if your husband + have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barnes. + Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. + Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. + By my troth, I am exceeding ill. Hey-ho! + Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? + Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. + Marg. Well, an you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more sailing by + the star. + Beat. What means the fool, trow? + Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire! + Hero. These gloves the Count sent me, they are an excellent + perfume. + Beat. I am stuff'd, cousin; I cannot smell. + Marg. A maid, and stuff'd! There's goodly catching of cold. + Beat. O, God help me! God help me! How long have you profess'd + apprehension? + Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely? + Beat. It is not seen enough. You should wear it in your cap. By my + troth, I am sick. + Marg. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it + to your heart. It is the only thing for a qualm. + Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. + Beat. Benedictus? why benedictus? You have some moral in this + 'benedictus.' + Marg. 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. + Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? + Marg. Not a false gallop. + + Enter Ursula. + + Urs. Madam, withdraw. The Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don + John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to + church. + Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. + [Exeunt.] + + + + +Scene V. +The hall in Leonato's house. + +Enter Leonato and the Constable [Dogberry] and the Headborough [verges]. + + Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? + Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns + you nearly. + Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me. + Dog. Marry, this it is, sir. + Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. + Leon. What is it, my good friends? + Dog. 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. + Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an + old man and no honester than I. + Dog. Comparisons are odorous. Palabras, neighbour Verges. + Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. + Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke's + officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a + king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. + Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah? + Dog. Yea, in '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. + Verg. And so am I. + Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. + Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's + presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in + Messina. + Dog. 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 worshipp'd; all men are not alike, alas, good + neighbour! + Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. + Dog. Gifts that God gives. + Leon. I must leave you. + Dog. One word, sir. Our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two + aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined + before your worship. + Leon. Take their examination yourself and bring it me. I am now in + great haste, as it may appear unto you. + Dog. It shall be suffigance. + Leon. Drink some wine ere you go. Fare you well. + + [Enter a Messenger.] + + Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her + husband. + Leon. I'll wait upon them. I am ready. + [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.] + Dog. Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring + his pen and inkhorn to the jail. We are now to examination these + men. + Verg. And we must do it wisely. + Dog. 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 jail. + [Exeunt.] + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. Scene I. +A church. + +Enter Don Pedro, [John the] Bastard, Leonato, Friar [Francis], Claudio, +Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, [and Attendants]. + + Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief. Only to the plain form of + marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties + afterwards. + Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? + Claud. No. + Leon. To be married to her. Friar, you come to marry her. + Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count? + Hero. I do. + Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should + not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it. + Claud. Know you any, Hero? + Hero. None, my lord. + Friar. Know you any, Count? + Leon. I dare make his answer--none. + Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not + knowing what they do! + Bene. How now? interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as, + ah, ha, he! + Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: + Will you with free and unconstrained soul + Give me this maid your daughter? + Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. + Claud. And what have I to give you back whose worth + May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? + Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. + Claud. 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. + Leon. What do you mean, my lord? + Claud. Not to be married, + Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. + Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, + Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth + And made defeat of her virginity-- + Claud. 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? + Claud. Out on the 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 pamp'red animals + That rage in savage sensuality. + Hero. Is my lord well that he doth speak so wide? + Leon. Sweet Prince, why speak not you? + Pedro. What should I speak? + I stand dishonour'd that have gone about + To link my dear friend to a common stale. + Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? + John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. + Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. + Hero. 'True!' O God! + Claud. Leonato, stand I here? + Is this the Prince, Is this the Prince's brother? + Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? + Leon. All this is so; but what of this, my lord? + Claud. 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. + Leon. 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? + Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. + Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name + With any just reproach? + Claud. 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. + Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, + I am sorry you must hear. Upon my honour, + Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count + Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night + Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window, + Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, + Confess'd the vile encounters they have had + A thousand times in secret. + John. Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my lord-- + Not to be spoke of; + There is not chastity, enough in language + Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, + I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. + Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been + If half thy outward graces had been plac'd + About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart! + But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! Farewell, + Thou pure impiety and impious purity! + For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, + And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, + To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, + And never shall it more be gracious. + Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? + [Hero swoons.] + Beat. Why, how now, cousin? Wherefore sink you down? + John. Come let us go. These things, come thus to light, + Smother her spirits up. + [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don Juan, and Claudio.] + Bene. How doth the lady? + Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle! + Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar! + Leon. O Fate, take not away thy heavy hand! + Death is the fairest cover for her shame + That may be wish'd for. + Beat. How now, cousin Hero? + Friar. Have comfort, lady. + Leon. Dost thou look up? + Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not? + Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing + Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny + The story that is printed in her blood? + Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes; + For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, + Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, + Myself would on the rearward of reproaches + Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? + Child I for that at frugal nature's frame? + O, one too much by thee! Why had I one? + Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? + Why had I not with charitable hand + Took up a beggar's issue at my gates, + Who smirched thus and mir'd with infamy, + I might have said, 'No part of it is mine; + This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? + But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, + And mine that I was proud on--mine so much + That I myself was to myself not mine, + Valuing of her--why, she, O, she is fall'n + 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! + Bene. Sir, sir, be patient. + For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, + I know not what to say. + Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! + Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? + Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night, + I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow + Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made + Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! + Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie, + Who lov'd her so that, speaking of her foulness, + Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. + Friar. Hear me a little; + For I have only been silent so long, + And given way unto this course of fortune, + By noting of the lady. I have mark'd + A thousand blushing apparitions + To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames + In angel whiteness 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 observation, + Which with experimental seal doth warrant + The tenure of my book; trust not my age, + My reverence, calling, nor divinity, + If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here + Under some biting error. + Leon. Friar, it cannot be. + Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left + Is that she will not add to her damnation + A sin of perjury: she not denies it. + Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse + That which appears in proper nakedness? + Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? + Hero. They know that do accuse me; I know none. + If I know more of any man alive + Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, + Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father, + Prove you that any man with me convers'd + At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight + Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, + Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death! + Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes. + Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; + And if their wisdoms be misled in this, + The practice of it lives in John the bastard, + Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. + Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, + These hands shall tear her. If they wrong her honour, + The proudest of them shall well hear of it. + Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, + Nor age so eat up my invention, + Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, + Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, + But they shall find awak'd in such a kind + Both strength of limb and policy of mind, + Ability in means, and choice of friends, + To quit me of them throughly. + Friar. Pause awhile + And let my counsel sway you in this case. + Your daughter here the princes left for dead, + Let her awhile be secretly kept in, + And publish it that she is dead indeed; + Maintain a mourning ostentation, + And on your family's old monument + Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites + That appertain unto a burial. + Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do? + Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf + Change slander to remorse. That is some good. + But not for that dream I on this strange course, + But on this travail look for greater birth. + She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, + Upon the instant that she was accus'd, + Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd + Of every hearer; for it so falls out + That what we have we prize not to the worth + Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, + Why, then we rack the value, then we find + The virtue that possession would not show us + Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio. + When he shall hear she died upon his words, + Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep + Into his study of imagination, + And every lovely organ of her life + Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, + More moving, delicate, and full of life, + Into the eye and prospect of his soul + Than when she liv'd indeed. Then shall he mourn + (If ever love had interest in his liver) + And wish he had not so accused her-- + No, though be 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. + Bene. 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. + Leon. Being that I flow in grief, + The smallest twine may lead me. + Friar. 'Tis well consented. Presently away; + For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. + Come, lady, die to live. This wedding day + Perhaps is but prolong'd. Have patience and endure. + Exeunt [all but Benedick and Beatrice]. + Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? + Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. + Bene. I will not desire that. + Beat. You have no reason. I do it freely. + Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. + Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right + her! + Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? + Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. + Bene. May a man do it? + Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. + Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that + strange? + Beat. 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. + Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. + Beat. Do not swear, and eat it. + Bene. I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat + it that says I love not you. + Beat. Will you not eat your word? + Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love + thee. + Beat. Why then, God forgive me! + Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice? + Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I + loved you. + Bene. And do it with all thy heart. + Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to + protest. + Bene. Come, bid me do anything for thee. + Beat. Kill Claudio. + Bene. Ha! not for the wide world! + Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. + Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. + Beat. I am gone, though I am here. There is no love in you. Nay, I + pray you let me go. + Bene. Beatrice-- + Beat. In faith, I will go. + Bene. We'll be friends first. + Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine + enemy. + Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? + Beat. Is 'a 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, uncover'd slander, unmitigated + rancour--O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the + market place. + Bene. Hear me, Beatrice! + Beat. Talk with a man out at a window!-a proper saying! + Bene. Nay but Beatrice-- + Beat. Sweet Hero! she is wrong'd, she is sland'red, she is undone. + Bene. Beat-- + Beat. 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 cursies, valour into compliment, + and men are only turn'd 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. + Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee. + Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. + Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? + Beat. Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul. + Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, 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.] + + + + +Scene II. +A prison. + +Enter the Constables [Dogberry and Verges] and the Sexton, in gowns, +[and the Watch, with Conrade and] Borachio. + + Dog. Is our whole dissembly appear'd? + Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. + Sex. Which be the malefactors? + Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner. + Verg. Nay, that's certain. We have the exhibition to examine. + Sex. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them + come before Master Constable. + Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, + friend? + Bor. Borachio. + Dog. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah? + Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. + Dog. Write down Master Gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve + God? + Both. Yea, sir, we hope. + Dog. 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? + Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. + Dog. 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. + Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. + Dog. Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. + Have you writ down that they are none? + Sex. Master Constable, you go not the way to examine. You must call + forth the watch that are their accusers. + Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let the watch come forth. + Masters, I charge you in the Prince's name accuse these men. + 1. Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John the Prince's brother + was a villain. + Dog. Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, + to call a prince's brother villain. + Bora. Master Constable-- + Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace. I do not like thy look, I promise + thee. + Sex. What heard you him say else? + 2. Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John + for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully. + Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed. + Verg. Yea, by th' mass, that it is. + Sex. What else, fellow? + 1. Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to + disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. + Dog. O villain! thou wilt be condemn'd into everlasting redemption + for this. + Sex. What else? + Watchmen. This is all. + Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is + this morning secretly stol'n away. Hero was in this manner + accus'd, in this manner refus'd, 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.] + Dog. Come, let them be opinion'd. + Verg. Let them be in the hands-- + Con. Off, coxcomb! + Dog. God's my life, where's the sexton? Let him write down the + Prince's officer coxcomb. Come, bind them.--Thou naughty varlet! + Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. + Dog. 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 prov'd 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 everything handsome about him. Bring him + away. O that I had been writ down an ass! + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. Scene I. +The street, near Leonato's house. + +Enter Leonato and his brother [ Antonio]. + + Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself, + And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief + Against yourself. + Leon. I pray thee cease thy counsel, + Which falls into mine ears as profitless + As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel, + Nor let no comforter delight mine ear + But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. + Bring me a father that so lov'd his child, + Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, + And bid him speak to me 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. + Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. + Leon. 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. + Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself. + Make those that do offend you suffer too. + Leon. 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. + + Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. + + Ant. Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily. + Pedro. Good den, Good den. + Claud. Good day to both of you. + Leon. Hear you, my lords! + Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. + Leon. Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord. + Are you so hasty now? Well, all is one. + Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. + Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, + Some of us would lie low. + Claud. Who wrongs him? + Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou! + Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; + I fear thee not. + Claud. Mary, beshrew my hand + If it should give your age such cause of fear. + In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. + Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me + I speak not like a dotard nor a fool, + As under privilege of age to brag + What I have done being young, or what would do, + Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head, + Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me + That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by + And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, + Do challenge thee to trial of a man. + I say thou hast belied mine innocent child; + Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, + And she lied buried with her ancestors- + O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, + Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany! + Claud. My villany? + Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say. + Pedro. You say not right, old man + Leon. My lord, my lord, + I'll prove it on his body if he dare, + Despite his nice fence and his active practice, + His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. + Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you. + Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child. + If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. + And. 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. + Leon. Brother-- + Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd my niece, + And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains, + That dare as well answer a man indeed + As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. + Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops! + Leon. Brother Anthony-- + Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea, + And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple, + Scambling, outfacing, fashion-monging boys, + That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, + Go anticly, show outward hideousness, + And speak off half a dozen dang'rous words, + How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst; + And this is all. + Leon. But, brother Anthony-- + Ant. Come, 'tis no matter. + Do not you meddle; let me deal in this. + Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. + My heart is sorry for your daughter's death; + But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing + But what was true, and very full of proof. + Leon. My lord, my lord-- + Pedro. I will not hear you. + Leon. No? Come, brother, away!--I will be heard. + Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. + Exeunt ambo. + + Enter Benedick. + + Pedro. See, see! Here comes the man we went to seek. + Claud. Now, signior, what news? + Bene. Good day, my lord. + Pedro. Welcome, signior. You are almost come to part almost a fray. + Claud. We had lik'd to have had our two noses snapp'd off with two + old men without teeth. + Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What think'st thou? Had we fought, + I doubt we should have been too young for them. + Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek + you both. + Claud. 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? + Bene. It is in my scabbard. Shall I draw it? + Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? + Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their + wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrel--draw to + pleasure us. + Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick or + angry? + Claud. What, courage, man! What though care kill'd a cat, thou hast + mettle enough in thee to kill care. + Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career an you charge it + against me. I pray you choose another subject. + Claud. Nay then, give him another staff; this last was broke cross. + Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. I think he be angry + indeed. + Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. + Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? + Claud. God bless me from a challenge! + Bene. [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 kill'd a + sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear + from you. + Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. + Pedro. What, a feast, a feast? + Claud. I' faith, I thank him, he hath bid me to a calve'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? + Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. + Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd 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 proper'st man in Italy. + Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not. + 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. + Claud. All, all! and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the + garden. + Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the + sensible Benedick's head? + Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick, the married + man'? + Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind. I will leave you now to + your gossiplike humour. You break jests as braggards 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 + kill'd a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he + and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him. + [Exit.] + Pedro. He is in earnest. + Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the + love of Beatrice. + Pedro. And hath challeng'd thee. + Claud. Most sincerely. + Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and + hose and leaves off his wit! + + Enter Constables [Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch, leading] + Conrade and Borachio. + + Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to + such a man. + Pedro. But, soft you, let me be! Pluck up, my heart, and be sad! + Did he not say my brother was fled? + Dog. 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 look'd to. + Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men bound? Borachio one. + Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord. + Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done? + Dog. 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. + 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. + Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and by my troth + there's one meaning well suited. + 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? + Bora. 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 disgrac'd 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. + Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? + Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. + Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? + Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. + Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery, + And fled he is upon this villany. + Claud. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appear + In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first. + Dog. 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. + Verg. Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too. + + Enter Leonato, his brother [Antonio], and the Sexton. + + Leon. 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? + Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. + Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd + Mine innocent child? + Bora. Yea, even I alone. + Leon. 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. + Claud. 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. + 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. + Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live- + That were impossible; but I pray you both, + Possess the people in Messina here + How innocent she died; and if your love + Can labour aught in sad invention, + Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, + And sing it to her bones--sing it 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 giv'n her cousin, + And so dies my revenge. + Claud. O noble sir! + Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me. + I do embrace your offer; and dispose + For henceforth of poor Claudio. + Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; + To-night I take my leave. This naughty man + Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret, + Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong, + Hir'd to it by your brother. + Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; + Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me; + But always hath been just and virtuous + In anything that I do know by her. + Dog. 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 rememb'red in his punishment. And also the watch heard them + talk of one Deformed. They say he wears a key in his ear, and a + lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's name, the which he + hath us'd 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. + Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. + Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth, + and I praise God for you. + Leon. There's for thy pains. [Gives money.] + Dog. God save the foundation! + Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. + Dog. 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 wish'd, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour. + Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges]. + Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. + Ant. Farewell, my lords. We look for you to-morrow. + Pedro. We will not fall. + Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. + [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.] + Leon. [to the Watch] Bring you these fellows on.--We'll talk with + Margaret, + How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Leonato's orchard. + +Enter Benedick and Margaret [meeting]. + + Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands + by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. + Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty? + Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come + over it; for in most comely truth thou deservest it. + Marg. To have no man come over me? Why, shall I always keep below + stairs? + Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth--it catches. + Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit but hurt + not. + Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret: it will not hurt a woman. + And so I pray thee call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. + Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own. + Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a + vice, and they are dangerous weapons for maids. + Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs. + Bene. 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 book full of + these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the + even road of a blank verse--why, they were never so truly turn'd + 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 cannot woo in festival + terms. + + Enter Beatrice. + + Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd thee? + Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. + Bene. O, stay but till then! + Beat. 'Then' is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet, ere I go, let + me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath + pass'd between you and Claudio. + Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. + Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul + breath, and foul breath is noisome. Therefore I will depart + unkiss'd. + Bene. 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? + Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd 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? + Bene. Suffer love!--a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I + love thee against my will. + Beat. 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. + Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. + Beat. It appears not in this confession. There's not one wise man + among twenty, that will praise himself. + Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in the time of + good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb + ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell + rings and the widow weeps. + Beat. And how long is that, think you? + Bene. 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? + Beat. Very ill. + Bene. And how do you? + Beat. Very ill too. + Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for + here comes one in haste. + + Enter Ursula. + + Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home. + It is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accus'd, the Prince + and Claudio mightily abus'd, and Don John is the author of all, + who is fled and gone. Will you come presently? + Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? + Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried thy + eyes; and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +A churchyard. + +Enter Claudio, Don Pedro, and three or four with tapers, +[followed by Musicians]. + + Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? + Lord. It is, my lord. + Claud. [reads from a scroll] + + Epitaph. + + Done to death by slanderous tongues + Was the Hero that here lies. + Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, + Gives her fame which never dies. + So the life that died with shame + Lives in death with glorious fame. + + Hang thou there upon the tomb, + [Hangs up the scroll.] + 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. + + Claud. Now unto thy bones good night! + Yearly will I do this rite. + 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. + Claud. Good morrow, masters. Each his several way. + Pedro. Come, let us hence and put on other weeds, + And then to Leonato's we will go. + Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds + Than this for whom we rend'red up this woe. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV +The hall in Leonato's house. + +Enter Leonato, Benedick, [Beatrice,] Margaret, Ursula, Antonio, +Friar [Francis], Hero. + + Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? + Leon. So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus'd her + Upon the error that you heard debated. + But Margaret was in some fault for this, + Although against her will, as it appears + In the true course of all the question. + Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. + Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd + To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. + Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, + Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, + And when I send for you, come hither mask'd. + Exeunt Ladies. + The Prince and Claudio promis'd 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. + Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. + Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. + Friar. To do what, signior? + Bene. 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. + Leon. That eye my daughter lent her. 'Tis most true. + Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. + Leon. The sight whereof I think you had from me, + From Claudio, and the Prince; but what's your will? + Bene. 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. + Leon. My heart is with your liking. + Friar. And my help. + + Enter Don Pedro and Claudio and two or three other. + + Here comes the Prince and Claudio. + Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. + Leon. Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio. + We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd + To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? + Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. + Leon. Call her forth, brother. Here's the friar ready. + [Exit Antonio.] + Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter + That you have such a February face, + So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? + Claud. 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. + Bene. 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. + + Enter [Leonato's] brother [Antonio], Hero, Beatrice, + Margaret, Ursula, [the ladies wearing masks]. + + Claud. For this I owe you. Here comes other reckonings. + Which is the lady I must seize upon? + Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. + Claud. Why then, she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face. + Leon. No, that you shall not till you take her hand + Before this friar and swear to marry her. + Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar. + I am your husband if you like of me. + Hero. And when I liv'd I was your other wife; [Unmasks.] + And when you lov'd you were my other husband. + Claud. Another Hero! + Hero. Nothing certainer. + One Hero died defil'd; but I do live, + And surely as I live, I am a maid. + Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! + Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd. + Friar. All this amazement can I qualify, + When, after that the holy rites are ended, + I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death. + Meantime let wonder seem familiar, + And to the chapel let us presently. + Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? + Beat. [unmasks] I answer to that name. What is your will? + Bene. Do not you love me? + Beat. Why, no; no more than reason. + Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the Prince, and Claudio + Have been deceived; for they swore you did. + Beat. Do not you love me? + Bene. Troth, no; no more than reason. + Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula + Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. + Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. + Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. + Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me? + Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. + Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. + Claud. 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, stol'n from her pocket, + Containing her affection unto Benedick. + Bene. A miracle! Here's our own hands against our hearts. + Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. + Beat. 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. + Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth. [Kisses her.] + Beat. 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 unbruis'd, and love my + cousin. + Claud. I had well hop'd thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I + might have cudgell'd thee out of thy single life, to make thee a + double-dealer, which out of question thou wilt be if my cousin do + not look exceeding narrowly to thee. + Bene. 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. + Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. + Bene. First, of my word! Therefore play, music. Prince, thou art + sad. Get thee a wife, get thee a wife! There is no staff more + reverent than one tipp'd with horn. + + Enter Messenger. + + Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, + And brought with armed men back to Messina. + Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow. I'll devise thee brave + punishments for him. Strike up, pipers! + Dance. [Exeunt.] + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1605 + + +THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + OTHELLO, the Moor, general of the Venetian forces + DESDEMONA, his wife + IAGO, ensign to Othello + EMILIA, his wife, lady-in-waiting to Desdemona + CASSIO, lieutenant to Othello + THE DUKE OF VENICE + BRABANTIO, Venetian Senator, father of Desdemona + GRATIANO, nobleman of Venice, brother of Brabantio + LODOVICO, nobleman of Venice, kinsman of Brabantio + RODERIGO, rejected suitor of Desdemona + BIANCA, mistress of Cassio + MONTANO, a Cypriot official + A Clown in service to Othello + Senators, Sailors, Messengers, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and + Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: Venice and Cyprus + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Venice. A street. + +Enter Roderigo and Iago. + + RODERIGO. Tush, never tell me! I take it much unkindly + That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse + As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. + IAGO. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me. + If ever I did dream of such a matter, + Abhor me. + RODERIGO. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. + IAGO. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, + In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, + Off-capp'd to him; and, by the faith of man, + I know my price, I am worth no worse a place. + But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, + Evades them, with a bumbast circumstance + Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war, + And, in conclusion, + Nonsuits my mediators; for, "Certes," says he, + "I have already chose my officer." + And what was he? + Forsooth, a great arithmetician, + One Michael Cassio, a Florentine + (A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife) + That never set a squadron in the field, + Nor the division of a battle knows + More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, + Wherein the toged consuls can propose + As masterly as he. Mere prattle without practice + Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election; + And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof + At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds + Christian and heathen, must be belee'd and calm'd + By debitor and creditor. This counter-caster, + He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, + And I- God bless the mark!- his Moorship's ancient. + RODERIGO. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. + IAGO. Why, there's no remedy. 'Tis the curse of service, + Preferment goes by letter and affection, + And not by old gradation, where each second + Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself + Whether I in any just term am 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 complement extern, 'tis not long after + But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve + For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. + RODERIGO. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, + If he can carry't thus! + IAGO. Call up her father, + Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight, + Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen, + And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, + Plague him with flies. Though that his joy be joy, + Yet throw such changes of vexation on't + As it may lose some color. + RODERIGO. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. + IAGO. Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell + As when, by night and negligence, the fire + Is spied in populous cities. + RODERIGO. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! + IAGO. Awake! What, ho, Brabantio! Thieves! Thieves! 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 tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise! + Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, + Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you. + Arise, I say! + BRABANTIO. What, have you lost your wits? + RODERIGO. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? + BRABANTIO. Not I. What are you? + RODERIGO. My name is Roderigo. + BRABANTIO. The worser welcome. + I have 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 are a villain. + IAGO. You are- a senator. + BRABANTIO. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. + RODERIGO. Sir, I will answer anything. But, I beseech you, + If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, + As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, + At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, + Transported with no worse nor better guard + But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, + To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor- + If this be known to you, and your allowance, + We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; + But if you know not this, my manners tell me + We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe + That, from the sense of all civility, + I thus would play and trifle with your reverence. + Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, + I say again, hath made a gross revolt, + Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes + In an extravagant and wheeling stranger + Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself: + If she be in her chamber or your house, + Let loose on me the justice of the state + For thus deluding you. + BRABANTIO. Strike on the tinder, ho! + Give me a taper! Call up all my people! + This accident is not unlike my dream; + Belief of it oppresses me already. + Light, I say, light! Exit 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 check, + Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd + With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, + Which even now stands 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, in his nightgown, 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. + + + + +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 murther. 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 honor + 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 honor, + 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 quests + To search you out. + OTHELLO. 'Tis well I am found by you. + I will but spend a word here in the house + And go with you. Exit. + CASSIO. Ancient, what makes he here? + IAGO. Faith, he tonight hath boarded a land carack; + If it prove lawful prize, he's made forever. + 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 shunn'd + The wealthy, curled darlings of our nation, + Would ever have, to incur a general mock, + Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom + Of such a thing as thou- to fear, not to delight. + Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense + That thou hast practiced 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 practicer + 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. + + + + +SCENE III. +A council chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; +Officers attending. + + DUKE. There is no composition in these news + That gives them credit. + FIRST SENATOR. Indeed they are disproportion'd; + My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. + DUKE. And mine, a hundred and forty. + SECOND SENATOR. And mine, two hundred. + But though they jump not on a just account- + As in these cases, where the aim reports, + 'Tis oft with difference- yet do they all confirm + A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. + DUKE. Nay, it is possible enough to judgement. + I do not so secure me in the error, + But the main article I do approve + In fearful sense. + SAILOR. [Within.] What, ho! What, ho! What, ho! + FIRST OFFICER. A messenger from the galleys. + + Enter Sailor. + + DUKE. Now, what's the business? + SAILOR. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes, + So was I bid report here to the state + By Signior Angelo. + DUKE. How say you by this change? + FIRST SENATOR. This cannot be, + By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant + To keep us in false gaze. When we consider + The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, + And let ourselves again but understand + That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, + So may he with more facile question bear it, + For that it stands not in such warlike brace, + But altogether lacks the abilities + That Rhodes is dress'd in. If we make thought of this, + We must not think the Turk is so unskillful + To leave that latest which concerns him first, + Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, + To wake and wage a danger profitless. + DUKE. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. + FIRST OFFICER. Here is more news. + + Enter a Messenger. + + MESSENGER. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, + Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, + Have there injointed them with an after fleet. + FIRST SENATOR. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? + MESSENGER. Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem + Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance + Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, + Your trusty and most valiant servitor, + With his free duty recommends you thus, + And prays you to believe him. + DUKE. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. + Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? + FIRST SENATOR. He's now in Florence. + DUKE. Write from us to him, post-post-haste dispatch. + FIRST SENATOR. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. + + Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers. + + DUKE. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you + Against the general enemy Ottoman. + [To Brabantio.] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; + We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. + BRABANTIO. So did I yours. Good your Grace, pardon me: + Neither my place nor aught I heard of business + Hath 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. Why, what's the matter? + BRABANTIO. My daughter! O, my daughter! + ALL. Dead? + BRABANTIO. Ay, to me. + She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted + By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; + For nature so preposterously to err, + Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, + Sans witchcraft could not. + DUKE. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding + Hath thus 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. + ALL. We are very sorry for't. + DUKE. [To Othello.] What in your own part can you say to this? + BRABANTIO. Nothing, but this is so. + OTHELLO. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, + My very noble and 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 blest 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, everything- + To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! + It is judgement maim'd and most imperfect, + That will confess perfection so could err + Against all rules of nature, and must be driven + To find out practices of cunning hell + Why this should be. I therefore vouch again + That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, + Or with some dram conjured to this effect, + He wrought upon her. + DUKE. To vouch this is no proof, + Without more certain and more overt test + Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods + Of modern seeming do prefer against him. + FIRST SENATOR. But, Othello, speak. + Did you by indirect and forced courses + Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? + Or came it by request, and such fair question + As soul to soul affordeth? + OTHELLO. I do beseech you, + Send for the lady to the Sagittary, + And let her speak of me before her father. + If you do find me foul in her report, + The trust, the office I do hold of you, + Not only take away, but let your sentence + Even fall upon my life. + DUKE. Fetch Desdemona hither. + OTHELLO. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place. + Exeunt Iago and Attendants. + And till she come, as truly as to heaven + I do confess the vices of my blood, + So justly to your grave ears I'll present + How I did thrive in this fair lady's love + And she in mine. + DUKE. Say it, Othello. + OTHELLO. Her father 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 pass'd. + I ran it through, even from my boyish days + To the very moment that he bade me tell it: + Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, + Of moving accidents by flood and field, + Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' 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. I think this tale would win my daughter too. + Good Brabantio, + Take up this mangled matter at the best: + Men do their broken weapons rather use + Than their bare hands. + BRABANTIO. I pray you, hear her speak. + If she confess that she was half the wooer, + Destruction on my head, if my bad blame + Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress. + Do you perceive in all this noble company + Where most you owe obedience? + DESDEMONA. My noble father, + I do perceive here a divided duty. + To you I am bound for life and education; + My life and education both do learn me + How to respect you; you are the lord of duty, + I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband, + And so much duty as my mother show'd + To you, preferring you before her father, + So much I challenge that I may profess + Due to the Moor, my lord. + BRABANTIO. God be with you! I have done. + Please it your Grace, on to the state affairs; + I had rather to adopt a child than get it. + Come hither, Moor. + I here do give thee that with all my heart + Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart + I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, + I am glad at soul I have no other child; + For thy escape would teach me tyranny, + To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. + DUKE. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence + Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers + Into your favor. + 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. The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. + Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and + though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, + yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer + voice on you. You must therefore be content to slubber the gloss + of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous + expedition. + OTHELLO. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, + Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war + My thrice-driven bed of down. I do agnize + A natural and prompt alacrity + I find in hardness and do undertake + 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. 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. 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 honors 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 seel 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. Be it as you shall privately determine, + Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste, + And speed must answer't: you must hence tonight. + DESDEMONA. Tonight, my lord? + DUKE. This night. + OTHELLO. With all my heart. + DUKE. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. + Othello, leave some officer behind, + And he shall our commission bring to you, + With such things else of quality and respect + As doth import you. + OTHELLO. So please your Grace, my ancient; + A man he is of honesty and trust. + To his conveyance I assign my wife, + With what else needful your good Grace shall think + To be sent after me. + DUKE. Let it be so. + Good night to everyone. [To Brabantio.] And, noble signior, + If virtue no delighted beauty lack, + Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. + FIRST SENATOR. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. + BRABANTIO. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see; + She has deceived her father, and may thee. + Exeunt Duke, Senators, and Officers. + 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 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 favor with an usurped beard. I say, put + money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long + continue her love to the Moor- put money in thy purse- nor he his + to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an + answerable sequestration- put but money in thy purse. These Moors + are changeable in their wills- fill thy purse with money. The + food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him + shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for youth; + when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her + choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money in + thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate + way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony + and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle + Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, + thou shalt enjoy her- therefore make money. A pox of drowning + thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be + hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without + her. + RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? + IAGO. Thou art sure of me- go, make money. I have told thee often, + and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is + hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our + revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself + a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time + which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will + have more of this tomorrow. Adieu. + RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning? + IAGO. At my lodging. + RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes. + IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? + RODERIGO. What say you? + IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear? + RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +A seaport 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 high-wrought flood; + I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, + Descry a sail. + MONTANO. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; + A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements. + If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, + What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, + Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A segregation of the Turkish fleet. + For do but stand upon the foaming shore, + The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; + The wind-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 to bear it out. + + Enter a third Gentleman. + + THIRD GENTLEMAN. News, lads! Our wars are done. + The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, + That their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice + Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance + On most part of their fleet. + MONTANO. How? Is this true? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. The ship is here put in, + A 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 defense against the elements, + For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. + MONTANO. I she well shipp'd? + CASSIO. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and 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. + + 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 GENTLEMAN. They do discharge their shot of courtesy- + Our friends at least. + CASSIO. I pray you, sir, go forth, + And give us truth who 'tis that is 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. He has had most favorable 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. + Hall 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. + A cry 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. Kisses her. + IAGO. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips + As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, + You'ld 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, wildcats in your kitchens, + Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, + Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds. + DESDEMONA. O, fie upon thee, slanderer! + IAGO. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: + You rise to play, and go to bed to work. + EMILIA. You shall not write my praise. + IAGO. No, let me not. + DESDEMONA. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst + praise me? + IAGO. O gentle lady, do not put me to't, + For I am nothing if not critical. + DESDEMONA. Come on, assay- There's one gone to the harbor? + IAGO. Ay, madam. + DESDEMONA. I am not merry, but I do beguile + The thing I am by seeming otherwise. + Come, how wouldst thou praise me? + IAGO. I am about it, but indeed my invention + Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze; + It plucks out brains and all. But my Muse labors, + 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 counselor? + 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 laboring 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 Kisses 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 all but Iago and Roderigo. + IAGO. Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. 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 favor, sympathy in years, manners, and beauties- + all which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of these + required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself + abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; + very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second + choice. Now sir, this granted- as it is a most pregnant and + unforced position- who stands so eminently in the degree of this + fortune as Cassio does? A knave very voluble; no further + conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane + seeming, for the better compass of his salt and most hidden loose + affection? Why, none, why, none- a slipper and subtle knave, a + finder out of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and + counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present + itself- a devilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, + and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds + look after- a pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found + him already. + RODERIGO. I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blest + condition. + IAGO. Blest fig's-end! The wine she drinks is made of grapes. If + she had been blest, she would never have loved the Moor. Blest + 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. Villainous thoughts, + Roderigo! When these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand + comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion. + Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from + Venice. Watch you tonight; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. + Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you. Do you find some + occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or + tainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, + which the time shall more favorably 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 judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do, + If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trace + 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 nightcap too), + Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me + For making him egregiously an ass + And practicing upon his peace and quiet + Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: + Knavery's plain face is never seen till used. Exit. + + + + +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. + + + + +SCENE III. +A hall in the castle. + +Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants. + + OTHELLO. Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight. + Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, + Not to outsport discretion. + CASSIO. Iago hath direction what to do; + But notwithstanding with my personal eye + Will I look to't. + OTHELLO. Iago is most honest. + Michael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest + Let me have speech with you. 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, full of game. + CASSIO. Indeed she's a most fresh and delicate creature. + IAGO. What an eye she has! Methinks it sounds a parley to + provocation. + CASSIO. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. + IAGO. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? + CASSIO. She is indeed perfection. + IAGO. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a + stope of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants + that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. + CASSIO. Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains + for drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other + custom of entertainment. + IAGO. O, they are our friends! But one cup; I'll drink for you. + CASSIO. I have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily + qualified too, and behold what innovation it makes here. I am + unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with + any more. + IAGO. What, man! 'Tis a night of revels, the gallants desire it. + CASSIO. Where are they? + IAGO. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. + CASSIO. I'll do't, but it dislikes me. Exit. + IAGO. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, + With that which he hath drunk tonight already, + He'll be as full of quarrel and offense + As my young mistress' dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo, + Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, + To Desdemona hath tonight caroused + Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch. + Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, + That hold their honors in a wary distance, + The very elements of this warlike isle, + Have I tonight fluster'd with flowing cups, + And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, + Am I to put our Cassio in some action + That may offend the isle. But here they come. + If consequence do but approve my dream, + My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. + + 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; + O, man's life's but a span; + Why then let a soldier drink." + + Some wine, boys! + CASSIO. 'Fore God, an excellent song. + IAGO. I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in + potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander- + Drink, ho!- are nothing to your English. + CASSIO. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? + IAGO. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he + sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a + vomit ere the next pottle can be filled. + CASSIO. To the health of our general! + MONTANO. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice. + IAGO. O sweet England! + + [Sings.] "King Stephen was and-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 offense 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. God forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let's look to + our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my + ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not + drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough. + ALL. Excellent well. + CASSIO. Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am + drunk. Exit. + MONTANO. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. + IAGO. You see this fellow that is gone before; + He is a soldier fit to stand by 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? + A cry within, "Help, help!" + + Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. + + CASSIO. 'Zounds! You rogue! You rascal! + MONTANO. What's the matter, lieutenant? + CASSIO. A knave teach me my duty! But I'll beat the knave into a + twiggen bottle. + RODERIGO. Beat me! + CASSIO. Dost thou prate, rogue? Strikes Roderigo. + MONTANO. Nay, good lieutenant; I pray you, sir, hold your hand. + CASSIO. Let me go, sir, or I'll knock you o'er the 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! God's will, gentlemen! + Help, ho!- Lieutenant- sir- Montano- sir- + Help, masters!- Here's a goodly watch indeed! + A bell rings. + Who's that that rings the bell?- Diablo, ho! + The town will rise. God's will, lieutenant, hold! + You will be shamed forever. + + 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 place of sense and duty? + Hold! the general speaks to you! Hold, hold, for shame! + OTHELLO. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? + Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that + Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? + For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl. + He that stirs next to carve for his own rage + Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. + Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle + From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? + Honest Iago, that 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 judgement 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 offense, + 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 offense 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 clamor- as it so fell out- + The town might fall in fright. He, swift of foot, + Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather + For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, + And Cassio high in oath, which till tonight + I ne'er might say before. When I came back- + For this was brief- I found them close together, + At blow and thrust, even as again they were + When you yourself did part them. + More of this matter cannot I report. + But men are men; the best sometimes forget. + Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, + As men in rage strike those that wish them best, + Yet surely Cassio, I believe, 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. Exit Montano, attended. + 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 offenseless 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 unblest, + 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 some time, man. I'll + tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the + general. I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted + and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement + of her parts and graces. Confess yourself freely to her; + importune her help to put you in your place again. She is of so + free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a + vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested. This + broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; + and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your + love shall grow stronger than it was before. + CASSIO. You advise me well. + IAGO. I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. + CASSIO. I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech + the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. I am desperate of my + fortunes if they check me here. + IAGO. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the + watch. + CASSIO. Good night, honest Iago. Exit. + IAGO. And what's he then that says I play the villain? + When this advice is free I give and honest, + Probal to thinking, and indeed the course + To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy + The inclining Desdemona to subdue + In any honest suit. She's 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 fortune, + And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, + I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, + That she repeals him for her body's lust; + And by how much she strives to do him good, + She shall undo her credit with the Moor. + So will I turn her virtue into pitch, + And out of her own goodness make the net + That shall enmesh them all. + + Enter Roderigo. + + How now, Roderigo! + RODERIGO. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that + hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I + have been tonight exceedingly well cudgeled; 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 favor + 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 abed, then? + CASSIO. Why, no; the day had broke + Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, + To send in to your wife. My suit to her + Is that she will to virtuous Desdemona + Procure me some access. + IAGO. I'll send her to you presently; + And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor + Out of the way, that your converse and business + May be more free. + CASSIO. I humbly thank you for't. [Exit Iago.] I never knew + A Florentine more kind and honest. + + Enter Emilia. + + EMILIA. Good morrow, good lieutenant. I am sorry + For your displeasure, but all will sure be well. + The general and his wife are talking of it, + And she speaks for you stoutly. The Moor replies + That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus + And great affinity and that in wholesome wisdom + He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you + And needs no other suitor but his likings + To take the safest occasion by the front + To bring you in again. + CASSIO. Yet, I beseech you, + If you think fit, or that it may be done, + Give me advantage of some brief discourse + With Desdemona alone. + EMILIA. Pray you, come in. + I will bestow you where you shall have time + To speak your bosom freely. + CASSIO. I am much bound to you. + Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE II. +A room in the castle. + +Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. + + OTHELLO. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot, + And by him do my duties to the Senate. + That done, I will be walking on the works; + Repair there to me. + IAGO. Well, my good lord, I'll do't. + OTHELLO. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? + GENTLEMEN. We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +The garden of the castle. + +Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. + + DESDEMONA. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do + All my abilities in thy behalf. + EMILIA. Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband + As if the cause were his. + DESDEMONA. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, + But I will have my lord and you again + As friendly as you were. + CASSIO. Bounteous madam, + Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, + He's never anything but your true servant. + DESDEMONA. I know't: I thank you. You do love my lord: + You have known him long; and be you well assured + He shall in strangeness stand no farther off + Than in a politic distance. + CASSIO. Ay, but, lady, + That policy may either last so long, + Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, + Or breed itself so out of circumstances, + That I being absent and my place supplied, + My general will forget my love and service. + DESDEMONA. Do not doubt that. Before Emilia here + I give thee warrant of thy place, assure thee, + If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it + To the last article. My lord shall never rest; + I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; + His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; + I'll intermingle everything he does + With Cassio's suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio, + For thy solicitor shall rather die + Than give thy cause away. + + Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance. + + EMILIA. Madam, here comes my lord. + CASSIO. Madam, I'll take my leave. + DESDEMONA. Nay, stay and hear me speak. + CASSIO. Madam, not now. I am very ill at ease, + Unfit for mine own purposes. + DESDEMONA. Well, do your discretion. Exit Cassio. + IAGO. Ha! I like not that. + OTHELLO. What dost thou say? + IAGO. Nothing, my lord; or if- I know not what. + OTHELLO. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? + IAGO. Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, + That he would steal away so guilty-like, + Seeing you coming. + OTHELLO. I do believe 'twas he. + DESDEMONA. How now, my lord! + I have been talking with a suitor here, + A man that languishes in your displeasure. + OTHELLO. Who is't you mean? + DESDEMONA. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, + If I have any grace or power to move you, + His present reconciliation take; + For if he be not one that truly loves you, + That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, + I have no judgement in an honest face. + I prithee, call him back. + OTHELLO. Went he hence now? + DESDEMONA. Ay, sooth; so humbled + That he hath left part of his grief with me + To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. + OTHELLO. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. + DESDEMONA. But shall't be shortly? + OTHELLO. The sooner, sweet, for you. + DESDEMONA. Shall't be tonight at supper? + OTHELLO. No, not tonight. + DESDEMONA. Tomorrow dinner then? + OTHELLO. I shall not dine at home; + I meet the captains at the citadel. + DESDEMONA. Why then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn, + On Tuesday noon, or night, on Wednesday morn. + I prithee, name the time, but let it not + Exceed three days. In faith, he's penitent; + And yet his trespass, in our common reason- + Save that, they say, the wars must make example + Out of their best- is not almost a fault + To incur a private check. When shall he come? + Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, + What you would ask me, that I should deny, + Or stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio, + That came awooing 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 like'st not that, + When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like? + And when I told thee he was of my counsel + In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, "Indeed!" + And didst contract and purse thy brow together, + As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain + Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, + Show me thy thought. + IAGO. My lord, you know I love you. + OTHELLO. I think thou dost; + And for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty + And weigh'st thy words before thou 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're close dilations, working from the heart, + That passion cannot rule. + IAGO. For Michael Cassio, + I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. + OTHELLO. I think so too. + IAGO. Men should be what they seem; + Or those that be not, would they might seem none! + OTHELLO. Certain, men should be what they seem. + IAGO. Why then I think Cassio's an honest man. + OTHELLO. Nay, yet there's more in this. + I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, + As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts + The worst of words. + IAGO. Good my lord, pardon me; + Though I am bound to every act of duty, + I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. + Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; + As where's that palace whereinto foul things + Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure, + But some uncleanly apprehensions + Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit + With meditations lawful? + OTHELLO. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, + If thou but think'st him wrong'd and 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 life 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 seel 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 forever. + 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 + Which 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 judgement, + May fall to match you with her country forms, + And happily repent. + OTHELLO. Farewell, farewell. + If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; + Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago. + IAGO. [Going.] My lord, I take my leave. + OTHELLO. Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless + Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. + IAGO. [Returning.] My lord, I would I might entreat your honor + To scan this thing no further; leave it to time. + Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, + For sure he fills it up with great ability, + Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, + You shall by that perceive him and his means. + Note if your lady strain his entertainment + With any strong or vehement importunity; + Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, + Let me be thought too busy in my fears- + As worthy cause I have to fear I am- + And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. + 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 prey 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 vapor 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 she drops it. + Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. + DESDEMONA. I am very sorry that you are not well. + Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. + EMILIA. I am glad I have found this napkin; + This was her first remembrance from the Moor. + My wayward husband hath a hundred times + Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token, + For he 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 that same handkerchief? + IAGO. What handkerchief? + EMILIA. What handkerchief? + Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona, + That which so often you did bid me steal. + IAGO. Hast stol'n it from her? + EMILIA. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence, + And, to the advantage, I being here took't up. + Look, here it is. + IAGO. A good wench; give it me. + EMILIA. What will you do with't, that you have been so earnest + To have me filch it? + IAGO. [Snatching it.] Why, what is that to you? + EMILIA. If't 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 forever + 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 dread clamors 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 defend 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 offense. + 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 today + See Cassio wipe his beard with. + OTHELLO. If it be that- + IAGO. If it be that, or any that was hers, + It speaks against her with the other proofs. + OTHELLO. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! + One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. + Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago, + All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. + 'Tis gone. + Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell! + Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne + To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, + For 'tis of aspics' tongues! + IAGO. Yet be content. + OTHELLO. O, blood, 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, + In the due reverence of a sacred vow Kneels. + I here engage my words. + IAGO. Do not rise yet. Kneels. + Witness, you ever-burning lights above, + You elements that clip us round about, + Witness that here Iago doth give up + The execution of his wit, hands, heart, + To wrong'd Othello's service! Let him command, + And to obey shall be in me remorse, + What bloody business ever. They rise. + OTHELLO. I greet thy love, + Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, + And will upon the instant put thee to't: + Within these three days let me hear thee say + That Cassio's not alive. + IAGO. My friend is dead, 'tis done at your request; + But let her live. + OTHELLO. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! + 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 forever. Exeunt. + + + + +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 anywhere. + DESDEMONA. Why, man? + CLOWN. He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is + stabbing. + DESDEMONA. Go to! Where lodges he? + CLOWN. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie. + DESDEMONA. Can anything be made of this? + CLOWN. I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging, + and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own + throat. + DESDEMONA. Can you inquire him out and be edified by report? + CLOWN. I will catechize the world for him; that is, make questions + and by them answer. + DESDEMONA. Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my + lord on his behalf and hope all will be well. + CLOWN. To do this is within the compass of man's wit, and therefore + I will attempt the doing it. Exit. + DESDEMONA. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia? + EMILIA. I know not, madam. + DESDEMONA. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse + Full of crusadoes; and, but my noble Moor + Is true of mind and made of no such baseness + As jealous creatures are, it were enough + To put him to ill thinking. + EMILIA. Is he not jealous? + DESDEMONA. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born + Drew all such humors 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 has felt no age nor known no sorrow. + OTHELLO. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart; + Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires + A sequester from liberty, fasting, and prayer, + Much castigation, exercise devout, + For here's a young and sweating devil here + That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, + A frank one. + DESDEMONA. You may, indeed, say so; + For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. + OTHELLO. A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands; + But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. + DESDEMONA. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise. + OTHELLO. What promise, chuck? + DESDEMONA. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. + OTHELLO. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me; + Lend me thy handkerchief. + DESDEMONA. Here, my lord. + OTHELLO. That which I gave you. + DESDEMONA. I have it not about me. + OTHELLO. Not? + DESDEMONA. No, faith, my lord. + OTHELLO. That's a fault. That handkerchief + Did an Egyptian to my mother give; + She was a charmer, and could almost read + The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, + 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father + Entirely to her love, but if she lost it + Or made a gift of it, my father's eye + Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt + After new fancies. She dying gave it me, + And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, + To give it her. I did so, and take heed on't; + Make it a darling like your precious eye; + To lose't or give't away were such perdition + As nothing else could match. + DESDEMONA. Is't possible? + OTHELLO. 'Tis true; there's magic in the web of it. + A sibyl, that had number'd in the world + The sun to course two hundred compasses, + In her prophetic fury sew'd the work; + The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk, + And it was dyed in mummy which the skillful + Conserved of maiden's hearts. + DESDEMONA. Indeed! is't true? + OTHELLO. Most veritable; therefore look to't well. + DESDEMONA. Then would to God that I had never seen't! + OTHELLO. Ha! wherefore? + DESDEMONA. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? + OTHELLO. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out 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 it. + 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; + They 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 honor. I would not be delay'd. + If my offense 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 favor as in humor alter'd. + So help me every spirit sanctified, + As I have spoken for you all my best + And stood within the blank of his displeasure + For my free speech! You must awhile be patient. + What I can do I will; and more I will + Than for myself I dare. Let that suffice you. + IAGO. Is my lord angry? + EMILIA. He went hence but now, + And certainly in strange unquietness. + IAGO. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, + When it hath blown his ranks into the air + And, like the devil, from his very arm + Puff'd his own brother. And can he be angry? + Something of moment then. I will go meet him. + There's matter in't indeed if he be angry. + DESDEMONA. I prithee, do so. Exit Iago. + Something sure of state, + Either from Venice or some unhatch'd practice + Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, + Hath puddled his clear spirit; and in such cases + Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, + Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so; + For let our finger ache, and it indues + Our other healthful members even to that sense + Of pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods, + Nor of them look for such observancy + As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, + I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, + Arraigning his unkindness with my soul; + But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, + And he's indicted falsely. + EMILIA. Pray heaven it be state matters, as you think, + And no conception nor no jealous toy + Concerning you. + DESDEMONA. Alas the day, I never gave him cause! + EMILIA. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; + They are not ever jealous for the cause, + But jealous for they are jealous. 'Tis a monster + Begot upon itself, born on itself. + DESDEMONA. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind! + EMILIA. Lady, amen. + DESDEMONA. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout. + If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, + And seek to effect it to my uttermost. + CASSIO. I humbly thank your ladyship. + Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. + + Enter Bianca. + + BIANCA. Save you, friend Cassio! + CASSIO. What make you from home? + How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? + I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. + BIANCA. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. + What, keep a week away? seven days and nights? + Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, + More tedious than the dial eight score times? + O weary reckoning! + CASSIO. Pardon me, Bianca. + I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd; + But I shall in a more continuate time + Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, + Gives 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, by my faith, 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 honor too. + May she give that? + IAGO. Her honor is an essence that's not seen; + They have it very oft that have it not. + But for the handkerchief- + OTHELLO. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it. + Thou said'st- O, it comes o'er my memory, + As doth the raven o'er the infected house, + Boding to all- he had my handkerchief. + IAGO. Ay, what of that? + OTHELLO. That's not so good now. + IAGO. What, + If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? + Or heard him say- as knaves be such abroad, + Who having, by their own importunate suit, + Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, + Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose + But they must blab- + OTHELLO. Hath he said anything? + IAGO. He hath, my lord; but be you well 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! 'Zounds, that's fulsome! Handkerchief- + confessions- handkerchief! To confess and be hanged for his labor- + 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 shakes 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. + 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 a 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 her. + Do you intend it? + CASSIO. Ha, ha, ha! + OTHELLO. Do you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph? + CASSIO. I marry her! What? A customer! I prithee, bear some charity + to my wit; do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! + OTHELLO. So, so, so, so. They laugh that 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 hobbyhorse. 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 tonight, 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 i' 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 murther 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 akilling. A fine woman! a fair + woman! a sweet woman! + IAGO. Nay, you must forget that. + OTHELLO. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for + she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, + and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. + She might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks. + IAGO. Nay, that's not your way. + OTHELLO. Hang her! I do but say what she is. So delicate with her + needle, an admirable musician. O, she will sing the savageness + out of a bear. Of so high and plenteous wit and invention- + IAGO. She's the worse for all this. + OTHELLO. O, a thousand, a thousand times. And then, of so gentle a + condition! + IAGO. Ay, too gentle. + OTHELLO. Nay, that's certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! + O Iago, the pity of it, Iago! + IAGO. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to + offend, for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody. + OTHELLO. I will chop her into messes. Cuckold me! + IAGO. O, 'tis foul in her. + OTHELLO. With mine officer! + IAGO. That's fouler. + OTHELLO. Get me some poison, Iago, this night. I'll not expostulate + with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This + night, Iago. + IAGO. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed + she hath contaminated. + OTHELLO. Good, good, the justice of it pleases, very good. + IAGO. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more + by midnight. + OTHELLO. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.] What trumpet is that + same? + IAGO. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico + Come from the Duke. And, see your wife is with him. + + Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. + + LODOVICO. God save the 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 breech; 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. By my troth, I am glad on't. + OTHELLO. Indeed! + DESDEMONA. My lord? + OTHELLO. I am glad to see you mad. + DESDEMONA. Why, sweet Othello? + OTHELLO. Devil! Strikes her. + 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. [Going.] I will not stay to offend you. + 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? 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. + + + + +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 villainous 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 anybody come. + Your mystery, your mystery; nay, dispatch. Exit Emilia. + DESDEMONA. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import? + I understand a fury in your words, + But not the words. + OTHELLO. Why, what art thou? + DESDEMONA. Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife. + OTHELLO. Come, swear it, damn thyself; + Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves + Should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn'd; + Swear thou art honest. + DESDEMONA. Heaven doth truly know it. + OTHELLO. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell. + DESDEMONA. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false? + OTHELLO. O Desdemona! Away! away! away! + DESDEMONA. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep? + Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? + If haply you my father do suspect + An instrument of this your calling back, + Lay not your blame on me. If you have lost him, + Why, I have lost him too. + OTHELLO. Had it 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 not you a strumpet? + DESDEMONA. No, as I am a Christian. + If to preserve this vessel for my lord + From any other foul unlawful touch + Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. + OTHELLO. What, not a whore? + DESDEMONA. No, as I shall be 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. [Raises 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 callet. + IAGO. Why did he so? + DESDEMONA. I do not know; I am sure I am none such. + IAGO. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day! + EMILIA. Hath she forsook so many noble matches, + Her father and her country and her friends, + To be call'd whore? Would it not make one weep? + DESDEMONA. It is my wretched fortune. + IAGO. Beshrew him for't! + How comes this trick upon him? + DESDEMONA. Nay, heaven doth know. + EMILIA. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, + Some busy and insinuating rogue, + Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, + Have not 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 villainous 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 doth 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 humor: + The business of the state does him offense, + 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. By this hand, I say 'tis very scurvy, and begin to find + myself fopped in it. + IAGO. Very well. + RODERIGO. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will make myself known + to Desdemona. If she will return me my jewels, I will give over + my suit and repent my unlawful solicitation; if not, assure + yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. + IAGO. You have said now. + RODERIGO. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of + doing. + IAGO. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and even from this + instant do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give + me thy hand, Roderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just + exception; but yet, I protest, have dealt most directly in thy + affair. + RODERIGO. It hath not appeared. + IAGO. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is + not without wit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that + in thee indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than + ever, I mean purpose, courage, and valor, this night show it; if + thou the next night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from + this world with treachery and devise engines for my life. + RODERIGO. Well, what is it? Is it within reason and compass? + IAGO. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute + Cassio in Othello's place. + RODERIGO. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again + to Venice. + IAGO. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the + fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some + accident; wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of + Cassio. + RODERIGO. How do you mean, removing of him? + IAGO. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking out + his brains. + RODERIGO. And that you would have me to do? + IAGO. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups + tonight with a harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows + not yet of his honorable fortune. If you will watch his going + thence, which his will fashion to fall out between twelve and + one, you may take him at your pleasure; I will be near to second + your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not + amazed at it, but go along with me; I will show you such a + necessity in his death that you shall think yourself bound to put + it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to + waste. About it. + RODERIGO. I will hear further reason for this. + IAGO. And you shall be satisfied. Exeunt. + + + + +SCENE III. +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 honor 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 checks, his frowns- + Prithee, unpin me- have grace and favor in them. + EMILIA. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed. + DESDEMONA. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds! + If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me + In one of those same sheets. + EMILIA. Come, come, you talk. + DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call'd Barbary; + She was in love, and he she 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 tonight + Will not go from my mind; I have much to do + But to go hang my head all at one side + And sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee, dispatch. + EMILIA. Shall I go fetch your nightgown? + 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. [Sings.] + + "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 be these- + + [Sings.] "Sing willow, willow, willow-" + + Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon- + [Sings.] "Sing all a green willow must be my garland. + Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve-" + + Nay, that's not next. Hark, who is't that knocks? + EMILIA. It's the wind. + DESDEMONA. [Sings.] + + "I call'd my love false love; but what said he then? + Sing willow, willow, willow. + If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men-" + + So get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch; + Doth that bode weeping? + EMILIA. 'Tis neither here nor there. + DESDEMONA. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men! + Dost thou in conscience think- tell me, Emilia- + That there be women do abuse their husbands + In such gross kind? + EMILIA. There be some such, no question. + DESDEMONA. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? + EMILIA. Why, would not you? + DESDEMONA. No, by this heavenly light! + EMILIA. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; I might do't as well + i' the dark. + DESDEMONA. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? + EMILIA. The world's a huge thing; it is a great price + For a small vice. + DESDEMONA. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. + EMILIA. In troth, I think I should, and undo't when I had done. + Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for + measures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any + petty exhibition; but, for the whole world- why, who would not + make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should + venture purgatory for't. + DESDEMONA. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong + For the whole world. + EMILIA. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world; and having the + world for your labor, '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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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. Be't 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 forever. Help, ho! Murther! Murther! + 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? Murther! Murther! + 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 cries on murther? + LODOVICO. We do not know. + IAGO. Did not you hear a cry? + CASSIO. Here, here! for heaven's sake, help me! + IAGO. What's the matter? + GRATIANO. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. + LODOVICO. The same indeed; a very valiant fellow. + IAGO. What are you here that cry so grievously? + CASSIO. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains! + Give me some help. + IAGO. O me, lieutenant! What villains have done this? + CASSIO. I think that one of them is hereabout, + And cannot make away. + IAGO. O treacherous villains! + [To Lodovico and Gratiano.] What are you there? + Come in and give some help. + RODERIGO. O, help me here! + CASSIO. That's one of them. + IAGO. O murtherous 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! Murther! Murther! + What may you be? Are you of good or evil? + LODOVICO. As you shall prove us, praise us. + IAGO. Signior Lodovico? + LODOVICO. He, sir. + IAGO. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt by villains. + GRATIANO. Cassio? + IAGO. How is't, brother? + CASSIO. My leg is cut in two. + IAGO. Marry, heaven forbid! + Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt. + + Enter Bianca. + + BIANCA. What is the matter, ho? Who is't that cried? + IAGO. Who is't that cried? + BIANCA. O my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, + Cassio! + IAGO. O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect + Who they should be that have thus mangled you? + CASSIO. No. + GRATIANO. I am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you. + IAGO. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair, + To bear him easily hence! + BIANCA. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! + IAGO. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash + To be a party in this injury. + Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come; + Lend me a light. Know we this face or no? + Alas, my friend and my dear countryman + Roderigo? No- yes, sure. O heaven! Roderigo. + GRATIANO. What, of Venice? + IAGO. Even he, sir. Did you know him? + GRATIANO. Know him! ay. + IAGO. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon; + These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, + That so neglected you. + GRATIANO. I am glad to see you. + IAGO. How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair! + GRATIANO. Roderigo! + IAGO. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair brought in.] O, that's well said: + the chair. + Some good man bear him carefully from hence; + I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianca.] For you, mistress, + Save you your labor. 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 tonight. + What, do you shake at that? + BIANCA. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake not. + IAGO. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. + EMILIA. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet! + BIANCA. I am no strumpet, but of life as honest + As you that thus abuse me. + EMILIA. As I! foh! fie upon thee! + IAGO. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd. + Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale. + Emilia, run you to the citadel, + And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd! + Will you go on? [Aside.] This is the night + That either makes me or fordoes me quite. Exeunt. + + + + +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. Kisses her. + O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade + Justice to break her sword! One more, one more; + Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, + And love thee after. One more, and this the last; + So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, + But they are cruel tears; this sorrow's heavenly, + It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. + DESDEMONA. Who's there? Othello? + OTHELLO. Ay, Desdemona. + DESDEMONA. Will you come to bed, my lord? + OTHELLO. Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona? + DESDEMONA. Ay, my lord. + OTHELLO. If you bethink yourself of any crime + Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace, + Solicit for it straight. + DESDEMONA. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that? + OTHELLO. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by. + I would not kill thy unprepared spirit. + No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul. + DESDEMONA. Talk you of killing? + OTHELLO. Ay, I do. + DESDEMONA. Then heaven have mercy on me! + OTHELLO. Amen, with all my heart! + DESDEMONA. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. + OTHELLO. Hum! + DESDEMONA. And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then + When your eyes roll so. Why I should fear I know not, + Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear. + OTHELLO. Think on thy sins. + DESDEMONA. They are loves I bear to you. + OTHELLO. Ay, and for that thou diest. + DESDEMONA. That death's unnatural that kills for loving. + Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? + Some bloody passion shakes your very frame. + These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, + They do not point on me. + OTHELLO. Peace, and be still! + DESDEMONA. I will so. What's the matter? + OTHELLO. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee + Thou 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 are 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 murther, 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 tomorrow; let me live tonight! + OTHELLO. Nay, if you strive- + DESDEMONA. But half an hour! + OTHELLO. Being done, there is no pause. + DESDEMONA. But while I say one prayer! + OTHELLO. It is too late. 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 murthers 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 murther's out of tune, + And sweet revenge grows harsh. + DESDEMONA. O, falsely, falsely murther'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 murther'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, villainy hath made mocks with love! + My husband say that she was false! + OTHELLO. He, woman; + I say thy husband. Dost understand the word? + My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. + EMILIA. If he say so, may his pernicious soul + Rot half a grain a day! He lies to the heart. + She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. + OTHELLO. Ha! + EMILIA. Do thy worst; + This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven + Than thou wast worthy her. + OTHELLO. Peace, you were best. + EMILIA. Thou hast not half that power to do me harm + As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt! + As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed- + I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known, + Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help! + The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murther, murther! + + 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 murthers 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 murther'd in her bed- + ALL. O heavens forfend! + EMILIA. And your reports have set the murther on. + OTHELLO. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true indeed. + GRATIANO. 'Tis a strange truth. + MONTANO. O monstrous act! + EMILIA. Villainy, villainy, villainy! + I think upon't, I think, I smell't, O villainy! + I thought so then. I'll kill myself for grief. + O villainy, villainy! + 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! 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. [Rises.] 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 Desdemon! 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. 'Zounds! Hold your peace. + EMILIA. 'Twill out, 'twill. 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. Villainous 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 murtherous coxcomb! What should such a fool + Do with so good a wife? + OTHELLO. Are there not stones in heaven + But what serve for thunder? Precious villain! + He runs at Iago, but Montano + disarms him. Iago stabs Emilia. + GRATIANO. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife. + EMILIA. Ay, ay! O, lay me by my mistress' side. Exit Iago. + 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 all but Othello and Emilia. + OTHELLO. I am not valiant neither, + But every puny whipster gets my sword. + But why should honor outlive honesty? + Let it go all. + EMILIA. What did thy song bode, lady? + Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, + And die in music. [Sings.] "Willow, willow, willow." + Moor, she was chaste; she 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, cursed slave! + Whip me, ye devils, + From the possession of this heavenly sight! + Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur! + Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire! + O Desdemon! dead, Desdemon! dead! + O! O! O! + + Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, + and Officers with Iago, prisoner. + + LODOVICO. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man? + OTHELLO. That's he that was Othello. Here I am. + LODOVICO. Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth. + OTHELLO. I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable. + If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. Wounds Iago. + LODOVICO. Wrench his sword from him. + IAGO. I bleed, sir, but not kill'd. + OTHELLO. I am not sorry neither. I'ld have thee live, + For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. + LODOVICO. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, + Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave, + What shall be said to thee? + OTHELLO. Why, anything; + An honorable murtherer, if you will, + For nought did I in hate, but all in honor. + LODOVICO. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy. + 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 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. + + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1596 + + +KING RICHARD THE SECOND + + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING RICHARD THE SECOND + JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King + EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King + HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of + John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV + DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York + THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk + DUKE OF SURREY + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL BERKELEY + BUSHY - favourites of King Richard + BAGOT - " " " " + GREEN - " " " " + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND + HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son + LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY + LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE + ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL + SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON + CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS + + QUEEN to King Richard + DUCHESS OF YORK + DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock, + Duke of Gloucester + LADY attending on the Queen + + Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger, + Groom, and other Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +England and Wales + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +London. The palace + +Enter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants + + KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, + Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, + Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, + Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal, + Which then our leisure would not let us hear, + Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? + GAUNT. I have, my liege. + KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him + If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, + Or worthily, as a good subject should, + On some known ground of treachery in him? + GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument, + On some apparent danger seen in him + Aim'd at your Highness-no inveterate malice. + KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face + And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear + The accuser and the accused freely speak. + High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire, + In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. + + Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY + + BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall + My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! + MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness + Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, + Add an immortal title to your crown! + KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us, + As well appeareth by the cause you come; + Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. + Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object + Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? + BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech! + In the devotion of a subject's love, + Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince, + And free from other misbegotten hate, + Come I appellant to this princely presence. + Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, + And mark my greeting well; for what I speak + My body shall make good upon this earth, + Or my divine soul answer it in heaven- + Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, + Too good to be so, and too bad to live, + Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, + The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. + Once more, the more to aggravate the note, + With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; + And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move, + What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove. + MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. + 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, + The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, + Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; + The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this. + Yet can I not of such tame patience boast + As to be hush'd and nought at an to say. + First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me + From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; + Which else would post until it had return'd + These terms of treason doubled down his throat. + Setting aside his high blood's royalty, + And let him be no kinsman to my liege, + I do defy him, and I spit at him, + Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; + Which to maintain, I would allow him odds + And meet him, were I tied to run afoot + Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, + Or any other ground inhabitable + Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. + Meantime let this defend my loyalty- + By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie + BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, + Disclaiming here the kindred of the King; + And lay aside my high blood's royalty, + Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. + If guilty dread have left thee so much strength + As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. + By that and all the rites of knighthood else + Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, + What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise. + MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear + Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder + I'll answer thee in any fair degree + Or chivalrous design of knightly trial; + And when I mount, alive may I not light + If I be traitor or unjustly fight! + KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? + It must be great that can inherit us + So much as of a thought of ill in him. + BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true- + That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles + In name of lendings for your Highness' soldiers, + The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments + Like a false traitor and injurious villain. + Besides, I say and will in battle prove- + Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge + That ever was survey'd by English eye- + That all the treasons for these eighteen years + Complotted and contrived in this land + Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. + Further I say, and further will maintain + Upon his bad life to make all this good, + That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, + Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, + And consequently, like a traitor coward, + Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood; + Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, + Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, + To me for justice and rough chastisement; + And, by the glorious worth of my descent, + This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. + KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars! + Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? + MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face + And bid his ears a little while be deaf, + Till I have told this slander of his blood + How God and good men hate so foul a liar. + KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars. + Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, + As he is but my father's brother's son, + Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, + Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood + Should nothing privilege him nor partialize + The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. + He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: + Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. + MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, + Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. + Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais + Disburs'd I duly to his Highness' soldiers; + The other part reserv'd I by consent, + For that my sovereign liege was in my debt + Upon remainder of a dear account + Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: + Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death- + I slew him not, but to my own disgrace + Neglected my sworn duty in that case. + For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, + The honourable father to my foe, + Once did I lay an ambush for your life, + A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; + But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament + I did confess it, and exactly begg'd + Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it. + This is my fault. As for the rest appeal'd, + It issues from the rancour of a villain, + A recreant and most degenerate traitor; + Which in myself I boldly will defend, + And interchangeably hurl down my gage + Upon this overweening traitor's foot + To prove myself a loyal gentleman + Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. + In haste whereof, most heartily I pray + Your Highness to assign our trial day. + KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; + Let's purge this choler without letting blood- + This we prescribe, though no physician; + Deep malice makes too deep incision. + Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed: + Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. + Good uncle, let this end where it begun; + We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. + GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age. + Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. + KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his. + GAUNT. When, Harry, when? + Obedience bids I should not bid again. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid. + There is no boot. + MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot; + My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: + The one my duty owes; but my fair name, + Despite of death, that lives upon my grave + To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. + I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffl'd here; + Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, + The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood + Which breath'd this poison. + KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood: + Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame. + MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, + And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, + The purest treasure mortal times afford + Is spotless reputation; that away, + Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. + A jewel in a ten-times barr'd-up chest + Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. + Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; + Take honour from me, and my life is done: + Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; + In that I live, and for that will I die. + KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. + BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! + Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? + Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height + Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue + Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong + Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear + The slavish motive of recanting fear, + And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, + Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. + Exit GAUNT + KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command; + Which since we cannot do to make you friends, + Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, + At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. + There shall your swords and lances arbitrate + The swelling difference of your settled hate; + Since we can not atone you, we shall see + Justice design the victor's chivalry. + Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms + Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. +London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace + +Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER + + GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood + Doth more solicit me than your exclaims + To stir against the butchers of his life! + But since correction lieth in those hands + Which made the fault that we cannot correct, + Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; + Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, + Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. + DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? + Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? + Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, + Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, + Or seven fair branches springing from one root. + Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, + Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; + But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, + One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, + One flourishing branch of his most royal root, + Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; + Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, + By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. + Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, + That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thee, + Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, + Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent + In some large measure to thy father's death + In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, + Who was the model of thy father's life. + Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair; + In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red, + Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, + Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. + That which in mean men we entitle patience + Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. + What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life + The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. + GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, + His deputy anointed in His sight, + Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully, + Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift + An angry arm against His minister. + DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? + GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence. + DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. + Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold + Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. + O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, + That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! + Or, if misfortune miss the first career, + Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom + That they may break his foaming courser's back + And throw the rider headlong in the lists, + A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! + Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife, + With her companion, Grief, must end her life. + GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry. + As much good stay with thee as go with me! + DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls, + Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. + I take my leave before I have begun, + For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. + Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. + Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so; + Though this be all, do not so quickly go; + I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?- + With all good speed at Plashy visit me. + Alack, and what shall good old York there see + But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, + Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? + And what hear there for welcome but my groans? + Therefore commend me; let him not come there + To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. + Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die; + The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. +The lists at Coventry + +Enter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE + + MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? + AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. + MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold, + Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet. + AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay + For nothing but his Majesty's approach. + + The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles, + GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, + enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and + a HERALD + + KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion + The cause of his arrival here in arms; + Ask him his name; and orderly proceed + To swear him in the justice of his cause. + MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art, + And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms; + Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. + Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath; + As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! + MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; + Who hither come engaged by my oath- + Which God defend a knight should violate!- + Both to defend my loyalty and truth + To God, my King, and my succeeding issue, + Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me; + And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, + To prove him, in defending of myself, + A traitor to my God, my King, and me. + And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! + + The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, + appellant, in armour, and a HERALD + + KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, + Both who he is and why he cometh hither + Thus plated in habiliments of war; + And formally, according to our law, + Depose him in the justice of his cause. + MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither + Before King Richard in his royal lists? + Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? + Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! + BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Am I; who ready here do stand in arms + To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, + In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, + That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, + To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. + And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! + MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold + Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, + Except the Marshal and such officers + Appointed to direct these fair designs. + BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, + And bow my knee before his Majesty; + For Mowbray and myself are like two men + That vow a long and weary pilgrimage. + Then let us take a ceremonious leave + And loving farewell of our several friends. + MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness, + And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. + KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms. + Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, + So be thy fortune in this royal fight! + Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, + Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. + BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear + For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. + As confident as is the falcon's flight + Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. + My loving lord, I take my leave of you; + Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; + Not sick, although I have to do with death, + But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. + Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet + The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. + O thou, the earthly author of my blood, + Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, + Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up + To reach at victory above my head, + Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, + And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, + That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat + And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, + Even in the lusty haviour of his son. + GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! + Be swift like lightning in the execution, + And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, + Fall like amazing thunder on the casque + Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. + Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. + BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive! + MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot, + There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, + A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. + Never did captive with a freer heart + Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace + His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, + More than my dancing soul doth celebrate + This feast of battle with mine adversary. + Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, + Take from my mouth the wish of happy years. + As gentle and as jocund as to jest + Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. + KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy + Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. + Order the trial, Marshal, and begin. + MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! + BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. + MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas, + Duke of Norfolk. + FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, + On pain to be found false and recreant, + To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, + A traitor to his God, his King, and him; + And dares him to set forward to the fight. + SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, + On pain to be found false and recreant, + Both to defend himself, and to approve + Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal, + Courageously and with a free desire + Attending but the signal to begin. + MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants. + [A charge sounded] + Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down. + KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, + And both return back to their chairs again. + Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound + While we return these dukes what we decree. + + A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council + + Draw near, + And list what with our council we have done. + For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd + With that dear blood which it hath fostered; + And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect + Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; + And for we think the eagle-winged pride + Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, + With rival-hating envy, set on you + To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle + Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; + Which so rous'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums, + With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, + And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, + Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace + And make us wade even in our kindred's blood- + Therefore we banish you our territories. + You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, + Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields + Shall not regreet our fair dominions, + But tread the stranger paths of banishment. + BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be- + That sun that warms you here shall shine on me, + And those his golden beams to you here lent + Shall point on me and gild my banishment. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, + Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: + The sly slow hours shall not determinate + The dateless limit of thy dear exile; + The hopeless word of 'never to return' + Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. + MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, + And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth. + A dearer merit, not so deep a maim + As to be cast forth in the common air, + Have I deserved at your Highness' hands. + The language I have learnt these forty years, + My native English, now I must forgo; + And now my tongue's use is to me no more + Than an unstringed viol or a harp; + Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up + Or, being open, put into his hands + That knows no touch to tune the harmony. + Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, + Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; + And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance + Is made my gaoler to attend on me. + I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, + Too far in years to be a pupil now. + What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, + Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? + KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate; + After our sentence plaining comes too late. + MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv's light, + To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. + KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee. + Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; + Swear by the duty that you owe to God, + Our part therein we banish with yourselves, + To keep the oath that we administer: + You never shall, so help you truth and God, + Embrace each other's love in banishment; + Nor never look upon each other's face; + Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile + This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; + Nor never by advised purpose meet + To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, + 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. + BOLINGBROKE. I swear. + MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this. + BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy. + By this time, had the King permitted us, + One of our souls had wand'red in the air, + Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, + As now our flesh is banish'd from this land- + Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; + Since thou hast far to go, bear not along + The clogging burden of a guilty soul. + MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, + My name be blotted from the book of life, + And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! + But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know; + And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. + Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: + Save back to England, an the world's my way. Exit + KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes + I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect + Hath from the number of his banish'd years + Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent, + Return with welcome home from banishment. + BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word! + Four lagging winters and four wanton springs + End in a word: such is the breath of Kings. + GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me + He shortens four years of my son's exile; + But little vantage shall I reap thereby, + For ere the six years that he hath to spend + Can change their moons and bring their times about, + My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light + Shall be extinct with age and endless night; + My inch of taper will be burnt and done, + And blindfold death not let me see my son. + KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. + GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give: + Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow + And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; + Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age, + But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; + Thy word is current with him for my death, + But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. + KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, + Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave. + Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? + GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. + You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather + You would have bid me argue like a father. + O, had it been a stranger, not my child, + To smooth his fault I should have been more mild. + A partial slander sought I to avoid, + And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. + Alas, I look'd when some of you should say + I was too strict to make mine own away; + But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue + Against my will to do myself this wrong. + KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so. + Six years we banish him, and he shall go. + Flourish. Exit KING with train + AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know, + From where you do remain let paper show. + MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride + As far as land will let me by your side. + GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, + That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends? + BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you, + When the tongue's office should be prodigal + To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. + GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. + BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. + GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone. + BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. + GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. + BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, + Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. + GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps + Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set + The precious jewel of thy home return. + BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make + Will but remember me what a deal of world + I wander from the jewels that I love. + Must I not serve a long apprenticehood + To foreign passages; and in the end, + Having my freedom, boast of nothing else + But that I was a journeyman to grief? + GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits + Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. + Teach thy necessity to reason thus: + There is no virtue like necessity. + Think not the King did banish thee, + But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit + Where it perceives it is but faintly home. + Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, + And not the King exil'd thee; or suppose + Devouring pestilence hangs in our air + And thou art flying to a fresher clime. + Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it + To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st. + Suppose the singing birds musicians, + The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, + The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more + Than a delightful measure or a dance; + For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite + The man that mocks at it and sets it light. + BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand + By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? + Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite + By bare imagination of a feast? + Or wallow naked in December snow + By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? + O, no! the apprehension of the good + Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. + Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more + Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. + GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way. + Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay. + BOLINGBROKE. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; + My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! + Where'er I wander, boast of this I can: + Though banish'd, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. +London. The court + +Enter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; +and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another + + KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, + How far brought you high Hereford on his way? + AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, + But to the next high way, and there I left him. + KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? + AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, + Which then blew bitterly against our faces, + Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance + Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. + KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him? + AUMERLE. 'Farewell.' + And, for my heart disdained that my tongue + Should so profane the word, that taught me craft + To counterfeit oppression of such grief + That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. + Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length'ned hours + And added years to his short banishment, + He should have had a volume of farewells; + But since it would not, he had none of me. + KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, + When time shall call him home from banishment, + Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. + Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, + Observ'd his courtship to the common people; + How he did seem to dive into their hearts + With humble and familiar courtesy; + What reverence he did throw away on slaves, + Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles + And patient underbearing of his fortune, + As 'twere to banish their affects with him. + Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; + A brace of draymen bid God speed him well + And had the tribute of his supple knee, + With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends'; + As were our England in reversion his, + And he our subjects' next degree in hope. + GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts! + Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, + Expedient manage must be made, my liege, + Ere further leisure yicld them further means + For their advantage and your Highness' loss. + KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war; + And, for our coffers, with too great a court + And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, + We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; + The revenue whereof shall furnish us + For our affairs in hand. If that come short, + Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; + Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, + They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, + And send them after to supply our wants; + For we will make for Ireland presently. + + Enter BUSHY + + Bushy, what news? + BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, + Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste + To entreat your Majesty to visit him. + KING RICHARD. Where lies he? + BUSHY. At Ely House. + KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician's mind + To help him to his grave immediately! + The lining of his coffers shall make coats + To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. + Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him. + Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! + ALL. Amen. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +London. Ely House + +Enter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc. + + GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last + In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? + YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; + For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. + GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men + Enforce attention like deep harmony. + Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; + For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain. + He that no more must say is listen'd more + Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; + More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before. + The setting sun, and music at the close, + As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, + Writ in remembrance more than things long past. + Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, + My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. + YORK. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, + As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, + Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound + The open ear of youth doth always listen; + Report of fashions in proud Italy, + Whose manners still our tardy apish nation + Limps after in base imitation. + Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity- + So it be new, there's no respect how vile- + That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? + Then all too late comes counsel to be heard + Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. + Direct not him whose way himself will choose. + 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. + GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd, + And thus expiring do foretell of him: + His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, + For violent fires soon burn out themselves; + Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; + He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; + With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; + Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, + Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. + This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, + This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, + This other Eden, demi-paradise, + This fortress built by Nature for herself + Against infection and the hand of war, + This happy breed of men, this little world, + This precious stone set in the silver sea, + Which serves it in the office of a wall, + Or as a moat defensive to a house, + Against the envy of less happier lands; + This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, + This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, + Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, + Renowned for their deeds as far from home, + For Christian service and true chivalry, + As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry + Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son; + This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, + Dear for her reputation through the world, + Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it- + Like to a tenement or pelting farm. + England, bound in with the triumphant sea, + Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege + Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame, + With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds; + That England, that was wont to conquer others, + Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. + Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, + How happy then were my ensuing death! + + Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, + Ross, and WILLOUGHBY + + YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth, + For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the more. + QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? + KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? + GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition! + Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old. + Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; + And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? + For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; + Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt. + The pleasure that some fathers feed upon + Is my strict fast-I mean my children's looks; + And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt. + Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, + Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. + KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? + GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: + Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, + I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. + KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live? + GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die. + KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me. + GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. + KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. + GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; + Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. + Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land + Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; + And thou, too careless patient as thou art, + Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure + Of those physicians that first wounded thee: + A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, + Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; + And yet, incaged in so small a verge, + The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. + O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye + Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, + From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, + Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, + Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. + Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, + It were a shame to let this land by lease; + But for thy world enjoying but this land, + Is it not more than shame to shame it so? + Landlord of England art thou now, not King. + Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; + And thou- + KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool, + Presuming on an ague's privilege, + Darest with thy frozen admonition + Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood + With fury from his native residence. + Now by my seat's right royal majesty, + Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, + This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head + Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. + GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward's son, + For that I was his father Edward's son; + That blood already, like the pelican, + Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. + My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul- + Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!- + May be a precedent and witness good + That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. + Join with the present sickness that I have; + And thy unkindness be like crooked age, + To crop at once a too long withered flower. + Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! + These words hereafter thy tormentors be! + Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. + Love they to live that love and honour have. + Exit, borne out by his attendants + KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have; + For both hast thou, and both become the grave. + YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words + To wayward sickliness and age in him. + He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear + As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. + KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; + As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty. + KING RICHARD. What says he? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said. + His tongue is now a stringless instrument; + Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. + YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! + Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. + KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; + His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. + So much for that. Now for our Irish wars. + We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, + Which live like venom where no venom else + But only they have privilege to live. + And for these great affairs do ask some charge, + Towards our assistance we do seize to us + The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, + Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. + YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long + Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? + Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment, + Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, + Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke + About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, + Have ever made me sour my patient cheek + Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. + I am the last of noble Edward's sons, + Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first. + In war was never lion rag'd more fierce, + In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, + Than was that young and princely gentleman. + His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, + Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; + But when he frown'd, it was against the French + And not against his friends. His noble hand + Did win what he did spend, and spent not that + Which his triumphant father's hand had won. + His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, + But bloody with the enemies of his kin. + O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, + Or else he never would compare between- + KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what's the matter? + YORK. O my liege, + Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd + Not to be pardoned, am content withal. + Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands + The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? + Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? + Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? + Did not the one deserve to have an heir? + Is not his heir a well-deserving son? + Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time + His charters and his customary rights; + Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; + Be not thyself-for how art thou a king + But by fair sequence and succession? + Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!- + If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, + Call in the letters patents that he hath + By his attorneys-general to sue + His livery, and deny his off'red homage, + You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, + You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, + And prick my tender patience to those thoughts + Which honour and allegiance cannot think. + KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands + His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. + YORK. I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell. + What will ensue hereof there's none can tell; + But by bad courses may be understood + That their events can never fall out good. Exit + KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight; + Bid him repair to us to Ely House + To see this business. To-morrow next + We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow. + And we create, in absence of ourself, + Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England; + For he is just, and always lov'd us well. + Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part; + Be merry, for our time of stay is short. + Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, + GREEN, and BAGOT + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. + Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke. + WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right. + ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, + Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more + That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! + WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? + If it be so, out with it boldly, man; + Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. + ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him; + Unless you call it good to pity him, + Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne + In him, a royal prince, and many moe + Of noble blood in this declining land. + The King is not himself, but basely led + By flatterers; and what they will inform, + Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us an, + That will the King severely prosecute + 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. + ROSS. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes; + And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find + For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts. + WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis'd, + As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what; + But what, a God's name, doth become of this? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, + But basely yielded upon compromise + That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows. + More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. + ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. + WILLOUGHBY. The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. + ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars, + His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, + But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke. + NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king! + But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, + Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; + We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, + And yet we strike not, but securely perish. + ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; + And unavoided is the danger now + For suffering so the causes of our wreck. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death + I spy life peering; but I dare not say + How near the tidings of our comfort is. + WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours. + ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland. + We three are but thyself, and, speaking so, + Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay + In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence + That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, + That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, + His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, + Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, + Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint- + All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine, + With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, + Are making hither with all due expedience, + And shortly mean to touch our northern shore. + Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay + The first departing of the King for Ireland. + If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, + Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, + Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, + Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, + And make high majesty look like itself, + Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; + But if you faint, as fearing to do so, + Stay and be secret, and myself will go. + ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear. + WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. +Windsor Castle + +Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT + + BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad. + You promis'd, when you parted with the King, + To lay aside life-harming heaviness + And entertain a cheerful disposition. + QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself + I cannot do it; yet I know no cause + Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, + Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest + As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks + Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, + Is coming towards me, and my inward soul + With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves + More than with parting from my lord the King. + BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, + Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; + For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, + Divides one thing entire to many objects, + Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, + Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry, + Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty, + Looking awry upon your lord's departure, + Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail; + Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows + Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen, + More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen; + Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, + Which for things true weeps things imaginary. + QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul + Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be, + I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad + As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think- + Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. + BUSHY. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. + QUEEN. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd + From some forefather grief; mine is not so, + For nothing hath begot my something grief, + Or something hath the nothing that I grieve; + 'Tis in reversion that I do possess- + But what it is that is not yet known what, + I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. + + Enter GREEN + + GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen. + I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. + QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is; + For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope. + Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? + GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power + And driven into despair an enemy's hope + Who strongly hath set footing in this land. + The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, + And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd + At Ravenspurgh. + QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid! + GREEN. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse, + The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, + The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, + With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. + BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland + And all the rest revolted faction traitors? + GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester + Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship, + And all the household servants fled with him + To Bolingbroke. + QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, + And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir. + Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; + And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, + Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. + BUSHY. Despair not, madam. + QUEEN. Who shall hinder me? + I will despair, and be at enmity + With cozening hope-he is a flatterer, + A parasite, a keeper-back of death, + Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, + Which false hope lingers in extremity. + + Enter YORK + + GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York. + QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck. + O, full of careful business are his looks! + Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. + YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. + Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, + Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief. + Your husband, he is gone to save far off, + Whilst others come to make him lose at home. + Here am I left to underprop his land, + Who, weak with age, cannot support myself. + Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; + Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. + + Enter a SERVINGMAN + + SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came. + YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will! + The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold + And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. + Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; + Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. + Hold, take my ring. + SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, + To-day, as I came by, I called there- + But I shall grieve you to report the rest. + YORK. What is't, knave? + SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died. + YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes + Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! + I know not what to do. I would to God, + So my untruth had not provok'd him to it, + The King had cut off my head with my brother's. + What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? + How shall we do for money for these wars? + Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me. + Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, + And bring away the armour that is there. + Exit SERVINGMAN + Gentlemen, will you go muster men? + If I know how or which way to order these affairs + Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, + Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen. + T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath + And duty bids defend; t'other again + Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, + Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. + Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, + I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men + And meet me presently at Berkeley. + I should to Plashy too, + But time will not permit. All is uneven, + And everything is left at six and seven. + Exeunt YORK and QUEEN + BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland. + But none returns. For us to levy power + Proportionable to the enemy + Is all unpossible. + GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love + Is near the hate of those love not the King. + BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love + Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, + By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. + BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd. + BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, + Because we ever have been near the King. + GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle. + The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. + BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office + Will the hateful commons perform for us, + Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces. + Will you go along with us? + BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty. + Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain, + We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. + BUSHY. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. + GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes + Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry. + Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. + Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever. + BUSHY. Well, we may meet again. + BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. +Gloucestershire + +Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces + + BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord, + I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire. + These high wild hills and rough uneven ways + Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome; + And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, + Making the hard way sweet and delectable. + But I bethink me what a weary way + From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found + In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, + Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd + The tediousness and process of my travel. + But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have + The present benefit which I possess; + And hope to joy is little less in joy + Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary lords + Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done + By sight of what I have, your noble company. + BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company + Than your good words. But who comes here? + + Enter HARRY PERCY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy, + Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. + Harry, how fares your uncle? + PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen? + PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, + Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd + The household of the King. + NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason? + He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. + PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. + But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, + To offer service to the Duke of Hereford; + And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover + What power the Duke of York had levied there; + Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? + PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot + Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge, + I never in my life did look on him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke. + PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, + Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; + Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm + To more approved service and desert. + BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure + I count myself in nothing else so happy + As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; + And as my fortune ripens with thy love, + It shall be still thy true love's recompense. + My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. + NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir + Keeps good old York there with his men of war? + PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, + Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; + And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour- + None else of name and noble estimate. + + Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, + Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. + BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues + A banish'd traitor. All my treasury + Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, + Shall be your love and labour's recompense. + ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. + WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. + BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; + Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, + Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? + + Enter BERKELEY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. + BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. + BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-'to Lancaster'; + And I am come to seek that name in England; + And I must find that title in your tongue + Before I make reply to aught you say. + BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning + To raze one title of your honour out. + To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will- + From the most gracious regent of this land, + The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on + To take advantage of the absent time, + And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. + + Enter YORK, attended + + BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you; + Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle! + [Kneels] + YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, + Whose duty is deceivable and false. + BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!- + YORK. Tut, tut! + Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle. + I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace' + In an ungracious mouth is but profane. + Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs + Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? + But then more 'why?'-why have they dar'd to march + So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, + Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war + And ostentation of despised arms? + Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence? + Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind, + And in my loyal bosom lies his power. + Were I but now lord of such hot youth + As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself + Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, + From forth the ranks of many thousand French, + O, then how quickly should this arm of mine, + Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the + And minister correction to thy fault! + BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; + On what condition stands it and wherein? + YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree- + In gross rebellion and detested treason. + Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come + Before the expiration of thy time, + In braving arms against thy sovereign. + BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; + But as I come, I come for Lancaster. + And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace + Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye. + You are my father, for methinks in you + I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father, + Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd + A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties + Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away + To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? + If that my cousin king be King in England, + It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. + You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; + Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, + He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father + To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. + I am denied to sue my livery here, + And yet my letters patents give me leave. + My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; + And these and all are all amiss employ'd. + What would you have me do? I am a subject, + And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me; + And therefore personally I lay my claim + To my inheritance of free descent. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused. + ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. + WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great. + YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this: + I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, + And labour'd all I could to do him right; + But in this kind to come, in braving arms, + Be his own carver and cut out his way, + To find out right with wrong-it may not be; + And you that do abet him in this kind + Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is + But for his own; and for the right of that + We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; + And let him never see joy that breaks that oath! + YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. + I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, + Because my power is weak and all ill left; + But if I could, by Him that gave me life, + I would attach you all and make you stoop + Unto the sovereign mercy of the King; + But since I cannot, be it known unto you + I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; + Unless you please to enter in the castle, + And there repose you for this night. + BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. + But we must win your Grace to go with us + To Bristow Castle, which they say is held + By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, + The caterpillars of the commonwealth, + Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. + YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause, + For I am loath to break our country's laws. + Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are. + Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. +A camp in Wales + +Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days + And hardly kept our countrymen together, + And yet we hear no tidings from the King; + Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. + SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; + The King reposeth all his confidence in thee. + CAPTAIN. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay. + The bay trees in our country are all wither'd, + And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; + The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, + And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; + Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap- + The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, + The other to enjoy by rage and war. + These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. + Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, + As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. Exit + SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, + I see thy glory like a shooting star + Fall to the base earth from the firmament! + The sun sets weeping in the lowly west, + Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest; + Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; + And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +BOLINGBROKE'S camp at Bristol + +Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY, +BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners + + BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men. + Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls- + Since presently your souls must part your bodies- + With too much urging your pernicious lives, + For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood + From off my hands, here in the view of men + I will unfold some causes of your deaths: + You have misled a prince, a royal king, + A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, + By you unhappied and disfigured clean; + You have in manner with your sinful hours + Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; + Broke the possession of a royal bed, + And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks + With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs; + Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth, + Near to the King in blood, and near in love + Till you did make him misinterpret me- + Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries + And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, + Eating the bitter bread of banishment, + Whilst you have fed upon my signories, + Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, + From my own windows torn my household coat, + Raz'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign + Save men's opinions and my living blood + To show the world I am a gentleman. + This and much more, much more than twice all this, + Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over + To execution and the hand of death. + BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me + Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. + GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls, + And plague injustice with the pains of hell. + BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. + Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners + Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house; + For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated. + Tell her I send to her my kind commends; + Take special care my greetings be delivered. + YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd + With letters of your love to her at large. + BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, + To fight with Glendower and his complices. + Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. +The coast of Wales. A castle in view + +Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, +AUMERLE, and soldiers + + KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand? + AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air + After your late tossing on the breaking seas? + KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy + To stand upon my kingdom once again. + Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, + Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs. + As a long-parted mother with her child + Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, + So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth, + And do thee favours with my royal hands. + Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, + Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; + But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, + And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way, + Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet + Which with usurping steps do trample thee; + Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; + And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, + Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, + Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch + Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. + Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords. + This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones + Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king + Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. + CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king + Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. + The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd + And not neglected; else, if heaven would, + And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, + The proffered means of succour and redress. + AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; + Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, + Grows strong and great in substance and in power. + KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not + That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, + Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, + Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen + In murders and in outrage boldly here; + But when from under this terrestrial ball + He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines + And darts his light through every guilty hole, + Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, + The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, + Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? + So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, + Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, + Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes, + Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, + His treasons will sit blushing in his face, + Not able to endure the sight of day, + But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. + Not all the water in the rough rude sea + Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; + The breath of worldly men cannot depose + The deputy elected by the Lord. + For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd + To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, + God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay + A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight, + Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. + + Enter SALISBURY + + Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power? + SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, + Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue, + And bids me speak of nothing but despair. + One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, + Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. + O, call back yesterday, bid time return, + And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! + To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, + O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; + For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, + Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. + AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale? + KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men + Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; + And, till so much blood thither come again, + Have I not reason to look pale and dead? + All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; + For time hath set a blot upon my pride. + AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. + KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King? + Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. + Is not the King's name twenty thousand names? + Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes + At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, + Ye favourites of a king; are we not high? + High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York + Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? + + Enter SCROOP + + SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege + Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. + KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd. + The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. + Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care, + And what loss is it to be rid of care? + Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? + Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, + We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. + Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend; + They break their faith to God as well as us. + Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay- + The worst is death, and death will have his day. + SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd + To bear the tidings of calamity. + Like an unseasonable stormy day + Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, + As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears, + So high above his limits swells the rage + Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land + With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. + White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps + Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, + Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints + In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown; + Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows + Of double-fatal yew against thy state; + Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills + Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, + And all goes worse than I have power to tell. + KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in. + Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? + What is become of Bushy? Where is Green? + That they have let the dangerous enemy + Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? + If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. + I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. + SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. + KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! + Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! + Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! + Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! + Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war + Upon their spotted souls for this offence! + SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, + Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. + Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made + With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse + Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound + And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. + AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? + SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads. + AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power? + KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak. + Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; + Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes + Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. + Let's choose executors and talk of wills; + And yet not so-for what can we bequeath + Save our deposed bodies to the ground? + Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke's. + And nothing can we can our own but death + And that small model of the barren earth + Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. + For God's sake let us sit upon the ground + And tell sad stories of the death of kings: + How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, + Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, + Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd, + All murder'd-for within the hollow crown + That rounds the mortal temples of a king + Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, + Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; + Allowing him a breath, a little scene, + To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; + Infusing him with self and vain conceit, + As if this flesh which walls about our life + Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, + Comes at the last, and with a little pin + Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king! + Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood + With solemn reverence; throw away respect, + Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty; + For you have but mistook me all this while. + I live with bread like you, feel want, + Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, + How can you say to me I am a king? + CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, + But presently prevent the ways to wail. + To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, + Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, + And so your follies fight against yourself. + Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight; + And fight and die is death destroying death, + Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. + AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him, + And learn to make a body of a limb. + KING RICHARD. Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come + To change blows with thee for our day of doom. + This ague fit of fear is over-blown; + An easy task it is to win our own. + Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? + Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. + SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky + The state in inclination of the day; + So may you by my dull and heavy eye, + My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. + I play the torturer, by small and small + To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: + Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke; + And all your northern castles yielded up, + And all your southern gentlemen in arms + Upon his party. + KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough. + [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth + Of that sweet way I was in to despair! + What say you now? What comfort have we now? + By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly + That bids me be of comfort any more. + Go to Flint Castle; there I'll pine away; + A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. + That power I have, discharge; and let them go + To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, + For I have none. Let no man speak again + To alter this, for counsel is but vain. + AUMERLE. My liege, one word. + KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong + That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. + Discharge my followers; let them hence away, + From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. +Wales. Before Flint Castle + +Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, +and forces + + BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn + The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury + Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed + With some few private friends upon this coast. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord. + Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. + YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland + To say 'King Richard.' Alack the heavy day + When such a sacred king should hide his head! + NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief, + Left I his title out. + YORK. The time hath been, + Would you have been so brief with him, he would + Have been so brief with you to shorten you, + For taking so the head, your whole head's length. + BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. + YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, + Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads. + BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself + Against their will. But who comes here? + + Enter PERCY + + Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? + PIERCY. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, + Against thy entrance. + BOLINGBROKE. Royally! + Why, it contains no king? + PERCY. Yes, my good lord, + It doth contain a king; King Richard lies + Within the limits of yon lime and stone; + And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, + Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman + Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. + NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. + BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord, + Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; + Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley + Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: + Henry Bolingbroke + On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand, + And sends allegiance and true faith of heart + To his most royal person; hither come + Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, + Provided that my banishment repeal'd + And lands restor'd again be freely granted; + If not, I'll use the advantage of my power + And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood + Rain'd from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen; + The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke + It is such crimson tempest should bedrench + The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, + My stooping duty tenderly shall show. + Go, signify as much, while here we march + Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. + [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet] + Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, + That from this castle's tottered battlements + Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. + Methinks King Richard and myself should meet + With no less terror than the elements + Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock + At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. + Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water; + The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain + My waters-on the earth, and not on him. + March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. + + Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish. + Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, + AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY + + See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, + As doth the blushing discontented sun + From out the fiery portal of the east, + When he perceives the envious clouds are bent + To dim his glory and to stain the track + Of his bright passage to the occident. + YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye, + As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth + Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe, + That any harm should stain so fair a show! + KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz'd; and thus long + have we stood + To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, + Because we thought ourself thy lawful King; + And if we be, how dare thy joints forget + To pay their awful duty to our presence? + If we be not, show us the hand of God + That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; + For well we know no hand of blood and bone + Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, + Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. + And though you think that all, as you have done, + Have torn their souls by turning them from us, + And we are barren and bereft of friends, + Yet know-my master, God omnipotent, + Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf + Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike + Your children yet unborn and unbegot, + That lift your vassal hands against my head + And threat the glory of my precious crown. + Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands, + That every stride he makes upon my land + Is dangerous treason; he is come to open + The purple testament of bleeding war; + But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, + Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons + Shall ill become the flower of England's face, + Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace + To scarlet indignation, and bedew + Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King + Should so with civil and uncivil arms + Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin, + Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; + And by the honourable tomb he swears + That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, + And by the royalties of both your bloods, + Currents that spring from one most gracious head, + And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, + And by the worth and honour of himself, + Comprising all that may be sworn or said, + His coming hither hath no further scope + Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg + Enfranchisement immediate on his knees; + Which on thy royal party granted once, + His glittering arms he will commend to rust, + His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart + To faithful service of your Majesty. + This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; + And as I am a gentleman I credit him. + KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns: + His noble cousin is right welcome hither; + And all the number of his fair demands + Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction. + With all the gracious utterance thou hast + Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. + [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, + To look so poorly and to speak so fair? + Shall we call back Northumberland, and send + Defiance to the traitor, and so die? + AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words + Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. + KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine + That laid the sentence of dread banishment + On yon proud man should take it off again + With words of sooth! O that I were as great + As is my grief, or lesser than my name! + Or that I could forget what I have been! + Or not remember what I must be now! + Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, + Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. + AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. + KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit? + The King shall do it. Must he be depos'd? + The King shall be contented. Must he lose + The name of king? A God's name, let it go. + I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, + My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, + My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, + My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, + My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, + My subjects for a pair of carved saints, + And my large kingdom for a little grave, + A little little grave, an obscure grave- + Or I'll be buried in the king's high way, + Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet + May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; + For on my heart they tread now whilst I live, + And buried once, why not upon my head? + Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! + We'll make foul weather with despised tears; + Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn + And make a dearth in this revolting land. + Or shall we play the wantons with our woes + And make some pretty match with shedding tears? + As thus: to drop them still upon one place + Till they have fretted us a pair of graves + Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies + Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. + Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see + I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. + Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, + What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty + Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? + You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend + To speak with you; may it please you to come down? + KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaethon, + Wanting the manage of unruly jades. + In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, + To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. + In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! + For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. + Exeunt from above + BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart + Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man; + Yet he is come. + + Enter the KING, and his attendants, below + + BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart, + And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down] + My gracious lord- + KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee + To make the base earth proud with kissing it. + Me rather had my heart might feel your love + Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. + Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, + [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your + knee be low. + BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. + KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. + BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, + As my true service shall deserve your love. + KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have + That know the strong'st and surest way to get. + Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes: + Tears show their love, but want their remedies. + Cousin, I am too young to be your father, + Though you are old enough to be my heir. + What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; + For do we must what force will have us do. + Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so? + BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord. + KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. +The DUKE OF YORK's garden + +Enter the QUEEN and two LADIES + + QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden + To drive away the heavy thought of care? + LADY. Madam, we'll play at bowls. + QUEEN. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs + And that my fortune runs against the bias. + LADY. Madam, we'll dance. + QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight, + When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief; + Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport. + LADY. Madam, we'll tell tales. + QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy? + LADY. Of either, madam. + QUEEN. Of neither, girl; + For if of joy, being altogether wanting, + It doth remember me the more of sorrow; + Or if of grief, being altogether had, + It adds more sorrow to my want of joy; + For what I have I need not to repeat, + And what I want it boots not to complain. + LADY. Madam, I'll sing. + QUEEN. 'Tis well' that thou hast cause; + But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep. + LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. + QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good, + And never borrow any tear of thee. + + Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS + + But stay, here come the gardeners. + Let's step into the shadow of these trees. + My wretchedness unto a row of pins, + They will talk of state, for every one doth so + Against a change: woe is forerun with woe. + [QUEEN and LADIES retire] + GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, + Which, like unruly children, make their sire + Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight; + Give some supportance to the bending twigs. + Go thou, and Eke an executioner + Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays + That look too lofty in our commonwealth: + All must be even in our government. + You thus employ'd, I will go root away + The noisome weeds which without profit suck + The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. + SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, + Keep law and form and due proportion, + Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, + When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, + Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, + Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, + Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs + Swarming with caterpillars? + GARDENER. Hold thy peace. + He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring + Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; + The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, + That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, + Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke- + I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. + SERVANT. What, are they dead? + GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke + Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, what pity is it + That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land + As we this garden! We at time of year + Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees, + Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, + With too much riches it confound itself; + Had he done so to great and growing men, + They might have Ev'd to bear, and he to taste + Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches + We lop away, that bearing boughs may live; + Had he done so, himself had home the crown, + Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. + SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed? + GARDENER. Depress'd he is already, and depos'd + 'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night + To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's + That tell black tidings. + QUEEN. O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! + [Coming forward] + Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, + How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? + What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the + To make a second fall of cursed man? + Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd? + Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, + Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, + Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch. + GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have + To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. + King Richard, he is in the mighty hold + Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh'd. + In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, + And some few vanities that make him light; + But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, + Besides himself, are all the English peers, + And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. + Post you to London, and you will find it so; + I speak no more than every one doth know. + QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, + Doth not thy embassage belong to me, + And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest + To serve me last, that I may longest keep + Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go + To meet at London London's King in woe. + What, was I born to this, that my sad look + Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? + Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe, + Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow! + Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES + GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse, + I would my skill were subject to thy curse. + Here did she fall a tear; here in this place + I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace. + Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, + In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. +Westminster Hall + +Enter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, +FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, +and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT + + BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot. + Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind- + What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death; + Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd + The bloody office of his timeless end. + BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. + BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. + BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue + Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. + In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted + I heard you say 'Is not my arm of length, + That reacheth from the restful English Court + As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' + Amongst much other talk that very time + I heard you say that you had rather refuse + The offer of an hundred thousand crowns + Than Bolingbroke's return to England; + Adding withal, how blest this land would be + In this your cousin's death. + AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords, + What answer shall I make to this base man? + Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars + On equal terms to give him chastisement? + Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd + With the attainder of his slanderous lips. + There is my gage, the manual seal of death + That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, + And will maintain what thou hast said is false + In thy heart-blood, through being all too base + To stain the temper of my knightly sword. + BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. + AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best + In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. + FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, + There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. + By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, + I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, + That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. + If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest; + And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, + Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. + AUMERLE. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. + FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. + AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. + PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true + In this appeal as thou art an unjust; + And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, + To prove it on thee to the extremest point + Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st. + AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of + And never brandish more revengeful steel + Over the glittering helmet of my foe! + ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; + And spur thee on with fun as many lies + As may be halloa'd in thy treacherous ear + From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn; + Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. + AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw at all! + I have a thousand spirits in one breast + To answer twenty thousand such as you. + SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well + The very time Aumerle and you did talk. + FITZWATER. 'Tis very true; you were in presence then, + And you can witness with me this is true. + SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. + FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest. + SURREY. Dishonourable boy! + That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword + That it shall render vengeance and revenge + Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he + In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. + In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; + Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. + FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! + If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, + I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, + And spit upon him whilst I say he lies, + And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, + To tie thee to my strong correction. + As I intend to thrive in this new world, + Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal. + Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say + That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men + To execute the noble Duke at Calais. + AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage + That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this, + If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. + BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage + Till Norfolk be repeal'd-repeal'd he shall be + And, though mine enemy, restor'd again + To all his lands and signories. When he is return'd, + Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. + CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen. + Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought + For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, + Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross + Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; + And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself + To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave + His body to that pleasant country's earth, + And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, + Under whose colours he had fought so long. + BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead? + CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord. + BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom + Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, + Your differences shall all rest under gage + Till we assign you to your days of trial + + Enter YORK, attended + + YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the + From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul + Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields + To the possession of thy royal hand. + Ascend his throne, descending now from him- + And long live Henry, fourth of that name! + BOLINGBROKE. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. + CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid! + Worst in this royal presence may I speak, + Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. + Would God that any in this noble presence + Were enough noble to be upright judge + Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would + Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. + What subject can give sentence on his king? + And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? + Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, + Although apparent guilt be seen in them; + And shall the figure of God's majesty, + His captain, steward, deputy elect, + Anointed, crowned, planted many years, + Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, + And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, + That in a Christian climate souls refin'd + Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! + I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, + Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. + My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, + Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; + And if you crown him, let me prophesy- + The blood of English shall manure the ground, + And future ages groan for this foul act; + Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, + And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars + Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; + Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, + Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd + The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. + O, if you raise this house against this house, + It will the woefullest division prove + That ever fell upon this cursed earth. + Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, + Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, + Of capital treason we arrest you here. + My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge + To keep him safely till his day of trial. + May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? + BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view + He may surrender; so we shall proceed + Without suspicion. + YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit + BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, + Procure your sureties for your days of answer. + Little are we beholding to your love, + And little look'd for at your helping hands. + + Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS + bearing the regalia + + KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, + Before I have shook off the regal thoughts + Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd + To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee. + Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me + To this submission. Yet I well remember + The favours of these men. Were they not mine? + Did they not sometime cry 'All hail!' to me? + So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, + Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. + God save the King! Will no man say amen? + Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. + God save the King! although I be not he; + And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. + To do what service am I sent for hither? + YORK. To do that office of thine own good will + Which tired majesty did make thee offer- + The resignation of thy state and crown + To Henry Bolingbroke. + KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown. + Here, cousin, + On this side my hand, and on that side thine. + Now is this golden crown like a deep well + That owes two buckets, filling one another; + The emptier ever dancing in the air, + The other down, unseen, and full of water. + That bucket down and fun of tears am I, + Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. + BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign. + KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine. + You may my glories and my state depose, + But not my griefs; still am I king of those. + BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. + KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. + My care is loss of care, by old care done; + Your care is gain of care, by new care won. + The cares I give I have, though given away; + They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. + BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown? + KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; + Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. + Now mark me how I will undo myself: + I give this heavy weight from off my head, + And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, + The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; + With mine own tears I wash away my balm, + With mine own hands I give away my crown, + With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, + With mine own breath release all duteous oaths; + All pomp and majesty I do forswear; + My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo; + My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny. + God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! + God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee! + Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, + And thou with all pleas'd, that hast an achiev'd. + Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, + And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit. + God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, + And send him many years of sunshine days! + What more remains? + NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read + These accusations, and these grievous crimes + Committed by your person and your followers + Against the state and profit of this land; + That, by confessing them, the souls of men + May deem that you are worthily depos'd. + KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out + My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, + If thy offences were upon record, + Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop + To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, + There shouldst thou find one heinous article, + Containing the deposing of a king + And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, + Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven. + Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me + Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, + Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, + Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates + Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, + And water cannot wash away your sin. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these + articles. + KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see. + And yet salt water blinds them not so much + But they can see a sort of traitors here. + Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, + I find myself a traitor with the rest; + For I have given here my soul's consent + T'undeck the pompous body of a king; + Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave, + Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord- + KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, + Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no tide- + No, not that name was given me at the font- + But 'tis usurp'd. Alack the heavy day, + That I have worn so many winters out, + And know not now what name to call myself! + O that I were a mockery king of snow, + Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke + To melt myself away in water drops! + Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, + An if my word be sterling yet in England, + Let it command a mirror hither straight, + That it may show me what a face I have + Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. + BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. + Exit an attendant + NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. + KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell. + BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied. + KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough, + When I do see the very book indeed + Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. + + Re-enter attendant with glass + + Give me that glass, and therein will I read. + No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck + So many blows upon this face of mine + And made no deeper wounds? O flatt'ring glass, + Like to my followers in prosperity, + Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face + That every day under his household roof + Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face + That like the sun did make beholders wink? + Is this the face which fac'd so many follies + That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? + A brittle glory shineth in this face; + As brittle as the glory is the face; + [Dashes the glass against the ground] + For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. + Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport- + How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. + BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd + The shadow of your face. + KING RICHARD. Say that again. + The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see. + 'Tis very true: my grief lies all within; + And these external manner of laments + Are merely shadows to the unseen grief + That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul. + There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king, + For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st + Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way + How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, + And then be gone and trouble you no more. + Shall I obtain it? + BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. + KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king; + For when I was a king, my flatterers + Were then but subjects; being now a subject, + I have a king here to my flatterer. + Being so great, I have no need to beg. + BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask. + KING RICHARD. And shall I have? + BOLINGBROKE. You shall. + KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. + BOLINGBROKE. Whither? + KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. + BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. + KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all, + That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. + Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard + BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down + Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. + Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the + BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE + ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. + CARLISLE. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn + Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. + AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot + To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? + ABBOT. My lord, + Before I freely speak my mind herein, + You shall not only take the sacrament + To bury mine intents, but also to effect + Whatever I shall happen to devise. + I see your brows are full of discontent, + Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears. + Come home with me to supper; I will lay + A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. +London. A street leading to the Tower + +Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants + + QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way + To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, + To whose flint bosom my condemned lord + Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. + Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth + Have any resting for her true King's queen. + + Enter KING RICHARD and Guard + + But soft, but see, or rather do not see, + My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, + That you in pity may dissolve to dew, + And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. + Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; + Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, + And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, + Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, + When triumph is become an alehouse guest? + KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, + To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul, + To think our former state a happy dream; + From which awak'd, the truth of what we are + Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, + To grim Necessity; and he and + Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, + And cloister thee in some religious house. + Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, + Which our profane hours here have thrown down. + QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind + Transform'd and weak'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos'd + Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? + The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw + And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage + To be o'erpow'r'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, + Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod, + And fawn on rage with base humility, + Which art a lion and the king of beasts? + KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts, + I had been still a happy king of men. + Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France. + Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest, + As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. + In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire + With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales + Of woeful ages long ago betid; + And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs + Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, + And send the hearers weeping to their beds; + For why, the senseless brands will sympathize + The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, + And in compassion weep the fire out; + And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, + For the deposing of a rightful king. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended + + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; + You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. + And, madam, there is order ta'en for you: + With all swift speed you must away to France. + KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal + The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, + The time shall not be many hours of age + More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head + Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think + Though he divide the realm and give thee half + It is too little, helping him to all; + And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way + To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, + Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way + To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. + The love of wicked men converts to fear; + That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both + To worthy danger and deserved death. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. + Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. + KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you violate + A twofold marriage-'twixt my crown and me, + And then betwixt me and my married wife. + Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; + And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. + Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, + Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; + My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp, + She came adorned hither like sweet May, + Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. + QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part? + KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. + QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me. + NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy. + QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go. + KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe. + Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; + Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. + Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. + QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans. + KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, + And piece the way out with a heavy heart. + Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, + Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. + One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; + Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. + QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part + To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. + So, now I have mine own again, be gone. + That I may strive to kill it with a groan. + KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. + Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. +The DUKE OF YORK's palace + +Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS + + DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest, + When weeping made you break the story off, + Of our two cousins' coming into London. + YORK. Where did I leave? + DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord, + Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops + Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. + YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, + Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed + Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, + With slow but stately pace kept on his course, + Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!' + You would have thought the very windows spake, + So many greedy looks of young and old + Through casements darted their desiring eyes + Upon his visage; and that all the walls + With painted imagery had said at once + 'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!' + Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, + Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, + Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen.' + And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. + DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? + YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men + After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage + Are idly bent on him that enters next, + Thinking his prattle to be tedious; + Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes + Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!' + No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; + But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; + Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, + His face still combating with tears and smiles, + The badges of his grief and patience, + That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd + The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, + And barbarism itself have pitied him. + But heaven hath a hand in these events, + To whose high will we bound our calm contents. + To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, + Whose state and honour I for aye allow. + DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle. + YORK. Aumerle that was + But that is lost for being Richard's friend, + And madam, you must call him Rudand now. + I am in Parliament pledge for his truth + And lasting fealty to the new-made king. + + Enter AUMERLE + + DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now + That strew the green lap of the new come spring? + AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. + God knows I had as lief be none as one. + YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, + Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. + What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold? + AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do. + YORK. You will be there, I know. + AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so. + YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom? + Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. My lord, 'tis nothing. + YORK. No matter, then, who see it. + I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me; + It is a matter of small consequence + Which for some reasons I would not have seen. + YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. + I fear, I fear- + DUCHESS. What should you fear? + 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red into + For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph-day. + YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond + That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. + Boy, let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. + YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. + [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it] + Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! + DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord? + YORK. Ho! who is within there? + + Enter a servant + + Saddle my horse. + God for his mercy, what treachery is here! + DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord? + YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. + Exit servant + Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, + I will appeach the villain. + DUCHESS. What is the matter? + YORK. Peace, foolish woman. + DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle? + AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more + Than my poor life must answer. + DUCHESS. Thy life answer! + YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. + + His man enters with his boots + + DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd. + Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. + YORK. Give me my boots, I say. + DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do? + Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? + Have we more sons? or are we like to have? + Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? + And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age + And rob me of a happy mother's name? + Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? + YORK. Thou fond mad woman, + Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? + A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, + And interchangeably set down their hands + To kill the King at Oxford. + DUCHESS. He shall be none; + We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him? + YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son + I would appeach him. + DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan'd for him + As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. + But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect + That I have been disloyal to thy bed + And that he is a bastard, not thy son. + Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind. + He is as like thee as a man may be + Not like to me, or any of my kin, + And yet I love him. + YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit + DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse; + Spur post, and get before him to the King, + And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. + I'll not be long behind; though I be old, + I doubt not but to ride as fast as York; + And never will I rise up from the ground + Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. +Windsor Castle + +Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS + + BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? + 'Tis full three months since I did see him last. + If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. + I would to God, my lords, he might be found. + Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, + For there, they say, he daily doth frequent + With unrestrained loose companions, + Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes + And beat our watch and rob our passengers, + Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, + Takes on the point of honour to support + So dissolute a crew. + PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince, + And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. + BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant? + PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews, + And from the common'st creature pluck a glove + And wear it as a favour; and with that + He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. + BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both + I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years + May happily bring forth. But who comes here? + + Enter AUMERLE amazed + + AUMERLE. Where is the King? + BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks + So wildly? + AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty, + To have some conference with your Grace alone. + BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. + Exeunt PERCY and LORDS + What is the matter with our cousin now? + AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, + [Kneels] + My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, + Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. + BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault? + If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, + To win thy after-love I pardon thee. + AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, + That no man enter till my tale be done. + BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire. + [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth] + YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself; + Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. + BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I'll make thee safe. + AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. + YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King. + Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? + Open the door, or I will break it open. + + Enter YORK + + BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak; + Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, + That we may arm us to encounter it. + YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know + The treason that my haste forbids me show. + AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd. + I do repent me; read not my name there; + My heart is not confederate with my hand. + YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. + I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King; + Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. + Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove + A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. + BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! + O loyal father of a treacherous son! + Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, + From whence this stream through muddy passages + Hath held his current and defil'd himself! + Thy overflow of good converts to bad; + And thy abundant goodness shall excuse + This deadly blot in thy digressing son. + YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; + And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, + As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. + Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, + Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies. + Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, + The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. + DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in. + BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? + DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; 'tis I. + Speak with me, pity me, open the door. + A beggar begs that never begg'd before. + BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt'red from a serious thing, + And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King.' + My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. + I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. + YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray, + More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. + This fest'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound; + This let alone will all the rest confound. + + Enter DUCHESS + + DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man! + Love loving not itself, none other can. + YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? + Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? + DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. + [Kneels] + BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt. + DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech. + For ever will I walk upon my knees, + And never see day that the happy sees + Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy + By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. + AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. + [Kneels] + YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. + [Kneels] + Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! + DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face; + His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; + His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. + He prays but faintly and would be denied; + We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. + His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; + Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow. + His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; + Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. + Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have + That mercy which true prayer ought to have. + BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. + DUCHESS. do not say 'stand up'; + Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' + An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, + 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. + I never long'd to hear a word till now; + Say 'pardon,' King; let pity teach thee how. + The word is short, but not so short as sweet; + No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. + YORK. Speak it in French, King, say 'pardonne moy.' + DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? + Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, + That sets the word itself against the word! + Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; + The chopping French we do not understand. + Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there; + Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, + That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, + Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. + BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. + DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand; + Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. + BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. + DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! + Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. + Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, + But makes one pardon strong. + BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart + I pardon him. + DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art. + BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot, + With all the rest of that consorted crew, + Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. + Good uncle, help to order several powers + To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are. + They shall not live within this world, I swear, + But I will have them, if I once know where. + Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu; + Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. + DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. +Windsor Castle + +Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant + + EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake? + 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' + Was it not so? + SERVANT. These were his very words. + EXTON. 'Have I no friend?' quoth he. He spake it twice + And urg'd it twice together, did he not? + SERVANT. He did. + EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me, + As who should say 'I would thou wert the man + That would divorce this terror from my heart'; + Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go. + I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 5. +Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle + +Enter KING RICHARD + + KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare + This prison where I live unto the world + And, for because the world is populous + And here is not a creature but myself, + I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out. + My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, + My soul the father; and these two beget + A generation of still-breeding thoughts, + And these same thoughts people this little world, + In humours like the people of this world, + For no thought is contented. The better sort, + As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd + With scruples, and do set the word itself + Against the word, + As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again, + 'It is as hard to come as for a camel + To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' + Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot + Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails + May tear a passage through the flinty ribs + Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; + And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. + Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves + That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, + Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars + Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, + That many have and others must sit there; + And in this thought they find a kind of ease, + Bearing their own misfortunes on the back + Of such as have before endur'd the like. + Thus play I in one person many people, + And none contented. Sometimes am I king; + Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, + And so I am. Then crushing penury + Persuades me I was better when a king; + Then am I king'd again; and by and by + Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, + And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be, + Nor I, nor any man that but man is, + With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd + With being nothing. [The music plays] + Music do I hear? + Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is + When time is broke and no proportion kept! + So is it in the music of men's lives. + And here have I the daintiness of ear + To check time broke in a disorder'd string; + But, for the concord of my state and time, + Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. + I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; + For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: + My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar + Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, + Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, + Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. + Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is + Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, + Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans, + Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time + Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, + While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock. + This music mads me. Let it sound no more; + For though it have holp madmen to their wits, + In me it seems it will make wise men mad. + Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! + For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard + Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. + + Enter a GROOM of the stable + + GROOM. Hail, royal Prince! + KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer! + The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. + What art thou? and how comest thou hither, + Where no man never comes but that sad dog + That brings me food to make misfortune live? + GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King, + When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, + With much ado at length have gotten leave + To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. + O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld, + In London streets, that coronation-day, + When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary- + That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, + That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! + KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, + How went he under him? + GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. + KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! + That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; + This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. + Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, + Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck + Of that proud man that did usurp his back? + Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee, + Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, + Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; + And yet I bear a burden like an ass, + Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. + + Enter KEEPER with meat + + KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. + KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. + GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. + Exit + KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to? + KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. + KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, + Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary. + KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! + Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. + [Beats the KEEPER] + KEEPER. Help, help, help! + The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed + KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault? + Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. + [Snatching a weapon and killing one] + Go thou and fill another room in hell. + [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down] + That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire + That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand + Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land. + Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; + Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. + [Dies] + EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood. + Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good! + For now the devil, that told me I did well, + Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. + This dead King to the living King I'll bear. + Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 6. +Windsor Castle + +Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS +and attendants + + BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear + Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire + Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire; + But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + Welcome, my lord. What is the news? + NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. + The next news is, I have to London sent + The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. + The manner of their taking may appear + At large discoursed in this paper here. + BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; + And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. + + Enter FITZWATER + + FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London + The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; + Two of the dangerous consorted traitors + That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. + BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; + Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. + + Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE + + PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, + With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, + Hath yielded up his body to the grave; + But here is Carlisle living, to abide + Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. + BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom: + Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, + More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; + So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife; + For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, + High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. + + Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin + + EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present + Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies + The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, + Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. + BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought + A deed of slander with thy fatal hand + Upon my head and all this famous land. + EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. + BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need, + Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, + I hate the murderer, love him murdered. + The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, + But neither my good word nor princely favour; + With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, + And never show thy head by day nor light. + Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe + That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. + Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, + And put on sullen black incontinent. + I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, + To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. + March sadly after; grace my mournings here + In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1593 + +KING RICHARD III + +by William Shakespeare + + +Dramatis Personae + + EDWARD THE FOURTH + + Sons to the King + EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V + RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK, + + Brothers to the King + GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, + RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III + + A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick) + HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII + CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK + JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY + DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + DUKE OF NORFOLK + EARL OF SURREY, his son + EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen + MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons + EARL OF OXFORD + LORD HASTINGS + LORD LOVEL + LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY + SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN + SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF + SIR WILLIAM CATESBY + SIR JAMES TYRREL + SIR JAMES BLOUNT + SIR WALTER HERBERT + SIR WILLIAM BRANDON + SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower + CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest + LORD MAYOR OF LONDON + SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE + HASTINGS, a pursuivant + TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne + ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV + MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI + DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV + LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King + Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester + A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet, + Countess of Salisbury) + Ghosts, of Richard's victims + Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops, + Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: England + +King Richard the Third + + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +London. A street + +Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus + + GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent + Made glorious summer by this sun of York; + And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house + In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. + Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; + Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; + Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, + Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. + Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front, + And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds + To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, + He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber + To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. + But I-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, + Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass- + I-that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty + To strut before a wanton ambling nymph- + I-that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, + Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, + Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time + Into this breathing world scarce half made up, + And that so lamely and unfashionable + That dogs bark at me as I halt by them- + Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, + Have no delight to pass away the time, + Unless to spy my shadow in the sun + And descant on mine own deformity. + And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover + To entertain these fair well-spoken days, + I am determined to prove a villain + And hate the idle pleasures of these days. + Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, + By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, + To set my brother Clarence and the King + In deadly hate the one against the other; + And if King Edward be as true and just + As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, + This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up- + About a prophecy which says that G + Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. + Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes. + + Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY + + Brother, good day. What means this armed guard + That waits upon your Grace? + CLARENCE. His Majesty, + Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed + This conduct to convey me to th' Tower. + GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause? + CLARENCE. Because my name is George. + GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours: + He should, for that, commit your godfathers. + O, belike his Majesty hath some intent + That you should be new-christ'ned in the Tower. + But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know? + CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest + As yet I do not; but, as I can learn, + He hearkens after prophecies and dreams, + And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, + And says a wizard told him that by G + His issue disinherited should be; + And, for my name of George begins with G, + It follows in his thought that I am he. + These, as I learn, and such like toys as these + Hath mov'd his Highness to commit me now. + GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women: + 'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower; + My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she + That tempers him to this extremity. + Was it not she and that good man of worship, + Antony Woodville, her brother there, + That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, + From whence this present day he is delivered? + We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. + CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure + But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds + That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore. + Heard you not what an humble suppliant + Lord Hastings was, for her delivery? + GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity + Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. + I'll tell you what-I think it is our way, + If we will keep in favour with the King, + To be her men and wear her livery: + The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, + Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, + Are mighty gossips in our monarchy. + BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me: + His Majesty hath straitly given in charge + That no man shall have private conference, + Of what degree soever, with your brother. + GLOUCESTER. Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, + You may partake of any thing we say: + We speak no treason, man; we say the King + Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen + Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; + We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, + A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; + And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks. + How say you, sir? Can you deny all this? + BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do. + GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, + fellow, + He that doth naught with her, excepting one, + Were best to do it secretly alone. + BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord? + GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me? + BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and + withal + Forbear your conference with the noble Duke. + CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will + obey. + GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen's abjects and must obey. + Brother, farewell; I will unto the King; + And whatsoe'er you will employ me in- + Were it to call King Edward's widow sister- + I will perform it to enfranchise you. + Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood + Touches me deeper than you can imagine. + CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. + GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; + I will deliver or else lie for you. + Meantime, have patience. + CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell. + Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard + GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. + Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so + That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, + If heaven will take the present at our hands. + But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings? + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! + GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain! + Well are you welcome to the open air. + How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? + HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must; + But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks + That were the cause of my imprisonment. + GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; + For they that were your enemies are his, + And have prevail'd as much on him as you. + HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew'd + Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty. + GLOUCESTER. What news abroad? + HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home: + The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, + And his physicians fear him mightily. + GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. + O, he hath kept an evil diet long + And overmuch consum'd his royal person! + 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. + Where is he? In his bed? + HASTINGS. He is. + GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you. + Exit HASTINGS + He cannot live, I hope, and must not die + Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. + I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence + With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; + And, if I fail not in my deep intent, + Clarence hath not another day to live; + Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, + And leave the world for me to bustle in! + For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. + What though I kill'd her husband and her father? + The readiest way to make the wench amends + Is to become her husband and her father; + The which will I-not all so much for love + As for another secret close intent + By marrying her which I must reach unto. + But yet I run before my horse to market. + Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns; + When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit + + + + +SCENE 2. + +London. Another street + +Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it; +LADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY + + ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load- + If honour may be shrouded in a hearse; + Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament + Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. + Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! + Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! + Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! + Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost + To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, + Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son, + Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds. + Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life + I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. + O, cursed be the hand that made these holes! + Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! + Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! + More direful hap betide that hated wretch + That makes us wretched by the death of thee + Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, + Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! + If ever he have child, abortive be it, + Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, + Whose ugly and unnatural aspect + May fright the hopeful mother at the view, + And that be heir to his unhappiness! + If ever he have wife, let her be made + More miserable by the death of him + Than I am made by my young lord and thee! + Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, + Taken from Paul's to be interred there; + And still as you are weary of this weight + Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. + [The bearers take up the coffin] + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. + ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend + To stop devoted charitable deeds? + GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, + I'll make a corse of him that disobeys! + FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin + pass. + GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command. + Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, + Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot + And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. + [The bearers set down the coffin] + ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid? + Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, + And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. + Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! + Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, + His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. + GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. + ANNE. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not; + For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell + Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. + If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, + Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. + O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds + Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh. + Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, + For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood + From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells; + Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural + Provokes this deluge most unnatural. + O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! + O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death! + Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead; + Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, + As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, + Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered. + GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity, + Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. + ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man: + No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. + GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. + ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! + GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry. + Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, + Of these supposed crimes to give me leave + By circumstance but to acquit myself. + ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, + Of these known evils but to give me leave + By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self. + GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have + Some patient leisure to excuse myself. + ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make + No excuse current but to hang thyself. + GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself. + ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused + For doing worthy vengeance on thyself + That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. + GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not? + ANNE. Then say they were not slain. + But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. + GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband. + ANNE. Why, then he is alive. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands. + ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw + Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood; + The which thou once didst bend against her breast, + But that thy brothers beat aside the point. + GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue + That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. + ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, + That never dream'st on aught but butcheries. + Didst thou not kill this king? + GLOUCESTER. I grant ye. + ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to + Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! + O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! + GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath + him. + ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. + GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him + thither, + For he was fitter for that place than earth. + ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell. + GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. + ANNE. Some dungeon. + GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber. + ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! + GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. + ANNE. I hope so. + GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, + To leave this keen encounter of our wits, + And fall something into a slower method- + Is not the causer of the timeless deaths + Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, + As blameful as the executioner? + ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd effect. + GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect- + Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep + To undertake the death of all the world + So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. + ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, + These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. + GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty's + wreck; + You should not blemish it if I stood by. + As all the world is cheered by the sun, + So I by that; it is my day, my life. + ANNE. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! + GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. + ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. + GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural, + To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. + ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, + To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. + GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband + Did it to help thee to a better husband. + ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. + GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could. + ANNE. Name him. + GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet. + ANNE. Why, that was he. + GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature. + ANNE. Where is he? + GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit + at me? + ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! + GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place. + ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. + Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes. + GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. + ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead! + GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once; + For now they kill me with a living death. + Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, + Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops- + These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, + No, when my father York and Edward wept + To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made + When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him; + Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, + Told the sad story of my father's death, + And twenty times made pause to sob and weep + That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks + Like trees bedash'd with rain-in that sad time + My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; + And what these sorrows could not thence exhale + Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. + I never sued to friend nor enemy; + My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; + But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, + My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. + [She looks scornfully at him] + Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made + For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. + If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, + Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; + Which if thou please to hide in this true breast + And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, + I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, + And humbly beg the death upon my knee. + [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword] + Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry- + But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. + Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward- + But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. + [She falls the sword] + Take up the sword again, or take up me. + ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death, + I will not be thy executioner. + GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it; + ANNE. I have already. + GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage. + Speak it again, and even with the word + This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, + Shall for thy love kill a far truer love; + To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. + ANNE. I would I knew thy heart. + GLOUCESTER. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. + ANNE. I fear me both are false. + GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true. + ANNE. well put up your sword. + GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made. + ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter. + GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope? + ANNE. All men, I hope, live so. + GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. + ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring] + GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger, + Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; + Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. + And if thy poor devoted servant may + But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, + Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. + ANNE. What is it? + GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs + To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, + And presently repair to Crosby House; + Where-after I have solemnly interr'd + At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king, + And wet his grave with my repentant tears- + I will with all expedient duty see you. + For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, + Grant me this boon. + ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too + To see you are become so penitent. + Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. + GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell. + ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve; + But since you teach me how to flatter you, + Imagine I have said farewell already. + Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE + GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse. + GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? + GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? + Was ever woman in this humour won? + I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. + What! I that kill'd her husband and his father- + To take her in her heart's extremest hate, + With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, + The bleeding witness of my hatred by; + Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, + And I no friends to back my suit at all + But the plain devil and dissembling looks, + And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! + Ha! + Hath she forgot already that brave prince, + Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, + Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? + A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman- + Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, + Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal- + The spacious world cannot again afford; + And will she yet abase her eyes on me, + That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince + And made her widow to a woeful bed? + On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? + On me, that halts and am misshapen thus? + My dukedom to a beggarly denier, + I do mistake my person all this while. + Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, + Myself to be a marv'llous proper man. + I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, + And entertain a score or two of tailors + To study fashions to adorn my body. + Since I am crept in favour with myself, + I will maintain it with some little cost. + But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave, + And then return lamenting to my love. + Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, + That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit + + + + +SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY + + RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his Majesty + Will soon recover his accustom'd health. + GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse; + Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, + And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on + me? + GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all + harms. + GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son + To be your comforter when he is gone. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority + Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, + A man that loves not me, nor none of you. + RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet; + But so it must be, if the King miscarry. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY + + GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. + BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace! + DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord + of Derby, + To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. + Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife + And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd + I hate not you for her proud arrogance. + DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe + The envious slanders of her false accusers; + Or, if she be accus'd on true report, + Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds + From wayward sickness and no grounded malice. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of + Derby? + DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I + Are come from visiting his Majesty. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment, + Lords? + BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks + cheerfully. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer + with him? + BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement + Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, + And between them and my Lord Chamberlain; + And sent to warn them to his royal presence. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will + never be. + I fear our happiness is at the height. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET + + GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. + Who is it that complains unto the King + That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not? + By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly + That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. + Because I cannot flatter and look fair, + Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, + Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, + I must be held a rancorous enemy. + Cannot a plain man live and think no harm + But thus his simple truth must be abus'd + With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? + GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace? + GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. + When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong, + Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction? + A plague upon you all! His royal Grace- + Whom God preserve better than you would wish!- + Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while + But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the + matter. + The King, on his own royal disposition + And not provok'd by any suitor else- + Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred + That in your outward action shows itself + Against my children, brothers, and myself- + Makes him to send that he may learn the ground. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad + That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. + Since every Jack became a gentleman, + There's many a gentle person made a Jack. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning, + brother Gloucester: + You envy my advancement and my friends'; + God grant we never may have need of you! + GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you. + Our brother is imprison'd by your means, + Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility + Held in contempt; while great promotions + Are daily given to ennoble those + That scarce some two days since were worth a noble. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais'd me to this careful + height + From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, + I never did incense his Majesty + Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been + An earnest advocate to plead for him. + My lord, you do me shameful injury + Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. + GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean + Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. + RIVERS. She may, my lord; for- + GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows + not so? + She may do more, sir, than denying that: + She may help you to many fair preferments + And then deny her aiding hand therein, + And lay those honours on your high desert. + What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she- + RIVERS. What, marry, may she? + GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king, + A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too. + Iwis your grandam had a worser match. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long + borne + Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs. + By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty + Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd. + I had rather be a country servant-maid + Than a great queen with this condition- + To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at. + + Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind + + Small joy have I in being England's Queen. + QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I + beseech Him! + Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. + GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the + King? + Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said + I will avouch't in presence of the King. + I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r. + 'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot. + QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to + well: + Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, + And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. + GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband + King, + I was a pack-horse in his great affairs, + A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, + A liberal rewarder of his friends; + To royalize his blood I spent mine own. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or + thine. + GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey + Were factious for the house of Lancaster; + And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband + In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? + Let me put in your minds, if you forget, + What you have been ere this, and what you are; + Withal, what I have been, and what I am. + QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. + GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick, + Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!- + QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge! + GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown; + And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. + I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's, + Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine. + I am too childish-foolish for this world. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this + world, + Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is. + RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days + Which here you urge to prove us enemies, + We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king. + So should we you, if you should be our king. + GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar. + Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose + You should enjoy were you this country's king, + As little joy you may suppose in me + That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof. + QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; + For I am she, and altogether joyless. + I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing] + Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out + In sharing that which you have pill'd from me. + Which of you trembles not that looks on me? + If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects, + Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? + Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! + GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my + sight? + QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd, + That will I make before I let thee go. + GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? + QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in + banishment + Than death can yield me here by my abode. + A husband and a son thou ow'st to me; + And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance. + This sorrow that I have by right is yours; + And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. + GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee, + When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper + And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, + And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout + Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland- + His curses then from bitterness of soul + Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee; + And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent. + HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, + And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! + RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. + DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it. + BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came, + Ready to catch each other by the throat, + And turn you all your hatred now on me? + Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven + That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, + Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, + Should all but answer for that peevish brat? + Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? + Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! + Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, + As ours by murder, to make him a king! + Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, + For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales, + Die in his youth by like untimely violence! + Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, + Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! + Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death, + And see another, as I see thee now, + Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! + Long die thy happy days before thy death; + And, after many length'ned hours of grief, + Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen! + Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, + And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son + Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him, + That none of you may live his natural age, + But by some unlook'd accident cut off! + GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd + hag. + QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou + shalt hear me. + If heaven have any grievous plague in store + Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, + O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, + And then hurl down their indignation + On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! + The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! + Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, + And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! + No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, + Unless it be while some tormenting dream + Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! + Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog, + Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity + The slave of nature and the son of hell, + Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb, + Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins, + Thou rag of honour, thou detested- + GLOUCESTER. Margaret! + QUEEN MARGARET. Richard! + GLOUCESTER. Ha? + QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not. + GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think + That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. + QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply. + O, let me make the period to my curse! + GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse + against yourself. + QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my + fortune! + Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider + Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? + Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. + The day will come that thou shalt wish for me + To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad. + HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, + Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. + QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all + mov'd mine. + RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your + duty. + QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me + duty, + Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects. + O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! + DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. + QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert; + Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. + O, that your young nobility could judge + What 'twere to lose it and be miserable! + They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, + And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. + GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis. + DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high, + Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, + And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. + QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas! + Witness my son, now in the shade of death, + Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath + Hath in eternal darkness folded up. + Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. + O God that seest it, do not suffer it; + As it is won with blood, lost be it so! + BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity! + QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me. + Uncharitably with me have you dealt, + And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. + My charity is outrage, life my shame; + And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage! + BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done. + QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy + hand + In sign of league and amity with thee. + Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! + Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, + Nor thou within the compass of my curse. + BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass + The lips of those that breathe them in the air. + QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky + And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. + O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! + Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, + His venom tooth will rankle to the death: + Have not to do with him, beware of him; + Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him, + And all their ministers attend on him. + GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle + counsel, + And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? + O, but remember this another day, + When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, + And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! + Live each of you the subjects to his hate, + And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit + BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses. + RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother, + She hath had too much wrong; and I repent + My part thereof that I have done to her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge. + GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. + I was too hot to do somebody good + That is too cold in thinking of it now. + Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; + He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; + God pardon them that are the cause thereof! + RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, + To pray for them that have done scathe to us! + GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis'd; + For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. + + Enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you, + And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go + with me? + RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. + The secret mischiefs that I set abroach + I lay unto the grievous charge of others. + Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness, + I do beweep to many simple gulls; + Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham; + And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies + That stir the King against the Duke my brother. + Now they believe it, and withal whet me + To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey; + But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture, + Tell them that God bids us do good for evil. + And thus I clothe my naked villainy + With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ, + And seem a saint when most I play the devil. + + Enter two MURDERERS + + But, soft, here come my executioners. + How now, my hardy stout resolved mates! + Are you now going to dispatch this thing? + FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the + warrant, + That we may be admitted where he is. + GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me. + [Gives the warrant] + When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. + But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, + Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; + For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps + May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. + FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to + prate; + Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd + We go to use our hands and not our tongues. + GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall + tears. + I like you, lads; about your business straight; + Go, go, dispatch. + FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +London. The Tower + +Enter CLARENCE and KEEPER + + KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day? + CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, + So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, + That, as I am a Christian faithful man, + I would not spend another such a night + Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days- + So full of dismal terror was the time! + KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you + tell me. + CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower + And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; + And in my company my brother Gloucester, + Who from my cabin tempted me to walk + Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England, + And cited up a thousand heavy times, + During the wars of York and Lancaster, + That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along + Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, + Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling + Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard + Into the tumbling billows of the main. + O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, + What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, + What sights of ugly death within my eyes! + Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, + A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon, + Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, + Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, + All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea; + Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes + Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept, + As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, + That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep + And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by. + KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death + To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? + CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive + To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood + Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth + To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; + But smother'd it within my panting bulk, + Who almost burst to belch it in the sea. + KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony? + CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life. + O, then began the tempest to my soul! + I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood + With that sour ferryman which poets write of, + Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. + The first that there did greet my stranger soul + Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, + Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury + Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' + And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by + A shadow like an angel, with bright hair + Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud + 'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, + That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury. + Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!' + With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends + Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears + Such hideous cries that, with the very noise, + I trembling wak'd, and for a season after + Could not believe but that I was in hell, + Such terrible impression made my dream. + KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; + I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. + CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things + That now give evidence against my soul + For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me! + O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, + But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, + Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone; + O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! + KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile; + My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. + KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest. + [CLARENCE sleeps] + + Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant + + BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, + Makes the night morning and the noontide night. + Princes have but their titles for their glories, + An outward honour for an inward toil; + And for unfelt imaginations + They often feel a world of restless cares, + So that between their tides and low name + There's nothing differs but the outward fame. + + Enter the two MURDERERS + + FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who's here? + BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st + thou hither? + FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came + hither on my legs. + BRAKENBURY. What, so brief? + SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let + him see our commission and talk no more. + [BRAKENBURY reads it] + BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver + The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. + I will not reason what is meant hereby, + Because I will be guiltless from the meaning. + There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys. + I'll to the King and signify to him + That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. + FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare + you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER + SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps? + FIRST MURDERER. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when + he wakes. + SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great + judgment-day. + FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him + sleeping. + SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath + bred a kind of remorse in me. + FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid? + SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to + be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can + defend me. + FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute. + SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live. + FIRST MURDERER. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and + tell him so. + SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this + passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to + hold me but while one tells twenty. + FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now? + SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience + are yet within me. + FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed's + done. + SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward. + FIRST MURDERER. Where's thy conscience now? + SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse! + FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our + reward, thy conscience flies out. + SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or + none will entertain it. + FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again? + SECOND MURDERER. I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man + coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man + cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his + neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame- + fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man + full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold + that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it. + It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing; + and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust + to himself and live without it. + FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow, + persuading me not to kill the Duke. + SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe + him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the + sigh. + FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with + me. + SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy + reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? + FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of + thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the + next room. + SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of + him. + FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes. + SECOND MURDERER. Strike! + FIRST MURDERER. No, we'll reason with him. + CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine. + SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord, + anon. + CLARENCE. In God's name, what art thou? + FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are. + CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal. + SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal. + CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. + FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King's, my looks + mine own. + CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! + Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale? + Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? + SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to- + CLARENCE. To murder me? + BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay. + CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, + And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. + Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? + FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King. + CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. + SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. + CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men + To slay the innocent? What is my offence? + Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? + What lawful quest have given their verdict up + Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd + The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? + Before I be convict by course of law, + To threaten me with death is most unlawful. + I charge you, as you hope to have redemption + By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, + That you depart and lay no hands on me. + The deed you undertake is damnable. + FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command. + SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our + King. + CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings + Hath in the tables of his law commanded + That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then + Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? + Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand + To hurl upon their heads that break his law. + SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl + on thee + For false forswearing, and for murder too; + Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight + In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. + FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God + Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade + Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sov'reign's son. + SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and + defend. + FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law + to us, + When thou hast broke it in such dear degree? + CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? + For Edward, for my brother, for his sake. + He sends you not to murder me for this, + For in that sin he is as deep as I. + If God will be avenged for the deed, + O, know you yet He doth it publicly. + Take not the quarrel from His pow'rful arm; + He needs no indirect or lawless course + To cut off those that have offended Him. + FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister + When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, + That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? + CLARENCE. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. + FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy + faults, + Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. + CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me; + I am his brother, and I love him well. + If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, + And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, + Who shall reward you better for my life + Than Edward will for tidings of my death. + SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloucester + hates you. + CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear. + Go you to him from me. + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will. + CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York + Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm + And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, + He little thought of this divided friendship. + Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep. + CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. + FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you + deceive yourself: + 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. + CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune + And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore with sobs + That he would labour my delivery. + FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you + From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. + SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die, + my lord. + CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls + To counsel me to make my peace with God, + And are you yet to your own souls so blind + That you will war with God by murd'ring me? + O, sirs, consider: they that set you on + To do this deed will hate you for the deed. + SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do? + CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls. + FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, 'tis cowardly and womanish. + CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. + Which of you, if you were a prince's son, + Being pent from liberty as I am now, + If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, + Would not entreat for life? + My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; + O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, + Come thou on my side and entreat for me- + As you would beg were you in my distress. + A begging prince what beggar pities not? + SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord. + FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all + this will not do, + I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. + Exit with the body + SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately + dispatch'd! + How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands + Of this most grievous murder! + + Re-enter FIRST MURDERER + + FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean'st thou that thou + help'st me not? + By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have + been! + SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav'd his + brother! + Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; + For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit + FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art. + Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, + Till that the Duke give order for his burial; + And when I have my meed, I will away; + For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, +HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others + + KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day's + work. + You peers, continue this united league. + I every day expect an embassage + From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; + And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven, + Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. + Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand; + Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. + RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; + And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. + HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! + KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king; + Lest He that is the supreme King of kings + Confound your hidden falsehood and award + Either of you to be the other's end. + HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! + RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! + KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this; + Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you: + You have been factious one against the other. + Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; + And what you do, do it unfeignedly. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more + remember + Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! + KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord + Marquis. + DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest, + Upon my part shall be inviolable. + HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace] + KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this + league + With thy embracements to my wife's allies, + And make me happy in your unity. + BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham + doth turn his hate + Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love + Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me + With hate in those where I expect most love! + When I have most need to employ a friend + And most assured that he is a friend, + Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, + Be he unto me! This do I beg of God + When I am cold in love to you or yours. + [They embrace] + KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, + Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. + There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here + To make the blessed period of this peace. + BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, + Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF + + GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and + Queen; + And, princely peers, a happy time of day! + KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. + Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, + Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, + Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. + GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. + Among this princely heap, if any here, + By false intelligence or wrong surmise, + Hold me a foe- + If I unwittingly, or in my rage, + Have aught committed that is hardly borne + To any in this presence, I desire + To reconcile me to his friendly peace: + 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; + I hate it, and desire all good men's love. + First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, + Which I will purchase with my duteous service; + Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, + If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us; + Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset, + That all without desert have frown'd on me; + Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you; + Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all. + I do not know that Englishman alive + With whom my soul is any jot at odds + More than the infant that is born to-night. + I thank my God for my humility. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter. + I would to God all strifes were well compounded. + My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness + To take our brother Clarence to your grace. + GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off'red love for this, + To be so flouted in this royal presence? + Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead? + [They all start] + You do him injury to scorn his corse. + KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows + he is? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! + BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? + DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence + But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. + KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd. + GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died, + And that a winged Mercury did bear; + Some tardy cripple bare the countermand + That came too lag to see him buried. + God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, + Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood, + Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, + And yet go current from suspicion! + + Enter DERBY + + DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! + KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow. + DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me. + KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests. + DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; + Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman + Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. + KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, + And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? + My brother killed no man-his fault was thought, + And yet his punishment was bitter death. + Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath, + Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd? + Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love? + Who told me how the poor soul did forsake + The mighty Warwick and did fight for me? + Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury + When Oxford had me down, he rescued me + And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'? + Who told me, when we both lay in the field + Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me + Even in his garments, and did give himself, + All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? + All this from my remembrance brutish wrath + Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you + Had so much race to put it in my mind. + But when your carters or your waiting-vassals + Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd + The precious image of our dear Redeemer, + You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; + And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises] + But for my brother not a man would speak; + Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself + For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all + Have been beholding to him in his life; + Yet none of you would once beg for his life. + O God, I fear thy justice will take hold + On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this! + Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence! + Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN + GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not + How that the guilty kindred of the Queen + Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? + O, they did urge it still unto the King! + God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go + To comfort Edward with our company? + BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE + + SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? + DUCHESS. No, boy. + DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, + And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'? + SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, + And call us orphans, wretches, castaways, + If that our noble father were alive? + DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; + I do lament the sickness of the King, + As loath to lose him, not your father's death; + It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. + SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. + The King mine uncle is to blame for it. + God will revenge it; whom I will importune + With earnest prayers all to that effect. + DAUGHTER. And so will I. + DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you + well. + Incapable and shallow innocents, + You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. + SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester + Told me the King, provok'd to it by the Queen, + Devis'd impeachments to imprison him. + And when my uncle told me so, he wept, + And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; + Bade me rely on him as on my father, + And he would love me dearly as a child. + DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape, + And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice! + He is my son; ay, and therein my shame; + Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. + SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? + DUCHESS. Ay, boy. + SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? + + Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her + ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her + + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and + weep, + To chide my fortune, and torment myself? + I'll join with black despair against my soul + And to myself become an enemy. + DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence. + EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. + Why grow the branches when the root is gone? + Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? + If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, + That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's, + Or like obedient subjects follow him + To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night. + DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow + As I had title in thy noble husband! + I have bewept a worthy husband's death, + And liv'd with looking on his images; + But now two mirrors of his princely semblance + Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, + And I for comfort have but one false glass, + That grieves me when I see my shame in him. + Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother + And hast the comfort of thy children left; + But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms + And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands- + Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I- + Thine being but a moiety of my moan- + To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries? + SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death! + How can we aid you with our kindred tears? + DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; + Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation; + I am not barren to bring forth complaints. + All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes + That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, + May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! + Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward! + CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence! + DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's + gone. + CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. + DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss. + CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss. + DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss. + Alas, I am the mother of these griefs! + Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general. + She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: + I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she. + These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: + I for an Edward weep, so do not they. + Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd, + Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, + And I will pamper it with lamentation. + DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd + That you take with unthankfulness his doing. + In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful + With dull unwillingness to repay a debt + Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; + Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, + For it requires the royal debt it lent you. + RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, + Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him; + Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives. + Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, + And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, + HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF + + GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause + To wail the dimming of our shining star; + But none can help our harms by wailing them. + Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; + I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee + I crave your blessing. + DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, + Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! + GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old + man! + That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; + I marvel that her Grace did leave it out. + BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing + peers, + That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, + Now cheer each other in each other's love. + Though we have spent our harvest of this king, + We are to reap the harvest of his son. + The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts, + But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, + Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept. + Me seemeth good that, with some little train, + Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet + Hither to London, to be crown'd our King. + + RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of + Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude + The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, + Which would be so much the more dangerous + By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd; + Where every horse bears his commanding rein + And may direct his course as please himself, + As well the fear of harm as harm apparent, + In my opinion, ought to be prevented. + GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us; + And the compact is firm and true in me. + RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an. + Yet, since it is but green, it should be put + To no apparent likelihood of breach, + Which haply by much company might be urg'd; + Therefore I say with noble Buckingham + That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince. + HASTINGS. And so say I. + GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine + Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. + Madam, and you, my sister, will you go + To give your censures in this business? + Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, + For God sake, let not us two stay at home; + For by the way I'll sort occasion, + As index to the story we late talk'd of, + To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince. + GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel's consistory, + My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin, + I, as a child, will go by thy direction. + Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +London. A street + +Enter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other + + FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so + fast? + SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself. + Hear you the news abroad? + FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead. + SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the + better. + I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world. + + Enter another CITIZEN + + THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed! + FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir. + THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward's + death? + SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! + THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous + world. + FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall + reign. + THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child. + SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government, + Which, in his nonage, council under him, + And, in his full and ripened years, himself, + No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. + FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth + Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. + THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, + God wot; + For then this land was famously enrich'd + With politic grave counsel; then the King + Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace. + FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and + mother. + THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father, + Or by his father there were none at all; + For emulation who shall now be nearest + Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. + O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester! + And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud; + And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, + This sickly land might solace as before. + FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be + well. + THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on + their cloaks; + When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; + When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? + Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. + All may be well; but, if God sort it so, + 'Tis more than we deserve or I expect. + SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear. + You cannot reason almost with a man + That looks not heavily and fun of dread. + THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so; + By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust + Ensuing danger; as by proof we see + The water swell before a boist'rous storm. + But leave it all to God. Whither away? + SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. + THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I'll bear you company. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +London. The palace + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH, +and the DUCHESS OF YORK + + ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford, + And at Northampton they do rest to-night; + To-morrow or next day they will be here. + DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince. + I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York + Has almost overta'en him in his growth. + YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so. + DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow. + YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper, + My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow + More than my brother. 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester + 'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.' + And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, + Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste. + DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold + In him that did object the same to thee. + He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, + So long a-growing and so leisurely + That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. + ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam. + DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. + YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb'red, + I could have given my uncle's Grace a flout + To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. + DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it. + YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast + That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old. + 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. + Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. + DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this? + YORK. Grandam, his nurse. + DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast + born. + YORK. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too + shrewd. + ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news? + MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince? + MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health. + DUCHESS. What is thy news? + MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey + Are sent to Pomfret, and with them + Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. + DUCHESS. Who hath committed them? + MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham. + ARCHBISHOP. For what offence? + MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd. + Why or for what the nobles were committed + Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house! + The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind; + Insulting tyranny begins to jet + Upon the innocent and aweless throne. + Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! + I see, as in a map, the end of all. + DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, + How many of you have mine eyes beheld! + My husband lost his life to get the crown; + And often up and down my sons were toss'd + For me to joy and weep their gain and loss; + And being seated, and domestic broils + Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors + Make war upon themselves-brother to brother, + Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous + And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen, + Or let me die, to look on death no more! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to + sanctuary. + Madam, farewell. + DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause. + ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go. + And thither bear your treasure and your goods. + For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace + The seal I keep; and so betide to me + As well I tender you and all of yours! + Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. A street + +The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, +CATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others + + BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your + chamber. + GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign. + The weary way hath made you melancholy. + PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way + Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy. + I want more uncles here to welcome me. + GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your + years + Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit; + Nor more can you distinguish of a man + Than of his outward show; which, God He knows, + Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. + Those uncles which you want were dangerous; + Your Grace attended to their sug'red words + But look'd not on the poison of their hearts. + God keep you from them and from such false friends! + PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were + none. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet + you. + + Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train + + MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days! + PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all. + I thought my mother and my brother York + Would long ere this have met us on the way. + Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not + To tell us whether they will come or no! + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating + Lord. + PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come? + HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I, + The Queen your mother and your brother York + Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince + Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace, + But by his mother was perforce withheld. + BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course + Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace + Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York + Unto his princely brother presently? + If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him + And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. + CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory + Can from his mother win the Duke of York, + Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate + To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid + We should infringe the holy privilege + Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land + Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. + BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, + Too ceremonious and traditional. + Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, + You break not sanctuary in seizing him. + The benefit thereof is always granted + To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place + And those who have the wit to claim the place. + This Prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it, + And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it. + Then, taking him from thence that is not there, + You break no privilege nor charter there. + Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; + But sanctuary children never till now. + CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once. + Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? + HASTINGS. I go, my lord. + PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. + Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS + Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, + Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? + GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self. + If I may counsel you, some day or two + Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower, + Then where you please and shall be thought most fit + For your best health and recreation. + PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place. + Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord? + BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place, + Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. + PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported + Successively from age to age, he built it? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord. + PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, + Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age, + As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, + Even to the general all-ending day. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never + live long. + PRINCE. What say you, uncle? + GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long. + [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, + I moralize two meanings in one word. + PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man; + With what his valour did enrich his wit, + His wit set down to make his valour live. + Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; + For now he lives in fame, though not in life. + I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham- + BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord? + PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man, + I'll win our ancient right in France again, + Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward + spring. + + Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL + + BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of + York. + PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother? + YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now. + PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours. + Too late he died that might have kept that title, + Which by his death hath lost much majesty. + GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York? + YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, + You said that idle weeds are fast in growth. + The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far. + GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord. + YORK. And therefore is he idle? + GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. + YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I. + GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign; + But you have power in me as in a kinsman. + YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. + GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart! + PRINCE. A beggar, brother? + YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give, + And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. + GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. + YORK. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it! + GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. + YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts: + In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. + GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear. + YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. + GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little + Lord? + YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. + GLOUCESTER. How? + YORK. Little. + PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk. + Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him. + YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me. + Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; + Because that I am little, like an ape, + He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. + BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! + To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle + He prettily and aptly taunts himself. + So cunning and so young is wonderful. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, will't please you pass along? + Myself and my good cousin Buckingham + Will to your mother, to entreat of her + To meet you at the Tower and welcome you. + YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? + PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so. + YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear? + YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost. + My grandam told me he was murder'd there. + PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead. + GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope. + PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. + But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart, + Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. + A sennet. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY + BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York + Was not incensed by his subtle mother + To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? + GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, 'tis a perilous boy; + Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable. + He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. + BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby. + Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend + As closely to conceal what we impart. + Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way. + What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter + To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, + For the instalment of this noble Duke + In the seat royal of this famous isle? + CATESBY. He for his father's sake so loves the Prince + That he will not be won to aught against him. + BUCKINGHAM. What think'st thou then of Stanley? Will + not he? + CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. + BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle + Catesby, + And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings + How he doth stand affected to our purpose; + And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, + To sit about the coronation. + If thou dost find him tractable to us, + Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons; + If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, + Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, + And give us notice of his inclination; + For we to-morrow hold divided councils, + Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. + GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, + Catesby, + His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries + To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle; + And bid my lord, for joy of this good news, + Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. + BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly. + CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. + GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? + CATESBY. You shall, my lord. + GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both. + Exit CATESBY + BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we + perceive + Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? + GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will + determine. + And, look when I am King, claim thou of me + The earldom of Hereford and all the movables + Whereof the King my brother was possess'd. + BUCKINGHAM. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand. + GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. + Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards + We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +Before LORD HASTING'S house + +Enter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS + + MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking] + HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks? + MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley. + HASTINGS. [Within] What is't o'clock? + MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four. + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious + nights? + MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say. + First, he commends him to your noble self. + HASTINGS. What then? + MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night + He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm. + Besides, he says there are two councils kept, + And that may be determin'd at the one + Which may make you and him to rue at th' other. + Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure- + If you will presently take horse with him + And with all speed post with him toward the north + To shun the danger that his soul divines. + HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; + Bid him not fear the separated council: + His honour and myself are at the one, + And at the other is my good friend Catesby; + Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us + Whereof I shall not have intelligence. + Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance; + And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple + To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers. + To fly the boar before the boar pursues + Were to incense the boar to follow us + And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. + Go, bid thy master rise and come to me; + And we will both together to the Tower, + Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. + MESSENGER. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. + Exit + + Enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord! + HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring. + What news, what news, in this our tott'ring state? + CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord; + And I believe will never stand upright + Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. + HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the + crown? + CATESBY. Ay, my good lord. + HASTINGS. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my + shoulders + Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. + But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? + CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward + Upon his party for the gain thereof; + And thereupon he sends you this good news, + That this same very day your enemies, + The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret. + HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, + Because they have been still my adversaries; + But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side + To bar my master's heirs in true descent, + God knows I will not do it to the death. + CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! + HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence, + That they which brought me in my master's hate, + I live to look upon their tragedy. + Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, + I'll send some packing that yet think not on't. + CATESBY. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, + When men are unprepar'd and look not for it. + HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out + With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do + With some men else that think themselves as safe + As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear + To princely Richard and to Buckingham. + CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you- + [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge. + HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it. + + Enter LORD STANLEY + + Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man? + Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? + STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby. + You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, + I do not like these several councils, I. + HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours, + And never in my days, I do protest, + Was it so precious to me as 'tis now. + Think you, but that I know our state secure, + I would be so triumphant as I am? + STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from + London, + Were jocund and suppos'd their states were sure, + And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; + But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast. + This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt; + Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward. + What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent. + HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my + Lord? + To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded. + STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their + heads + Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats. + But come, my lord, let's away. + + Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant + + HASTINGS. Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow. + Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY + How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee? + PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask. + HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now + Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet: + Then was I going prisoner to the Tower + By the suggestion of the Queen's allies; + But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself- + This day those enernies are put to death, + And I in better state than e'er I was. + PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour's good content! + HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me. + [Throws him his purse] + PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit + + Enter a PRIEST + + PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. + HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. + I am in your debt for your last exercise; + Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. + [He whispers in his ear] + PRIEST. I'll wait upon your lordship. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord + Chamberlain! + Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest: + Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. + HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, + The men you talk of came into my mind. + What, go you toward the Tower? + BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there; + I shall return before your lordship thence. + HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. + BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou + knowest it not.- + Come, will you go? + HASTINGS. I'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +Pomfret Castle + +Enter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles, +RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death + + RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this: + To-day shalt thou behold a subject die + For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. + GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you! + A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. + VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter. + RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out. + RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, + Fatal and ominous to noble peers! + Within the guilty closure of thy walls + RICHARD the Second here was hack'd to death; + And for more slander to thy dismal seat, + We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. + GREY. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads, + When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, + For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. + RIVERS. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she + Buckingham, + Then curs'd she Hastings. O, remember, God, + To hear her prayer for them, as now for us! + And for my sister, and her princely sons, + Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, + Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. + RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. + RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace. + Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4 + +London. The Tower + +Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, +with others and seat themselves at a table + + HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met + Is to determine of the coronation. + In God's name speak-when is the royal day? + BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time? + DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination. + BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. + BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind + herein? + Who is most inward with the noble Duke? + BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know + his mind. + BUCKINGHAM. We know each other's faces; for our hearts, + He knows no more of mine than I of yours; + Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine. + Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. + HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well; + But for his purpose in the coronation + I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd + His gracious pleasure any way therein. + But you, my honourable lords, may name the time; + And in the Duke's behalf I'll give my voice, + Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself. + GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow. + I have been long a sleeper, but I trust + My absence doth neglect no great design + Which by my presence might have been concluded. + BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, + WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part- + I mean, your voice for crowning of the King. + GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be + bolder; + His lordship knows me well and loves me well. + My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn + I saw good strawberries in your garden there. + I do beseech you send for some of them. + BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart. + Exit + GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. + [Takes him aside] + Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, + And finds the testy gentleman so hot + That he will lose his head ere give consent + His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, + Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. + BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM + DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. + To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden; + For I myself am not so well provided + As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. + + Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY + + BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester? + I have sent for these strawberries. + HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this + morning; + There's some conceit or other likes him well + When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. + I think there's never a man in Christendom + Can lesser hide his love or hate than he; + For by his face straight shall you know his heart. + DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face + By any livelihood he show'd to-day? + HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended; + For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. + + Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM + + GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve + That do conspire my death with devilish plots + Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd + Upon my body with their hellish charms? + HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord, + Makes me most forward in this princely presence + To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be. + I say, my lord, they have deserved death. + GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. + Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm + Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up. + And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, + Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, + That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. + HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord- + GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet, + Talk'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor. + Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear + I will not dine until I see the same. + Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done. + The rest that love me, rise and follow me. + Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF + HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me; + For I, too fond, might have prevented this. + STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms, + And I did scorn it and disdain to fly. + Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, + And started when he look'd upon the Tower, + As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. + O, now I need the priest that spake to me! + I now repent I told the pursuivant, + As too triumphing, how mine enemies + To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, + And I myself secure in grace and favour. + O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse + Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head! + RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at + dinner. + Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head. + HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men, + Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! + Who builds his hope in air of your good looks + Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, + Ready with every nod to tumble down + Into the fatal bowels of the deep. + LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. + HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England! + I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee + That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. + Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head. + They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 5. + +London. The Tower-walls + +Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured + + GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change + thy colour, + Murder thy breath in middle of a word, + And then again begin, and stop again, + As if thou were distraught and mad with terror? + BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; + Speak and look back, and pry on every side, + Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, + Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks + Are at my service, like enforced smiles; + And both are ready in their offices + At any time to grace my stratagems. + But what, is Catesby gone? + GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. + + Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY + + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor- + GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there! + BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum. + GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent- + GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies. + BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us! + + Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head + + GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel. + LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, + The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. + GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep. + I took him for the plainest harmless creature + That breath'd upon the earth a Christian; + Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded + The history of all her secret thoughts. + So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue + That, his apparent open guilt omitted, + I mean his conversation with Shore's wife- + He liv'd from all attainder of suspects. + BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelt'red + traitor + That ever liv'd. + Would you imagine, or almost believe- + Were't not that by great preservation + We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor + This day had plotted, in the council-house, + To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester. + MAYOR. Had he done so? + GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels? + Or that we would, against the form of law, + Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death + But that the extreme peril of the case, + The peace of England and our persons' safety, + Enforc'd us to this execution? + MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv'd his death; + And your good Graces both have well proceeded + To warn false traitors from the like attempts. + I never look'd for better at his hands + After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. + BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin'd he should die + Until your lordship came to see his end- + Which now the loving haste of these our friends, + Something against our meanings, have prevented- + Because, my lord, I would have had you heard + The traitor speak, and timorously confess + The manner and the purpose of his treasons: + That you might well have signified the same + Unto the citizens, who haply may + Misconster us in him and wail his death. + MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace's words shall serve + As well as I had seen and heard him speak; + And do not doubt, right noble Princes both, + But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens + With all your just proceedings in this cause. + GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, + T' avoid the the the censures of the carping world. + BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent, + Yet witness what you hear we did intend. + And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell. + Exit LORD MAYOR + GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. + The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post. + There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, + Infer the bastardy of Edward's children. + Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen + Only for saying he would make his son + Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house, + Which by the sign thereof was termed so. + Moreover, urge his hateful luxury + And bestial appetite in change of lust, + Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, + Even where his raging eye or savage heart + Without control lusted to make a prey. + Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: + Tell them, when that my mother went with child + Of that insatiate Edward, noble York + My princely father then had wars in France + And, by true computation of the time, + Found that the issue was not his begot; + Which well appeared in his lineaments, + Being nothing like the noble Duke my father. + Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; + Because, my lord, you know my mother lives. + BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator + As if the golden fee for which I plead + Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu. + GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's + Castle; + Where you shall find me well accompanied + With reverend fathers and well learned bishops. + BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o'clock + Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit + GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw. + [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both + Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + Now will I go to take some privy order + To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight, + And to give order that no manner person + Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit + + + + +SCENE 6. + +London. A street + +Enter a SCRIVENER + + SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; + Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd + That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. + And mark how well the sequel hangs together: + Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, + For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; + The precedent was full as long a-doing; + And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, + Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. + Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros + That cannot see this palpable device? + Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not? + Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, + When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit + + + + +SCENE 7. + +London. Baynard's Castle + +Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors + + GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens? + BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord, + The citizens are mum, say not a word. + GLOUCESTER. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's + children? + BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, + And his contract by deputy in France; + Th' insatiate greediness of his desire, + And his enforcement of the city wives; + His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, + As being got, your father then in France, + And his resemblance, being not like the Duke. + Withal I did infer your lineaments, + Being the right idea of your father, + Both in your form and nobleness of mind; + Laid open all your victories in Scotland, + Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, + Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; + Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose + Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse. + And when mine oratory drew toward end + I bid them that did love their country's good + Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal King!' + GLOUCESTER. And did they so? + BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word; + But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, + Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale. + Which when I saw, I reprehended them, + And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence. + His answer was, the people were not used + To be spoke to but by the Recorder. + Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again. + 'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'- + But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. + When he had done, some followers of mine own + At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps, + And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!' + And thus I took the vantage of those few- + 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I + 'This general applause and cheerful shout + Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.' + And even here brake off and came away. + GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would + they not speak? + Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come? + BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear; + Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit; + And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, + And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; + For on that ground I'll make a holy descant; + And be not easily won to our requests. + Play the maid's part: still answer nay, and take it. + GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them + As I can say nay to thee for myself, + No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. + BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor + knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER + + Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens + + Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here; + I think the Duke will not be spoke withal. + + Enter CATESBY + + Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request? + CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord, + To visit him to-morrow or next day. + He is within, with two right reverend fathers, + Divinely bent to meditation; + And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd, + To draw him from his holy exercise. + BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke; + Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen, + In deep designs, in matter of great moment, + No less importing than our general good, + Are come to have some conference with his Grace. + CATESBY. I'll signify so much unto him straight. Exit + BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! + He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed, + But on his knees at meditation; + Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, + But meditating with two deep divines; + Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, + But praying, to enrich his watchful soul. + Happy were England would this virtuous prince + Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof; + But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it. + MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay! + BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again. + + Re-enter CATESBY + + Now, Catesby, what says his Grace? + CATESBY. My lord, + He wonders to what end you have assembled + Such troops of citizens to come to him. + His Grace not being warn'd thereof before, + He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. + BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should + Suspect me that I mean no good to him. + By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; + And so once more return and tell his Grace. + Exit CATESBY + When holy and devout religious men + Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence, + So sweet is zealous contemplation. + + Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS. + CATESBY returns + + MAYOR. See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen! + BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, + To stay him from the fall of vanity; + And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, + True ornaments to know a holy man. + Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince, + Lend favourable ear to our requests, + And pardon us the interruption + Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology: + I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, + Who, earnest in the service of my God, + Deferr'd the visitation of my friends. + But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure? + BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, + And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. + GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence + That seems disgracious in the city's eye, + And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. + BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please + your Grace, + On our entreaties, to amend your fault! + GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? + BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign + The supreme seat, the throne majestical, + The scept'red office of your ancestors, + Your state of fortune and your due of birth, + The lineal glory of your royal house, + To the corruption of a blemish'd stock; + Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, + Which here we waken to our country's good, + The noble isle doth want her proper limbs; + Her face defac'd with scars of infamy, + Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, + And almost should'red in the swallowing gulf + Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. + Which to recure, we heartily solicit + Your gracious self to take on you the charge + And kingly government of this your land- + Not as protector, steward, substitute, + Or lowly factor for another's gain; + But as successively, from blood to blood, + Your right of birth, your empery, your own. + For this, consorted with the citizens, + Your very worshipful and loving friends, + And by their vehement instigation, + In this just cause come I to move your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence + Or bitterly to speak in your reproof + Best fitteth my degree or your condition. + If not to answer, you might haply think + Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded + To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, + Which fondly you would here impose on me; + If to reprove you for this suit of yours, + So season'd with your faithful love to me, + Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. + Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first, + And then, in speaking, not to incur the last- + Definitively thus I answer you: + Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert + Unmeritable shuns your high request. + First, if all obstacles were cut away, + And that my path were even to the crown, + As the ripe revenue and due of birth, + Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, + So mighty and so many my defects, + That I would rather hide me from my greatness- + Being a bark to brook no mighty sea- + Than in my greatness covet to be hid, + And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. + But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me- + And much I need to help you, were there need. + The royal tree hath left us royal fruit + Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, + Will well become the seat of majesty + And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. + On him I lay that you would lay on me- + The right and fortune of his happy stars, + Which God defend that I should wring from him. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your + Grace; + But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, + All circumstances well considered. + You say that Edward is your brother's son. + So say we too, but not by Edward's wife; + For first was he contract to Lady Lucy- + Your mother lives a witness to his vow- + And afterward by substitute betroth'd + To Bona, sister to the King of France. + These both put off, a poor petitioner, + A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, + A beauty-waning and distressed widow, + Even in the afternoon of her best days, + Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, + Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree + To base declension and loath'd bigamy. + By her, in his unlawful bed, he got + This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince. + More bitterly could I expostulate, + Save that, for reverence to some alive, + I give a sparing limit to my tongue. + Then, good my lord, take to your royal self + This proffer'd benefit of dignity; + If not to bless us and the land withal, + Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry + From the corruption of abusing times + Unto a lineal true-derived course. + MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you. + BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. + CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit! + GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me? + I am unfit for state and majesty. + I do beseech you, take it not amiss: + I cannot nor I will not yield to you. + BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal, + Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; + As well we know your tenderness of heart + And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, + Which we have noted in you to your kindred + And egally indeed to all estates- + Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no, + Your brother's son shall never reign our king; + But we will plant some other in the throne + To the disgrace and downfall of your house; + And in this resolution here we leave you. + Come, citizens. Zounds, I'll entreat no more. + GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens + CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit. + If you deny them, all the land will rue it. + GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? + Call them again. I am not made of stones, + But penetrable to your kind entreaties, + Albeit against my conscience and my soul. + + Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest + + Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men, + Since you will buckle fortune on my back, + To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no, + I must have patience to endure the load; + But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach + Attend the sequel of your imposition, + Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me + From all the impure blots and stains thereof; + For God doth know, and you may partly see, + How far I am from the desire of this. + MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it. + GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. + BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title- + Long live King Richard, England's worthy King! + ALL. Amen. + BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd? + GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so. + BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace; + And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. + GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy + work again. + Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +London. Before the Tower + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one door; +ANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET, +CLARENCE's young daughter, at another door + + DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet, + Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? + Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower, + On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes. + Daughter, well met. + ANNE. God give your Graces both + A happy and a joyful time of day! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither + away? + ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, + Upon the like devotion as yourselves, + To gratulate the gentle Princes there. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter + all together. + + Enter BRAKENBURY + + And in good time, here the lieutenant comes. + Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, + How doth the Prince, and my young son of York? + BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience, + I may not suffer you to visit them. + The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who's that? + BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly + title! + Hath he set bounds between their love and me? + I am their mother; who shall bar me from them? + DUCHESS. I am their father's mother; I will see them. + ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother. + Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame, + And take thy office from thee on my peril. + BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so; + I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit + + Enter STANLEY + + STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, + And I'll salute your Grace of York as mother + And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. + [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to + Westminster, + There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder + That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, + Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news! + ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! + DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee + gone! + Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels; + Thy mother's name is ominous to children. + If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, + And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. + Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, + Lest thou increase the number of the dead, + And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, + Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. + STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. + Take all the swift advantage of the hours; + You shall have letters from me to my son + In your behalf, to meet you on the way. + Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. + DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! + O my accursed womb, the bed of death! + A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, + Whose unavoided eye is murderous. + STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. + ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go. + O, would to God that the inclusive verge + Of golden metal that must round my brow + Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains! + Anointed let me be with deadly venom, + And die ere men can say 'God save the Queen!' + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory. + To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. + ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now + Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; + When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands + Which issued from my other angel husband, + And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd- + O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, + This was my wish: 'Be thou' quoth I 'accurs'd + For making me, so young, so old a widow; + And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; + And be thy wife, if any be so mad, + More miserable by the life of thee + Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death.' + Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, + Within so small a time, my woman's heart + Grossly grew captive to his honey words + And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse, + Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest; + For never yet one hour in his bed + Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, + But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. + Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; + And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. + ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. + DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory! + ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! + DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good + fortune guide thee! + [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend + thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good + thoughts possess thee! + I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! + Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, + And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the + Tower. + Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes + Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls, + Rough cradle for such little pretty ones. + Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow + For tender princes, use my babies well. + So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Sound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, +RATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others + + KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham! + BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign? + KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand. + [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound] + Thus high, by thy advice + And thy assistance, is King Richard seated. + But shall we wear these glories for a day; + Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? + BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last! + KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, + To try if thou be current gold indeed. + Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak. + BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord. + KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King. + BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord. + KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives. + BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince. + KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence: + That Edward still should live-true noble Prince! + Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull. + Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead. + And I would have it suddenly perform'd. + What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief. + BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure. + KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes. + Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? + BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause, + dear Lord, + Before I positively speak in this. + I will resolve you herein presently. Exit + CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he + gnaws his lip. + KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools + [Descends from the throne] + And unrespective boys; none are for me + That look into me with considerate eyes. + High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. + Boy! + PAGE. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting + gold + Will tempt unto a close exploit of death? + PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman + Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. + Gold were as good as twenty orators, + And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. + KING RICHARD. What is his name? + PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. + KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, + boy. Exit PAGE + The deep-revolving witty Buckingham + No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. + Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd, + And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. + + Enter STANLEY + + How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news? + STANLEY. Know, my loving lord, + The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled + To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart] + KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad + That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; + I will take order for her keeping close. + Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman, + Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter- + The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. + Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out + That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die. + About it; for it stands me much upon + To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. + Exit CATESBY + I must be married to my brother's daughter, + Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. + Murder her brothers, and then marry her! + Uncertain way of gain! But I am in + So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. + Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. + + Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL + + Is thy name Tyrrel? + TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. + KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed? + TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord. + KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? + TYRREL. Please you; + But I had rather kill two enemies. + KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies, + Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, + Are they that I would have thee deal upon. + TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower. + TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them, + And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. + KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come + hither, Tyrrel. + Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers] + There is no more but so: say it is done, + And I will love thee and prefer thee for it. + TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit + + Re-enter BUCKINGHAM + + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind + The late request that you did sound me in. + KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to + Richmond. + BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look + unto it. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, + For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd: + Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables + Which you have promised I shall possess. + KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey + Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. + BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request? + KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth + Did prophesy that Richmond should be King, + When Richmond was a little peevish boy. + A king!-perhaps- + BUCKINGHAM. My lord- + KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that + time + Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom- + KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, + The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle + And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started, + Because a bard of Ireland told me once + I should not live long after I saw Richmond. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord- + KING RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock? + BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind + Of what you promis'd me. + KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten. + KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike. + BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike? + KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the + stroke + Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. + I am not in the giving vein to-day. + BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit. + KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. + Exeunt all but Buckingham + BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service + With such contempt? Made I him King for this? + O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone + To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit + + + + +SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter TYRREL + + TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done, + The most arch deed of piteous massacre + That ever yet this land was guilty of. + Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn + To do this piece of ruthless butchery, + Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, + Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, + Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story. + 'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'- + 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another + Within their alabaster innocent arms. + Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, + And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. + A book of prayers on their pillow lay; + Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind; + But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd; + When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered + The most replenished sweet work of nature + That from the prime creation e'er she framed.' + Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse + They could not speak; and so I left them both, + To bear this tidings to the bloody King. + + Enter KING RICHARD + + And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord! + KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news? + TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge + Beget your happiness, be happy then, + For it is done. + KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead? + TYRREL. I did, my lord. + KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? + TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; + But where, to say the truth, I do not know. + KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, + When thou shalt tell the process of their death. + Meantime, but think how I may do thee good + And be inheritor of thy desire. + Farewell till then. + TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit + KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; + His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; + The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, + And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night. + Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims + At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, + And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, + To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. + + Enter RATCLIFF + + RATCLIFF. My lord! + KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so + bluntly? + RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; + And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, + Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. + KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near + Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. + Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting + Is leaden servitor to dull delay; + Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary. + Then fiery expedition be my wing, + Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! + Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield. + We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +London. Before the palace + +Enter old QUEEN MARGARET + + QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow + And drop into the rotten mouth of death. + Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd + To watch the waning of mine enemies. + A dire induction am I witness to, + And will to France, hoping the consequence + Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. + Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here? + [Retires] + + Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK + + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender + babes! + My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! + If yet your gentle souls fly in the air + And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, + Hover about me with your airy wings + And hear your mother's lamentation. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right + Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. + DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice + That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. + Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? + QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, + Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle + lambs + And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? + When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? + QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet + son. + DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, + Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, + Brief abstract and record of tedious days, + Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down] + Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a + grave + As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! + Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. + Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we? + [Sitting down by her] + QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be + most reverend, + Give mine the benefit of seniory, + And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. + If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them] + Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine. + I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; + I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: + Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; + Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. + DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; + I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard + kill'd him. + From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept + A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death. + That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes + To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, + That foul defacer of God's handiwork, + That excellent grand tyrant of the earth + That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, + Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves. + O upright, just, and true-disposing God, + How do I thank thee that this carnal cur + Preys on the issue of his mother's body + And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! + DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes! + God witness with me, I have wept for thine. + QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, + And now I cloy me with beholding it. + Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; + The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; + Young York he is but boot, because both they + Match'd not the high perfection of my loss. + Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward; + And the beholders of this frantic play, + Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, + Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. + Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; + Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls + And send them thither. But at hand, at hand, + Ensues his piteous and unpitied end. + Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, + To have him suddenly convey'd from hence. + Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, + That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.' + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would + come + That I should wish for thee to help me curse + That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad! + QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my + fortune; + I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen, + The presentation of but what I was, + The flattering index of a direful pageant, + One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below, + A mother only mock'd with two fair babes, + A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag + To be the aim of every dangerous shot, + A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble, + A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. + Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? + Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? + Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'? + Where be the bending peers that flattered thee? + Where be the thronging troops that followed thee? + Decline an this, and see what now thou art: + For happy wife, a most distressed widow; + For joyful mother, one that wails the name; + For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues; + For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; + For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; + For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one; + For she commanding all, obey'd of none. + Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about + And left thee but a very prey to time, + Having no more but thought of what thou wast + To torture thee the more, being what thou art. + Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not + Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? + Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke, + From which even here I slip my weary head + And leave the burden of it all on thee. + Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance; + These English woes shall make me smile in France. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile + And teach me how to curse mine enemies! + QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the + days; + Compare dead happiness with living woe; + Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, + And he that slew them fouler than he is. + Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; + Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them + with thine! + QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and + pierce like mine. Exit + DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes, + Airy succeeders of intestate joys, + Poor breathing orators of miseries, + Let them have scope; though what they will impart + Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart. + DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me, + And in the breath of bitter words let's smother + My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd. + The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims. + + Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with + drums and trumpets + + KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition? + DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee, + By strangling thee in her accursed womb, + From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden + crown + Where't should be branded, if that right were right, + The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown, + And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? + Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? + DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother + Clarence? + And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, + Grey? + DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings? + KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! + Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women + Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say! + [Flourish. Alarums] + Either be patient and entreat me fair, + Or with the clamorous report of war + Thus will I drown your exclamations. + DUCHESS. Art thou my son? + KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. + DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience. + KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition + That cannot brook the accent of reproof. + DUCHESS. O, let me speak! + KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear. + DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words. + KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. + DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee, + God knows, in torment and in agony. + KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you? + DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well + Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. + A grievous burden was thy birth to me; + Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; + Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious; + Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous; + Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, + More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred. + What comfortable hour canst thou name + That ever grac'd me with thy company? + KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd + your Grace + To breakfast once forth of my company. + If I be so disgracious in your eye, + Let me march on and not offend you, madam. + Strike up the drum. + DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak. + KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly. + DUCHESS. Hear me a word; + For I shall never speak to thee again. + KING RICHARD. So. + DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance + Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror; + Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish + And never more behold thy face again. + Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse, + Which in the day of battle tire thee more + Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! + My prayers on the adverse party fight; + And there the little souls of Edward's children + Whisper the spirits of thine enemies + And promise them success and victory. + Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end. + Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less + spirit to curse + Abides in me; I say amen to her. + KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood + For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard, + They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; + And therefore level not to hit their lives. + KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth. + Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her + live, + And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, + Slander myself as false to Edward's bed, + Throw over her the veil of infamy; + So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, + I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. + KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal + Princess. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so. + KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her + brothers. + KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were + contrary. + KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny. + My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, + If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. + KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle + cozen'd + Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. + Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts, + Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction. + No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt + Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart + To revel in the entrails of my lambs. + But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame, + My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys + Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; + And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death, + Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, + Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. + KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise + And dangerous success of bloody wars, + As I intend more good to you and yours + Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of + heaven, + To be discover'd, that can do me good? + KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle + lady. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their + heads? + KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune, + The high imperial type of this earth's glory. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it; + Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, + Canst thou demise to any child of mine? + KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all + Will I withal endow a child of thine; + So in the Lethe of thy angry soul + Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs + Which thou supposest I have done to thee. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy + kindness + Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. + KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy + daughter. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her + soul. + KING RICHARD. What do you think? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from + thy soul. + So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers, + And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. + KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. + I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter + And do intend to make her Queen of England. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be + her king? + KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else + should be? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou? + KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her? + KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you, + As one being best acquainted with her humour. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me? + KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her + brothers, + A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave + 'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep; + Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret + Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood- + A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain + The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, + And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. + If this inducement move her not to love, + Send her a letter of thy noble deeds; + Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, + Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake + Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. + KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way + To win your daughter. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way; + Unless thou couldst put on some other shape + And not be Richard that hath done all this. + KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but + hate thee, + Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. + KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended. + Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, + Which after-hours gives leisure to repent. + If I did take the kingdom from your sons, + To make amends I'll give it to your daughter. + If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, + To quicken your increase I will beget + Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. + A grandam's name is little less in love + Than is the doating title of a mother; + They are as children but one step below, + Even of your metal, of your very blood; + Of all one pain, save for a night of groans + Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. + Your children were vexation to your youth; + But mine shall be a comfort to your age. + The loss you have is but a son being King, + And by that loss your daughter is made Queen. + I cannot make you what amends I would, + Therefore accept such kindness as I can. + Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul + Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, + This fair alliance quickly shall can home + To high promotions and great dignity. + The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife, + Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; + Again shall you be mother to a king, + And all the ruins of distressful times + Repair'd with double riches of content. + What! we have many goodly days to see. + The liquid drops of tears that you have shed + Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, + Advantaging their loan with interest + Of ten times double gain of happiness. + Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go; + Make bold her bashful years with your experience; + Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; + Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame + Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes + With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys. + And when this arm of mine hath chastised + The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, + Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, + And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; + To whom I will retail my conquest won, + And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's + brother + Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle? + Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? + Under what title shall I woo for thee + That God, the law, my honour, and her love + Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? + KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with + still-lasting war. + KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command, + entreats. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's + King forbids. + KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth. + KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last? + KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life + last? + KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. + KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such + sovereignty. + KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly + told. + KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. + KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and + dead- + Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. + KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings + break. + KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my + crown- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third + usurp'd. + KING RICHARD. I swear- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath: + Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour; + Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; + Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory. + If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, + Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. + KING RICHARD. Then, by my self- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd. + KING RICHARD. Now, by the world- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. + KING RICHARD. My father's death- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd. + KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all. + If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him, + The unity the King my husband made + Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. + If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, + Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head, + Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; + And both the Princes had been breathing here, + Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, + Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. + What canst thou swear by now? + KING RICHARD. The time to come. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time + o'erpast; + For I myself have many tears to wash + Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. + The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd, + Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; + The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed, + Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. + Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast + Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast. + KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent, + So thrive I in my dangerous affairs + Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound! + Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! + Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! + Be opposite all planets of good luck + To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love, + Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, + I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter. + In her consists my happiness and thine; + Without her, follows to myself and thee, + Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, + Death, desolation, ruin, and decay. + It cannot be avoided but by this; + It will not be avoided but by this. + Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so- + Be the attorney of my love to her; + Plead what I will be, not what I have been; + Not my deserts, but what I will deserve. + Urge the necessity and state of times, + And be not peevish-fond in great designs. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? + KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself? + KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong + yourself. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children. + KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them; + Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed + Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? + KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly, + And you shall understand from me her mind. + KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell. + Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH + Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! + + Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following + + How now! what news? + RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast + Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores + Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, + Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back. + 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; + And there they hull, expecting but the aid + Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. + KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of + Norfolk. + Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he? + CATESBY. Here, my good lord. + KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke. + CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste. + KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury; + When thou com'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull, + unmindfull villain, + Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke? + CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure, + What from your Grace I shall deliver to him. + KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight + The greatest strength and power that he can make + And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. + CATESBY. I go. Exit + RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? + KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I + go? + RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before. + KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd. + + Enter LORD STANLEY + + STANLEY, what news with you? + STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with + the hearing; + Nor none so bad but well may be reported. + KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! + What need'st thou run so many miles about, + When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way? + Once more, what news? + STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas. + KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! + White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? + STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. + KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess? + STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, + He makes for England here to claim the crown. + KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd? + Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd? + What heir of York is there alive but we? + And who is England's King but great York's heir? + Then tell me what makes he upon the seas. + STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. + KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, + You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. + Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear. + STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not. + KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back? + Where be thy tenants and thy followers? + Are they not now upon the western shore, + Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? + STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. + KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the + north, + When they should serve their sovereign in the west? + STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King. + Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave, + I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace + Where and what time your Majesty shall please. + KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with + Richmond; + But I'll not trust thee. + STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign, + You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. + I never was nor never will be false. + KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind + Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm, + Or else his head's assurance is but frail. + STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, + As I by friends am well advertised, + Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate, + Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, + With many moe confederates, are in arms. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in + arms; + And every hour more competitors + Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham- + KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of + death? [He strikes him] + There, take thou that till thou bring better news. + THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty + Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters + Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; + And he himself wand'red away alone, + No man knows whither. + KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy. + There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. + Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd + Reward to him that brings the traitor in? + THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made, + my Lord. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis + Dorset, + 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. + But this good comfort bring I to your Highness- + The Britaine navy is dispers'd by tempest. + Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat + Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks + If they were his assistants, yea or no; + Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham + Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, + Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine. + KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in + arms; + If not to fight with foreign enemies, + Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. + + Re-enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken- + That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond + Is with a mighty power landed at Milford + Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. + KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason + here + A royal battle might be won and lost. + Some one take order Buckingham be brought + To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. + Flourish. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 5. + +LORD DERBY'S house + +Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK + + STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: + That in the sty of the most deadly boar + My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold; + If I revolt, off goes young George's head; + The fear of that holds off my present aid. + So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord. + Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented + He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. + But tell me, where is princely Richmond now? + CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales. + STANLEY. What men of name resort to him? + CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; + SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, + OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, + And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; + And many other of great name and worth; + And towards London do they bend their power, + If by the way they be not fought withal. + STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand; + My letter will resolve him of my mind. + Farewell. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +Salisbury. An open place + +Enter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution + + BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with + him? + SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. + BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and + Rivers, + Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, + Vaughan, and all that have miscarried + By underhand corrupted foul injustice, + If that your moody discontented souls + Do through the clouds behold this present hour, + Even for revenge mock my destruction! + This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not? + SHERIFF. It is, my lord. + BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's + doomsday. + This is the day which in King Edward's time + I wish'd might fall on me when I was found + False to his children and his wife's allies; + This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall + By the false faith of him whom most I trusted; + This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul + Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs; + That high All-Seer which I dallied with + Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head + And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. + Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men + To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms. + Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck. + 'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, + Remember Margaret was a prophetess.' + Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame; + Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2. + +Camp near Tamworth + +Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others, +with drum and colours + + RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, + Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, + Thus far into the bowels of the land + Have we march'd on without impediment; + And here receive we from our father Stanley + Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. + The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, + That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines, + Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough + In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine + Is now even in the centre of this isle, + Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn. + From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. + In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, + To reap the harvest of perpetual peace + By this one bloody trial of sharp war. + OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men, + To fight against this guilty homicide. + HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us. + BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, + Which in his dearest need will fly from him. + RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march. + True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings; + Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3. + +Bosworth Field + +Enter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, +the EARL of SURREYS and others + + KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth + field. + My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? + SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. + KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk! + NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we + not? + NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord. + KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night; + [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent] + But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. + Who hath descried the number of the traitors? + NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. + KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account; + Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength, + Which they upon the adverse faction want. + Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen, + Let us survey the vantage of the ground. + Call for some men of sound direction. + Let's lack no discipline, make no delay; + For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt + + Enter, on the other side of the field, + RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET, + and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent + + RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set, + And by the bright tract of his fiery car + Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. + Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. + Give me some ink and paper in my tent. + I'll draw the form and model of our battle, + Limit each leader to his several charge, + And part in just proportion our small power. + My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon- + And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me. + The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; + Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, + And by the second hour in the morning + Desire the Earl to see me in my tent. + Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me- + Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? + BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours much- + Which well I am assur'd I have not done- + His regiment lies half a mile at least + South from the mighty power of the King. + RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible, + Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him + And give him from me this most needful note. + BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; + And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! + RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come, + gentlemen, + Let us consult upon to-morrow's business. + In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold. + [They withdraw into the tent] + + Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, + RATCLIFF, and CATESBY + + KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock? + CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord; + It's nine o'clock. + KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night. + Give me some ink and paper. + What, is my beaver easier than it was? + And all my armour laid into my tent? + CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. + KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; + Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. + NORFOLK. I go, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. + NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit + KING RICHARD. Catesby! + CATESBY. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms + To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power + Before sunrising, lest his son George fall + Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY + Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. + Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. + Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. + Ratcliff! + RATCLIFF. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord + Northumberland? + RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself, + Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop + Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. + KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. + I have not that alacrity of spirit + Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have. + Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? + RATCLIFF. It is, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me. + RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent + And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. + Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps + + Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent; + LORDS attending + + DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! + RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford + Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! + Tell me, how fares our loving mother? + DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, + Who prays continually for Richmond's good. + So much for that. The silent hours steal on, + And flaky darkness breaks within the east. + In brief, for so the season bids us be, + Prepare thy battle early in the morning, + And put thy fortune to the arbitrement + Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. + I, as I may-that which I would I cannot- + With best advantage will deceive the time + And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms; + But on thy side I may not be too forward, + Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, + Be executed in his father's sight. + Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time + Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love + And ample interchange of sweet discourse + Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon. + God give us leisure for these rites of love! + Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well! + RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. + I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, + Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow + When I should mount with wings of victory. + Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. + Exeunt all but RICHMOND + O Thou, whose captain I account myself, + Look on my forces with a gracious eye; + Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath, + That they may crush down with a heavy fall + The usurping helmets of our adversaries! + Make us Thy ministers of chastisement, + That we may praise Thee in the victory! + To Thee I do commend my watchful soul + Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. + Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps] + + Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD, + son to HENRY THE SIXTH + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul + to-morrow! + Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth + At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die! + [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged + souls + Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf. + King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. + + Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed + body + By thee was punched full of deadly holes. + Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die. + Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror! + Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King, + Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish! + + Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul + to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, + Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! + To-morrow in the battle think on me, + And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die! + [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, + The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee. + Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish! + + Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN + + GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy + soul to-morrow, + Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die! + GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let + thy soul despair! + GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan, + and with guilty fear + Let fall thy lance. Despair and die! + ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in + Richard's bosom + Will conquer him. Awake and win the day. + + Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, + And in a bloody battle end thy days! + Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! + Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! + + Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES + + GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in + the Tower. + Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, + And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! + Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and + wake in joy; + Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! + Live, and beget a happy race of kings! + Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. + + Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched + Anne thy wife + That never slept a quiet hour with thee + Now fills thy sleep with perturbations. + To-morrow in the battle think on me, + And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep; + Dream of success and happy victory. + Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. + + Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help'd thee + to the crown; + The last was I that felt thy tyranny. + O, in the battle think on Buckingham, + And die in terror of thy guiltiness! + Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death; + Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath! + [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid; + But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd: + God and good angels fight on Richmond's side; + And Richard falls in height of all his pride. + [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream] + KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds. + Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream. + O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! + The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. + Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. + What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by. + Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. + Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am. + Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why- + Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself! + Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good + That I myself have done unto myself? + O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself + For hateful deeds committed by myself! + I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not. + Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. + My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, + And every tongue brings in a several tale, + And every tale condemns me for a villain. + Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; + Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; + All several sins, all us'd in each degree, + Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!' + I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; + And if I die no soul will pity me: + And wherefore should they, since that I myself + Find in myself no pity to myself? + Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd + Came to my tent, and every one did threat + To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. + + Enter RATCLIFF + + RATCLIFF. My lord! + KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there? + RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock + Hath twice done salutation to the morn; + Your friends are up and buckle on their armour. + KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! + What think'st thou-will our friends prove all true? + RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord. + KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear. + RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. + KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night + Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard + Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers + Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. + 'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me; + Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, + To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt + + Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent + + LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond! + RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, + That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. + LORDS. How have you slept, my lord? + RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams + That ever ent'red in a drowsy head + Have I since your departure had, my lords. + Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd + Came to my tent and cried on victory. + I promise you my soul is very jocund + In the remembrance of so fair a dream. + How far into the morning is it, lords? + LORDS. Upon the stroke of four. + RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. + + His ORATION to his SOLDIERS + + More than I have said, loving countrymen, + The leisure and enforcement of the time + Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this: + God and our good cause fight upon our side; + The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, + Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; + Richard except, those whom we fight against + Had rather have us win than him they follow. + For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen, + A bloody tyrant and a homicide; + One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; + One that made means to come by what he hath, + And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; + A base foul stone, made precious by the foil + Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; + One that hath ever been God's enemy. + Then if you fight against God's enemy, + God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; + If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, + You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; + If you do fight against your country's foes, + Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire; + If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, + Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; + If you do free your children from the sword, + Your children's children quits it in your age. + Then, in the name of God and all these rights, + Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. + For me, the ransom of my bold attempt + Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; + But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt + The least of you shall share his part thereof. + Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; + God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt + + Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants, + and forces + + KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching + Richmond? + RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms. + KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey + then? + RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.' + KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is. + [Clock strikes] + Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. + Who saw the sun to-day? + RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book + He should have brav'd the east an hour ago. + A black day will it be to somebody. + Ratcliff! + RATCLIFF. My lord? + KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day; + The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. + I would these dewy tears were from the ground. + Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me + More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven + That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. + + Enter NORFOLK + + NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. + KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse; + Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. + I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, + And thus my battle shall be ordered: + My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, + Consisting equally of horse and foot; + Our archers shall be placed in the midst. + John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, + Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. + They thus directed, we will follow + In the main battle, whose puissance on either side + Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. + This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, + Norfolk? + NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign. + This found I on my tent this morning. + [He sheweth him a paper] + KING RICHARD. [Reads] + 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold, + For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.' + A thing devised by the enemy. + Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge. + Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls; + Conscience is but a word that cowards use, + Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe. + Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. + March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell; + If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. + + His ORATION to his ARMY + + What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? + Remember whom you are to cope withal- + A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, + A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants, + Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth + To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction. + You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; + You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, + They would restrain the one, distain the other. + And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, + Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost? + A milk-sop, one that never in his life + Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? + Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; + Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, + These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; + Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, + For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. + If we be conquered, let men conquer us, + And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers + Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, + And, in record, left them the heirs of shame. + Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives, + Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their + drum. + Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen! + Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! + Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; + Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power? + MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come. + KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head! + NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh. + After the battle let George Stanley die. + KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my + bosom. + Advance our standards, set upon our foes; + Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, + Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! + Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 4. + +Another part of the field + +Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY + + CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! + The King enacts more wonders than a man, + Daring an opposite to every danger. + His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, + Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. + Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost. + + Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD + + KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! + CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse. + KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast + And I Will stand the hazard of the die. + I think there be six Richmonds in the field; + Five have I slain to-day instead of him. + A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 5. + +Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain. +Retreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, +with other LORDS + + RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends; + The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. + DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee! + Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty + From the dead temples of this bloody wretch + Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal. + Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. + RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! + But, teLL me is young George Stanley living. + DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, + Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. + RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side? + DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, + Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. + RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. + Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled + That in submission will return to us. + And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, + We will unite the white rose and the red. + Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, + That long have frown'd upon their emnity! + What traitor hears me, and says not Amen? + England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; + The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, + The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, + The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; + All this divided York and Lancaster, + Divided in their dire division, + O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, + The true succeeders of each royal house, + By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! + And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so, + Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, + With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! + Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, + That would reduce these bloody days again + And make poor England weep in streams of blood! + Let them not live to taste this land's increase + That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! + Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again- + That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1595 + + +THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + Chorus. + + Escalus, Prince of Verona. + Paris, a young Count, kinsman to the Prince. + Montague, heads of two houses at variance with each other. + Capulet, heads of two houses at variance with each other. + An old Man, of the Capulet family. + Romeo, son to Montague. + Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. + Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo. + Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo + Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. + Friar Laurence, Franciscan. + Friar John, Franciscan. + Balthasar, servant to Romeo. + Abram, servant to Montague. + Sampson, servant to Capulet. + Gregory, servant to Capulet. + Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse. + An Apothecary. + Three Musicians. + An Officer. + + Lady Montague, wife to Montague. + Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. + Juliet, daughter to Capulet. + Nurse to Juliet. + + Citizens of Verona; Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both houses; + Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and + Attendants. + + SCENE.--Verona; Mantua. + + + + THE PROLOGUE + + Enter Chorus. + + Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity, + In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, + From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, + Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. + From forth the fatal loins of these two foes + A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; + Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows + Doth with their death bury their parents' strife. + The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, + And the continuance of their parents' rage, + Which, but their children's end, naught could remove, + Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; + The which if you with patient ears attend, + What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. + [Exit.] + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. Scene I. +Verona. A public place. + +Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of the house of Capulet. + + Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals. + Greg. No, for then we should be colliers. + Samp. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. + Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar. + Samp. I strike quickly, being moved. + Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. + Samp. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. + Greg. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand. + Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. + Samp. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the + wall of any man or maid of Montague's. + Greg. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the + wall. + Samp. 'Tis 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. + Greg. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. + Samp. 'Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought + with the men, I will be cruel with the maids- I will cut off + their heads. + Greg. The heads of the maids? + Samp. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads. + Take it in what sense thou wilt. + Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it. + Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and 'tis known I + am a pretty piece of flesh. + Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been + poor-John. Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of + Montagues. + + Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar]. + + Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee. + Greg. How? turn thy back and run? + Samp. Fear me not. + Greg. No, marry. I fear thee! + Samp. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. + Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. + Samp. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is + disgrace to them, if they bear it. + Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? + Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir. + Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? + Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay? + Greg. [aside to Sampson] No. + Samp. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my + thumb, sir. + Greg. Do you quarrel, sir? + Abr. Quarrel, sir? No, sir. + Samp. But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you. + Abr. No better. + Samp. Well, sir. + + Enter Benvolio. + + Greg. [aside to Sampson] Say 'better.' Here comes one of my + master's kinsmen. + Samp. Yes, better, sir. + Abr. You lie. + Samp. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. + They fight. + Ben. Part, fools! [Beats down their swords.] + Put up your swords. You know not what you do. + + Enter Tybalt. + + Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? + Turn thee Benvolio! look upon thy death. + Ben. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, + Or manage it to part these men with me. + Tyb. 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 an officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs or + partisans. + + Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them down! + Citizens. Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! + + Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife. + + Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! + Wife. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? + Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come + And flourishes his blade in spite of me. + + Enter Old Montague and his Wife. + + Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me go. + M. Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. + + Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train. + + 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 mistempered 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, + Cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate. + If ever you disturb our streets again, + Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. + For this time all the rest depart away. + You, Capulet, shall go along with me; + And, Montague, come you this afternoon, + To know our farther pleasure in this case, + To old Freetown, our common judgment place. + Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. + Exeunt [all but Montague, his Wife, and Benvolio]. + Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? + Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? + Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary + And yours, close fighting ere I did approach. + I drew to part them. In the instant came + The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; + Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, + He swung about his head and cut the winds, + Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. + While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, + Came more and more, and fought on part and part, + Till the Prince came, who parted either part. + M. Wife. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day? + Right glad I am he was not at this fray. + Ben. 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, + Which then most sought where most might not be found, + Being one too many by my weary self- + Pursu'd my humour, not Pursuing his, + And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. + Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, + With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, + Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; + But all so soon as the all-cheering sun + Should in the farthest East bean to draw + The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, + Away from light steals home my heavy son + And private in his chamber pens himself, + Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight + And makes himself an artificial night. + Black and portentous must this humour prove + Unless good counsel may the cause remove. + Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? + Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him + Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? + Mon. Both by myself and many other friend; + 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. + + Ben. See, where he comes. So please you step aside, + I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. + Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay + To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away, + Exeunt [Montague and Wife]. + Ben. Good morrow, cousin. + Rom. Is the day so young? + Ben. But new struck nine. + Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long. + Was that my father that went hence so fast? + Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? + Rom. Not having that which having makes them short. + Ben. In love? + Rom. Out- + Ben. Of love? + Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love. + Ben. Alas that love, so gentle in his view, + Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! + Rom. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, + Should without eyes see pathways to his will! + Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? + Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. + Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. + Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! + O anything, of nothing first create! + O heavy lightness! serious vanity! + Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! + Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! + Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is + This love feel I, that feel no love in this. + Dost thou not laugh? + Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. + Rom. Good heart, at what? + Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. + Rom. 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 rais'd with the fume of sighs; + Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; + Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears. + What is it else? A madness most discreet, + A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. + Farewell, my coz. + Ben. Soft! I will go along. + An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. + Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here: + This is not Romeo, he's some other where. + Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love? + Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? + Ben. Groan? Why, no; + But sadly tell me who. + Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will. + Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! + In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. + Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd. + Rom. A right good markman! And she's fair I love. + Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. + Rom. 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 th' encounter of assailing eyes, + Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. + O, she's rich in beauty; only poor + That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. + Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? + Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; + For beauty, starv'd with her severity, + Cuts beauty off from all posterity. + She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, + To merit bliss by making me despair. + She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow + Do I live dead that live to tell it now. + Ben. Be rul'd by me: forget to think of her. + Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think! + Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes. + Examine other beauties. + Rom. 'Tis the way + To call hers (exquisite) in question more. + These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, + Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair. + He that is strucken blind cannot forget + The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. + Show me a mistress that is passing fair, + What doth her beauty serve but as a note + Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? + Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget. + Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +A Street. + +Enter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown. + + Cap. 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. + Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both, + And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. + But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? + Cap. 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. + Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. + Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. + The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she; + She is the hopeful lady of my earth. + But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart; + My will to her consent is but a part. + 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 reck'ning none. + Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him 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]. + Serv. 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. + + Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning; + One pain is lessoned 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. + Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. + Ben. For what, I pray thee? + Rom. For your broken shin. + Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? + Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; + Shut up in Prison, kept without my food, + Whipp'd and tormented and- God-den, good fellow. + Serv. God gi' go-den. I pray, sir, can you read? + Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. + Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray, can you + read anything you see? + Rom. Ay, If I know the letters and the language. + Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry! + Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. He reads. + + 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; + County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters; + The lady widow of Vitruvio; + Signior Placentio and His lovely nieces; + Mercutio and his brother Valentine; + Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; + My fair niece Rosaline and Livia; + Signior Valentio and His cousin Tybalt; + Lucio and the lively Helena.' + + [Gives back the paper.] A fair assembly. Whither should they come? + Serv. Up. + Rom. Whither? + Serv. To supper, to our house. + Rom. Whose house? + Serv. My master's. + Rom. Indeed I should have ask'd you that before. + Serv. 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. + Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's + Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st; + With all the admired beauties of Verona. + Go thither, and with unattainted eye + Compare her face with some that I shall show, + And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. + Rom. 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. + Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, + Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; + But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd + Your lady's love against some other maid + That I will show you shining at this feast, + And she shall scant show well that now seems best. + Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, + But to rejoice in splendour of my own. [Exeunt.] + + + + +Scene III. +Capulet's house. + +Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse. + + Wife. 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. + + Jul. How now? Who calls? + Nurse. Your mother. + Jul. Madam, I am here. + What is your will? + Wife. This is the matter- Nurse, give leave awhile, + We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again; + I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel. + Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age. + Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. + Wife. She's not fourteen. + Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth- + And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four- + She is not fourteen. How long is it now + To Lammastide? + Wife. A fortnight and odd days. + Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, + Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen. + Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!) + Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; + She was too good for me. But, as I said, + On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen; + That shall she, marry; I remember it well. + 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; + And she was wean'd (I never shall forget it), + Of all the days of the year, upon that day; + For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, + Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall. + My lord and you were then at Mantua. + Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said, + When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple + Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, + To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! + Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow, + To bid me trudge. + And since that time it is eleven years, + For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood, + She could have run and waddled all about; + For even the day before, she broke her brow; + And then my husband (God be with his soul! + 'A was a merry man) took up the child. + 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? + Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; + Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidam, + 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 yeas, + I never should forget it. 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he, + And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.' + Wife. 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 bad upon it brow + A bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone; + A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly. + 'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face? + Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; + Wilt thou not, Jule?' It stinted, and said 'Ay.' + Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. + Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! + Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd. + An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. + Wife. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme + I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, + How stands your disposition to be married? + Jul. 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. + Wife. 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. + Wife. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. + Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith- a very flower. + Wife. What say you? Can you love the gentleman? + This night you shall behold him at our feast. + Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, + And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; + Examine every married lineament, + And see how one another lends content; + And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies + Find written in the margent of his eyes, + This precious book of love, this unbound lover, + To beautify him only lacks a cover. + The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride + For fair without the fair within to hide. + That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, + That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; + So shall you share all that he doth possess, + By having him making yourself no less. + Nurse. No less? Nay, bigger! Women grow by men + Wife. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? + Jul. 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 Servingman. + + Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my + young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and + everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I beseech you + follow straight. + Wife. We follow thee. Exit [Servingman]. + Juliet, the County stays. + Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +A street. + +Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers; Torchbearers. + + Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? + Or shall we on without apology? + Ben. 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 crowkeeper; + 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. + Rom. Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling. + Being but heavy, I will bear the light. + Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. + Rom. 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. + Mer. You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings + And soar with them above a common bound. + Rom. 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 burthen do I sink. + Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen love- + Too great oppression for a tender thing. + Rom. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, + Too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn. + Mer. 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. + Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in + But every man betake him to his legs. + Rom. 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. + Mer. 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! + Rom. Nay, that's not so. + Mer. 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. + Rom. And we mean well, in going to this masque; + But 'tis no wit to go. + Mer. Why, may one ask? + Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. + Mer. And so did I. + Rom. Well, what was yours? + Mer. That dreamers often lie. + Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. + Mer. 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 forefinger of an alderman, + Drawn with a team of little atomies + Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; + Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs, + The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; + Her traces, of the smallest spider's web; + Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams; + Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film; + Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat, + Not half so big as a round little worm + Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; + Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, + Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, + Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. + And in this state she 'gallops night by night + Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; + O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies 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. + Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, + And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, + Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, + Of healths five fadom 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- + Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! + Thou talk'st of nothing. + Mer. 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. + Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves. + Supper is done, and we shall come too late. + Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives + Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, + Shall bitterly begin his fearful date + With this night's revels and expire the term + Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, + By some vile forfeit of untimely death. + But he that hath the steerage of my course + Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen! + Ben. Strike, drum. + They march about the stage. [Exeunt.] + + + + +Scene V. +Capulet's house. + +Servingmen come forth with napkins. + + 1. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? + He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! + 2. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, + and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing. + 1. Serv. Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look + to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as + thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. + Anthony, and Potpan! + 2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready. + 1. Serv. You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought + for, in the great chamber. + 3. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys! + Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Exeunt. + + Enter the Maskers, Enter, [with Servants,] Capulet, his Wife, + Juliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests + and Gentlewomen to the Maskers. + + Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes + Unplagu'd 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? + 2. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years. + Cap. What, man? 'Tis not so much, 'tis not so much! + 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, + Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, + Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd. + 2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His son is elder, sir; + His son is thirty. + Cap. Will you tell me that? + His son was but a ward two years ago. + Rom. [to a Servingman] What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand + Of yonder knight? + Serv. I know not, sir. + Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! + It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night + Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear- + Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! + So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows + As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. + The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand + And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. + Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! + For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. + Tyb. 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. + Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so? + Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; + A villain, that is hither come in spite + To scorn at our solemnity this night. + Cap. Young Romeo is it? + Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. + Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone. + 'A bears him like a portly gentleman, + And, to say truth, Verona brags of him + To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. + I would not for the wealth of all this town + Here in my house do him disparagement. + Therefore be patient, take no note of him. + It is my will; the which if thou respect, + Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, + An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. + Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest. + I'll not endure him. + Cap. He shall be endur'd. + What, goodman boy? I say he shall. Go to! + Am I the master here, or you? Go to! + You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul! + You'll make a mutiny among my guests! + You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! + Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. + Cap. 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! + Tyb. 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 bitt'rest gall. Exit. + Rom. 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. + Jul. 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. + Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? + Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r. + Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do! + They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. + Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. + Rom. Then move not while my prayer's effect I take. + Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kisses her.] + Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. + Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! + Give me my sin again. [Kisses her.] + Jul. You kiss by th' book. + Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. + Rom. What is her mother? + Nurse. Marry, bachelor, + Her mother is the lady of the house. + And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. + I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal. + I tell you, he that can lay hold of her + Shall have the chinks. + Rom. Is she a Capulet? + O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. + Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. + Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. + Cap. 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! [Exeunt Maskers.] 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]. + Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? + Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. + Jul. What's he that now is going out of door? + Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. + Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not dance? + Nurse. I know not. + Jul. 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. + Jul. 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? + Jul. A rhyme I learnt even now + Of one I danc'd withal. + One calls within, 'Juliet.' + Nurse. Anon, anon! + Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +PROLOGUE + +Enter Chorus. + + Chor. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, + And young affection gapes to be his heir; + That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, + With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. + Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, + Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; + But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, + And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. + Being held a foe, he may not have access + To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear, + And she as much in love, her means much less + To meet her new beloved anywhere; + But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, + Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. +Exit. + + + + +ACT II. Scene I. +A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. + +Enter Romeo alone. + + Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? + Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. + [Climbs the wall and leaps down within it.] + + Enter Benvolio with Mercutio. + + Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo! + Mer. He is wise, + And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. + Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall. + Call, good Mercutio. + Mer. 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 nickname for her purblind son and heir, + Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim + When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar maid! + He heareth not, he stirreth not, be 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! + Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. + Mer. This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him + To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle + Of some strange nature, letting it there stand + Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down. + That were some spite; my invocation + Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name, + I conjure only but to raise up him. + Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees + To be consorted with the humorous night. + Blind is his love and best befits the dark. + Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. + Now will he sit under a medlar tree + And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit + As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. + O, Romeo, that she were, O that she were + An open et cetera, thou a pop'rin pear! + Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle-bed; + This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. + Come, shall we go? + Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain + 'To seek him here that means not to be found. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Capulet's orchard. + +Enter Romeo. + + Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. + + Enter Juliet 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! + Jul. Ay me! + Rom. 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 wond'ring 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. + Jul. 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. + Rom. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? + Jul. '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. + Rom. I take thee at thy word. + Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; + Henceforth I never will be Romeo. + Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night, + So stumblest on my counsel? + Rom. 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. + Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words + Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound. + Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? + Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. + Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? + The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, + And the place death, considering who thou art, + If any of my kinsmen find thee here. + Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; + For stony limits cannot hold love out, + And what love can do, that dares love attempt. + Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. + Jul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee. + Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye + Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet, + And I am proof against their enmity. + Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. + Rom. 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. + Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? + Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire. + He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. + I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far + As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, + I would adventure for such merchandise. + Jul. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face; + Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek + For that which thou hast heard me speak 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, + They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, + If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. + Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, + I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, + So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. + In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, + And therefore thou mayst think my haviour light; + But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true + Than those that have more cunning to be strange. + I should have been more strange, I must confess, + But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, + My true-love passion. Therefore pardon me, + And not impute this yielding to light love, + Which the dark night hath so discovered. + Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, + That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops- + Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, + That monthly changes in her circled orb, + Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. + Rom. What shall I swear by? + Jul. 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. + Rom. If my heart's dear love- + Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, + I have no joy of this contract to-night. + It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; + Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be + Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! + This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, + May prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet. + Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest + Come to thy heart as that within my breast! + Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? + Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? + Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. + Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; + And yet I would it were to give again. + Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love? + Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again. + And yet I wish but for the thing I have. + My bounty is as boundless as the sea, + My love as deep; the more I give to thee, + The more I have, for both are infinite. + I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu! + [Nurse] calls within. + Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. + Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.] + Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, + Being in night, all this is but a dream, + Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. + + Enter Juliet above. + + Jul. 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! + Jul. I come, anon.- But if thou meanest not well, + I do beseech thee- + Nurse. (within) Madam! + Jul. By-and-by I come.- + To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief. + To-morrow will I send. + Rom. So thrive my soul- + Jul. A thousand times good night! Exit. + Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light! + Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; + But love from love, towards school with heavy looks. + + Enter Juliet again, [above]. + + Jul. 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! + Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name. + How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, + Like softest music to attending ears! + Jul. Romeo! + Rom. My dear? + Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow + Shall I send to thee? + Rom. By the hour of nine. + Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then. + I have forgot why I did call thee back. + Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. + Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, + Rememb'ring how I love thy company. + Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, + Forgetting any other home but this. + Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone- + And yet no farther than a wanton's bird, + That lets it hop a little from her hand, + Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, + And with a silk thread plucks it back again, + So loving-jealous of his liberty. + Rom. I would I were thy bird. + Jul. 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.] + Rom. 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 + + + + +Scene III. +Friar Laurence's cell. + +Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket. + + Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, + Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light; + And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels + From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels. + Non, 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 gave, that is her womb; + And from her womb children of divers kind + We sucking on her natural bosom find; + Many for many virtues excellent, + None but for some, and yet all different. + O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies + In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; + For naught so vile that on the earth doth live + But to the earth some special good doth give; + Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, + Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. + Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, + And vice sometime's by action dignified. + 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. + + Rom. Good morrow, father. + Friar. Benedicite! + What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? + Young son, it argues a distempered head + So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. + Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, + And where care lodges sleep will never lie; + But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain + Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. + Therefore thy earliness doth me assure + Thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature; + Or if not so, then here I hit it right- + Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. + Rom. That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine. + Friar. God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline? + Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. + I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. + Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been then? + Rom. 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. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift + Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. + Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set + On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; + As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine, + And all combin'd, save what thou must combine + By holy marriage. When, and where, and how + We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, + I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, + That thou consent to marry us to-day. + Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! + Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, + So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies + Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. + Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine + Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! + How much salt water thrown away in waste, + To season love, that of it doth not taste! + The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, + Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears. + Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit + Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet. + If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, + Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline. + And art thou chang'd? Pronounce this sentence then: + Women may fall when there's no strength in men. + Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. + Friar. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. + Rom. And bad'st me bury love. + Friar. Not in a grave + To lay one in, another out to have. + Rom. 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. O, she knew well + Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell. + But come, young waverer, come go with me. + In one respect I'll thy assistant be; + For this alliance may so happy prove + To turn your households' rancour to pure love. + Rom. O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste. + Friar. Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +A street. + +Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. + + Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? + Came he not home to-night? + Ben. Not to his father's. I spoke with his man. + Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, + Torments him so that he will sure run mad. + Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, + Hath sent a letter to his father's house. + Mer. A challenge, on my life. + Ben. Romeo will answer it. + Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter. + Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being + dared. + Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd 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? + Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? + Mer. More than Prince of Cats, I can tell you. O, he's the + courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing + pricksong-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 reverse! the hay. + Ben. The what? + Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes- these + new tuners of accent! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall + man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, + grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange + flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardona-mi's, who stand so + much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old + bench? O, their bones, their bones! + + Enter Romeo. + + Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo! + Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art + thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed + in. Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a + better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy, + Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray 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. + Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? + Mer. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive? + Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a + case as mine a man may strain courtesy. + Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a + man to bow in the hams. + Rom. Meaning, to cursy. + Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. + Rom. A most courteous exposition. + Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. + Rom. Pink for flower. + Mer. Right. + Rom. Why, then is my pump well-flower'd. + Mer. 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, solely singular. + Rom. O single-sold jest, solely singular for the singleness! + Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio! My wits faint. + Rom. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs! or I'll cry a match. + Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou + hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I + have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose? + Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there + for the goose. + Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. + Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not! + Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. + Rom. And is it not, then, well serv'd in to a sweet goose? + Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch + narrow to an ell broad! + Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which, added to the + goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. + Mer. 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. + Ben. Stop there, stop there! + Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. + Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. + Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! 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. + Rom. Here's goodly gear! + + Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter]. + + Mer. A sail, a sail! + Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a smock. + Nurse. Peter! + Peter. Anon. + Nurse. My fan, Peter. + Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face of + the two. + Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. + Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. + Nurse. Is it good-den? + Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now + upon the prick of noon. + Nurse. Out upon you! What a man are you! + Rom. 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? + Rom. 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. + Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith! wisely, + wisely. + Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. + Ben. She will endite him to some supper. + Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! + Rom. What hast thou found? + Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is + something stale and hoar ere it be spent + He walks by them and 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. + Rom. I will follow you. + Mer. Farewell, ancient lady. Farewell, + [sings] lady, lady, lady. + Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio. + Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy merchant was + this that was so full of his ropery? + Rom. 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 anything 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 at his pleasure. If I had, my weapon + should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon + as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law + on my side. + Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me + quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you, + my young lady bid me enquire you out. What she bid 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 + behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young; and + therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an + ill thing to be off'red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. + Rom. 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. + Rom. 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. + Rom. Bid her devise + Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; + And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell + Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains. + Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. + Rom. Go to! I say you shall. + Nurse. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there. + Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall. + Within this hour my man shall be with thee + And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, + Which to the high topgallant of my joy + Must be my convoy in the secret night. + Farewell. Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. + Farewell. Commend me to thy mistress. + Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. + Rom. 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? + Rom. 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 lieve 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? + Rom. 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. + Rom. 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. + + + + +Scene V. +Capulet's orchard. + +Enter Juliet. + + Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; + In half an hour she 'promis'd 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 low'ring 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. + + Enter Nurse [and Peter]. + + O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news? + Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. + Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. + [Exit Peter.] + Jul. 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 aweary, give me leave awhile. + Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had! + Jul. 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? + Jul. 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 talk'd 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 din'd at home? + Jul. 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,- ah, my back, my back! + Beshrew your heart for sending me about + To catch my death with jauncing up and down! + Jul. 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? + Jul. 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. + Jul. Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo? + Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? + Jul. 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 burthen soon at night. + Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. + Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene VI. +Friar Laurence's cell. + +Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo. + + Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act + That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! + Rom. 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. 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. + Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. + Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. + Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much. + Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy + Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more + To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath + This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue + Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both + Receive in either by this dear encounter. + Jul. 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 + cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. + Friar. 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.] + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. Scene I. +A public place. + +Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men. + + Ben. 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. + Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the + confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says + 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second + cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. + Ben. Am I like such a fellow? + Mer. 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. + Ben. And what to? + Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for + one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man + that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. + Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other + reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye + would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as + an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as + addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrell'd with a man + for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that + hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a + tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, with another + for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt + tutor me from quarrelling! + Ben. 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. + Mer. The fee simple? O simple! + + Enter Tybalt and others. + + Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. + Mer. By my heel, I care not. + Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. + Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you. + Mer. And but one word with one of us? + Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. + Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me + occasion. + Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving + Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo. + Mer. 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! + Ben. 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. + Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. + I will not budge for no man's pleasure, + + Enter Romeo. + + Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man. + Mer. But I'll be hang'd, 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. + Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford + No better term than this: thou art a villain. + Rom. 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 knowest me not. + Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries + That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. + Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee, + But love thee better than thou canst devise + Till thou shalt know the reason of my love; + And so good Capulet, which name I tender + As dearly as mine own, be satisfied. + Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! + Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws.] + Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk? + Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? + Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That I + mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, + dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of + his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears + ere it be out. + Tyb. I am for you. [Draws.] + Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. + Mer. Come, sir, your passado! + [They fight.] + Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. + Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage! + Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath + Forbid this bandying in Verona streets. + Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio! + Tybalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in, and flies + [with his Followers]. + Mer. I am hurt. + A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. + Is he gone and hath nothing? + Ben. What, art thou hurt? + Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough. + Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. + [Exit Page.] + Rom. Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much. + Mer. 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. + Rom. I thought all for the best. + Mer. 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! + [Exit. [supported by Benvolio]. + Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally, + My very friend, hath got this 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 soft'ned valour's steel + + Enter Benvolio. + + Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! + That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, + Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. + Rom. This day's black fate on moe days doth depend; + This but begins the woe others must end. + + Enter Tybalt. + + Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. + Rom. Alive in triumph, and Mercutio slain? + Away to heaven respective lenity, + And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now! + Now, Tybalt, take the 'villain' back again + That late thou 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. + Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, + Shalt with him hence. + Rom. This shall determine that. + They fight. Tybalt falls. + Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! + The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. + Stand not amaz'd. The Prince will doom thee death + If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away! + Rom. O, I am fortune's fool! + Ben. Why dost thou stay? + Exit Romeo. + Enter Citizens. + + Citizen. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? + Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he? + Ben. There lies that Tybalt. + Citizen. Up, sir, go with me. + I charge thee in the Prince's name obey. + + Enter Prince [attended], Old Montague, Capulet, their Wives, + and [others]. + + Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? + Ben. 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. + Cap. Wife. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! + O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill'd + Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, + For blood of ours shed blood of Montague. + O cousin, cousin! + Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? + Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay. + Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink + How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal + Your high displeasure. All this- uttered + With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd- + Could not take truce with the unruly spleen + Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts + With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; + Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, + And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats + Cold death aside and with the other sends + It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity + Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud, + 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue, + His agile arm beats down their fatal points, + And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm + An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life + Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; + But by-and-by comes back to Romeo, + Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, + And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I + Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; + And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. + This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. + Cap. Wife. 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? + Mon. Not Romeo, Prince; he was Mercutio's friend; + His fault concludes but what the law should end, + The life of Tybalt. + Prince. And for that offence + Immediately we do exile him hence. + I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, + My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; + But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine + That you shall all repent the loss of mine. + I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; + Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses. + Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste, + Else, when he is found, that hour is his last. + Bear hence this body, and attend our will. + Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Capulet's orchard. + +Enter Juliet alone. + + Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, + Towards Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagoner + As Phaeton would whip you to the West + And bring in cloudy night immediately. + Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, + That runaway 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 upon 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, + + Enter Nurse, with cords. + + And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks + But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. + Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords + That Romeo bid thee fetch? + Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. + [Throws them down.] + Jul. Ay me! what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands + Nurse. Ah, weraday! 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! + Jul. Can heaven be so envious? + Nurse. Romeo can, + Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo! + Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! + Jul. 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 be 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. + Jul. O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once! + To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty! + Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here, + And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! + Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! + O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman + That ever I should live to see thee dead! + Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary? + Is Romeo slaught'red, and is Tybalt dead? + My dear-lov'd 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. + Jul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? + Nurse. It did, it did! alas the day, it did! + Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! + Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? + Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! + Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! + Despised substance of divinest show! + Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st- + A damned saint, an honourable villain! + O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell + When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend + In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? + Was ever book containing such vile matter + So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell + In such a gorgeous palace! + Nurse. There's no trust, + No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, + All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. + Ah, where's my man? Give me some aqua vitae. + These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. + Shame come to Romeo! + Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue + For such a wish! He was not born to shame. + Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; + For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd + Sole monarch of the universal earth. + O, what a beast was I to chide at him! + Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? + Jul. 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 murd'red 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 followed not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' + Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, + Which modern lamentation might have mov'd? + But with a rearward 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. + Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent, + When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. + Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, + Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd. + He made you for a highway to my bed; + But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. + Come, cords; come, nurse. I'll to my wedding bed; + And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! + Nurse. Hie to your chamber. I'll find Romeo + To comfort you. I wot well where he is. + Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night. + I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. + Jul. O, find him! give this ring to my true knight + And bid him come to take his last farewell. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene III. +Friar Laurence's cell. + +Enter Friar [Laurence]. + + Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man. + Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts, + And thou art wedded to calamity. + + Enter Romeo. + + Rom. Father, what news? What is the Prince's doom + What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand + That I yet know not? + Friar. Too familiar + Is my dear son with such sour company. + I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom. + Rom. What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom? + Friar. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips- + Not body's death, but body's banishment. + Rom. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say 'death'; + For exile hath more terror in his look, + Much more than death. Do not say 'banishment.' + Friar. Hence from Verona art thou banished. + Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. + Rom. 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 'banishment' + Is death misterm'd. Calling death 'banishment,' + Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe + And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. + Friar. 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. + Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here, + Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog + And little mouse, every unworthy thing, + Live here in heaven and may look on her; + But Romeo may not. More validity, + More honourable state, more courtship lives + In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize + On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand + And steal immortal blessing from her lips, + Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, + Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; + But Romeo may not- he is banished. + This may flies do, when I from this must fly; + They are free men, but I am banished. + And sayest thou yet that exile is not death? + Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, + No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, + But 'banished' to kill me- 'banished'? + O friar, the damned use that word in hell; + Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart, + Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, + A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, + To mangle me with that word 'banished'? + Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak. + Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. + Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; + Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, + To comfort thee, though thou art banished. + Rom. 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. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. + Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? + Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. + Rom. 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. + Knock [within]. + Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself. + Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, + Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. Knock. + Friar. Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; + Thou wilt be taken.- Stay awhile!- Stand up; Knock. + Run to my study.- By-and-by!- God's will, + What simpleness is this.- I come, I come! Knock. + 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. Welcome then. + + Enter Nurse. + + Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar + Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? + Friar. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. + Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, + Just in her case! + Friar. O woeful sympathy! + Piteous predicament! + Nurse. Even so lies she, + Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering. + Stand up, stand up! Stand, an you be a man. + For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand! + Why should you fall into so deep an O? + Rom. (rises) Nurse- + Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. + Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her? + Doth not she think me an old murtherer, + Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy + With blood remov'd but little from her own? + Where is she? and how doth she! and what says + My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? + Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; + And now falls on her bed, and then starts up, + And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, + And then down falls again. + Rom. As if that name, + Shot from the deadly level of a gun, + Did murther 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. [Draws his dagger.] + Friar. 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 amaz'd me. By my holy order, + I thought thy disposition better temper'd. + Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself? + And slay thy lady that in thy life lives, + By doing damned hate upon thyself? + Why railest 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 skilless soldier's flask, + is get afire by thine own ignorance, + And thou dismemb'red 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 slewest Tybalt. There art thou happy too. + The law, that threat'ned death, becomes thy friend + And turns it to exile. There art thou happy. + A pack of blessings light upon thy back; + Happiness courts thee in her best array; + But, like a misbhav'd 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. + Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. + Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give you, sir. + Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit. + Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! + Friar. Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: + Either be gone before the watch be set, + Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. + Sojourn in Mantua. I'll find out your man, + And he shall signify from time to time + Every good hap to you that chances here. + Give me thy hand. 'Tis late. Farewell; good night. + Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, + It were a grief so brief to part with thee. + Farewell. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene IV. +Capulet's house + +Enter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris. + + Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily + That we have had no time to move our daughter. + Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, + And so did I. Well, we were born to die. + 'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night. + I promise you, but for your company, + I would have been abed an hour ago. + Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo. + Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter. + Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; + To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. + Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender + Of my child's love. I think she will be rul'd + In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. + Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; + Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love + And bid her (mark you me?) on Wednesday next- + But, soft! what day is this? + Par. Monday, my lord. + Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon. + Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her + She shall be married to this noble earl. + Will you be ready? Do you like this haste? + We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two; + For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, + It may be thought we held him carelessly, + Being our kinsman, if we revel much. + Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, + And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? + Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. + Cap. Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then. + Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed; + Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. + Farewell, My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho! + Afore me, It is so very very late + That we may call it early by-and-by. + Good night. + Exeunt + + + + +Scene V. +Capulet's orchard. + +Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft, at the Window. + + Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. + It was the nightingale, and not the lark, + That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear. + Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. + Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. + Rom. 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. + Jul. Yond light is not daylight; I know it, I. + It is some meteor that the sun exhales + To be to thee this night a torchbearer + And light thee on the way to Mantua. + Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. + Rom. 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. + Jul. 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 chang'd eyes; + O, now I would they had chang'd voices too, + Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, + Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day! + O, now be gone! More light and light it grows. + Rom. More light and light- more dark and dark our woes! + + Enter Nurse. + + Nurse. Madam! + Jul. Nurse? + Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber. + The day is broke; be wary, look about. + Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. + [Exit.] + Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend. + He goeth down. + Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my love, my 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! + Rom. Farewell! + I will omit no opportunity + That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. + Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? + Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve + For sweet discourses in our time to come. + Jul. 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. + Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. + Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! +Exit. + Jul. 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. [within] Ho, daughter! are you up? + Jul. Who is't that calls? It is my lady mother. + Is she not down so late, or up so early? + What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? + + Enter Mother. + + Lady. Why, how now, Juliet? + Jul. Madam, I am not well. + Lady. 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. + Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. + Lady. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend + Which you weep for. + Jul. Feeling so the loss, + I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. + Lady. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death + As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. + Jul. What villain, madam? + Lady. That same villain Romeo. + Jul. [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. That is because the traitor murderer lives. + Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. + Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! + Lady. 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. + Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied + With Romeo till I behold him- dead- + Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd. + Madam, if you could find out but a man + To bear a poison, I would temper it; + That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, + Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors + To hear him nam'd and cannot come to him, + To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt + Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! + Lady. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. + But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. + Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time. + What are they, I beseech your ladyship? + Lady. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; + One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, + Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy + That thou expects not nor I look'd not for. + Jul. Madam, in happy time! What day is that? + Lady. 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. + Jul. 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. Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself, + And see how be will take it at your hands. + + Enter Capulet and Nurse. + + Cap. 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 show'ring? 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 delivered to her our decree? + Lady. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. + I would the fool were married to her grave! + Cap. 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? + Jul. 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. + Cap. How, how, how, how, choplogic? 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 I out, you baggage! + You tallow-face! + Lady. Fie, fie! what, are you mad? + Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, + Hear me with patience but to speak a word. + Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! + I tell thee what- get thee to church a Thursday + Or never after look me in the face. + Speak not, reply not, do not answer me! + My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest + That God had lent us but this only child; + But now I see this one is one too much, + And that we have a curse in having her. + Out on her, hilding! + Nurse. God in heaven bless her! + You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. + Cap. And why, my Lady Wisdom? Hold your tongue, + Good Prudence. Smatter with your gossips, go! + Nurse. I speak no treason. + Cap. O, God-i-god-en! + Nurse. May not one speak? + Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool! + Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, + For here we need it not. + Lady. You are too hot. + Cap. God's bread I it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early, + At home, abroad, alone, in company, + Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been + To have her match'd; and having now provided + A gentleman of princely 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, an 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; + An 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. + Jul. 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. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word. + Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit. + Jul. 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. + Jul. Speak'st thou this from thy heart? + Nurse. And from my soul too; else beshrew them both. + Jul. Amen! + Nurse. What? + Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. + Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, + Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, + To make confession and to be absolv'd. + Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit. + Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! + Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, + Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue + Which she hath prais'd him with above compare + So many thousand times? Go, counsellor! + Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. + I'll to the friar to know his remedy. + If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. Scene I. +Friar Laurence's cell. + +Enter Friar, [Laurence] and County Paris. + + Friar. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short. + Par. My father Capulet will have it so, + And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. + Friar. You say you do not know the lady's mind. + Uneven is the course; I like it not. + Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, + And therefore have I little talk'd of love; + For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. + Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous + That she do give her sorrow so much sway, + And in his wisdom hastes our marriage + To stop the inundation of her tears, + Which, too much minded by herself alone, + May be put from her by society. + Now do you know the reason of this haste. + Friar. [aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.- + Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell. + + Enter Juliet. + + Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife! + Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. + Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. + Jul. What must be shall be. + Friar. That's a certain text. + Par. Come you to make confession to this father? + Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. + Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. + Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. + Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. + Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, + Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. + Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. + Jul. The tears have got small victory by that, + For it was bad enough before their spite. + Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report. + Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; + And what I spake, I spake it to my face. + Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast sland'red it. + Jul. 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. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. + My lord, we must entreat the time alone. + Par. God shield I should disturb devotion! + Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye. + Till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss. Exit. + Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so, + Come weep with me- past hope, past cure, past help! + Friar. 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. + Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, + Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it. + If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help, + Do thou but call my resolution wise + And with this knife I'll help it presently. + God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; + And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's seal'd, + Shall be the label to another deed, + Or my true heart with treacherous revolt + Turn to another, this shall slay them both. + Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, + Give me some present counsel; or, behold, + 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife + Shall play the empire, arbitrating that + Which the commission of thy years and art + Could to no issue of true honour bring. + Be not so long to speak. I long to die + If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. + Friar. Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope, + Which craves as desperate an execution + As that is desperate which we would prevent. + If, rather than to marry County Paris + Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, + Then is it likely thou wilt undertake + A thing like death to chide away this shame, + That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; + And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. + Jul. 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'ercover'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. 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 the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. + Take thou this vial, being then in bed, + And this distilled liquor drink thou off; + When presently through all thy veins shall run + A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse + Shall keep his native progress, but surcease; + No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; + The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade + To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall + Like death when he shuts up the day of life; + Each part, depriv'd of supple government, + Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; + And in this borrowed 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 uncovered 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. + Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! + Friar. 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. + Jul. Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. + Farewell, dear father. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Capulet's house. + +Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen, + two or three. + + Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. + [Exit a Servingman.] + Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. + Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick + their fingers. + Cap. How canst thou try them so? + Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own + fingers. Therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with + me. + Cap. Go, begone. + Exit Servingman. + We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. + What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? + Nurse. Ay, forsooth. + Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her. + A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. + + Enter Juliet. + + Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look. + Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding? + Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin + Of disobedient opposition + To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd + By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here + To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you! + Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. + Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this. + I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. + Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell + And gave him what becomed love I might, + Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. + Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up. + This is as't should be. Let me see the County. + Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. + Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, + All our whole city is much bound to him. + Jul. 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? + Mother. No, not till Thursday. There is time enough. + Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church to-morrow. + Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. + Mother. We shall be short in our provision. + 'Tis now near night. + Cap. 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. + + + + +Scene III. +Juliet's chamber. + +Enter Juliet and Nurse. + + Jul. 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 knowest, is cross and full of sin. + + Enter Mother. + + Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help? + Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries + As are behooffull 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. + Mother. Good night. + Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. + Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.] + Jul. 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. + Lays down a dagger. + What if it be a poison which the friar + Subtilly hath minist'red 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. + I will not entertain so bad a thought. + How if, when I am laid into the tomb, + I wake before the time that Romeo + Come to redeem me? There's a fearful point! + Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, + To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, + And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? + Or, if I live, is it not very like + The horrible conceit of death and night, + Together with the terror of the place- + As in a vault, an ancient receptacle + Where for this many hundred years the bones + Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; + Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, + Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say, + At some hours in the night spirits resort- + Alack, alack, is it not like that I, + So early waking- what with loathsome smells, + And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, + That living mortals, hearing them, run mad- + O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, + Environed with all these hideous fears, + And madly play with my forefathers' joints, + And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud., + And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone + As with a club dash out my desp'rate 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 [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the curtains. + + + + +Scene IV. +Capulet's house. + +Enter Lady of the House and Nurse. + + Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse. + Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. + + Enter Old Capulet. + + Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd, + The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock. + Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica; + Spare not for cost. + Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go, + Get you to bed! Faith, you'll be sick to-morrow + For this night's watching. + Cap. No, not a whit. What, I have watch'd ere now + All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. + Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; + But I will watch you from such watching now. + Exeunt Lady and Nurse. + Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood! + + Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and baskets. + + What is there? Now, fellow, + Fellow. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. + Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch drier + logs. + Call Peter; he will show thee where they are. + Fellow. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs + And never trouble Peter for the matter. + Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! + Thou shalt be loggerhead. [Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day. + The County will be here with music straight, + For so he said he would. Play music. + I hear him near. + Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! + + Enter Nurse. + Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up. + I'll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste, + Make haste! The bridegroom he is come already: + Make haste, I say. + [Exeunt.] + + + + +Scene V. +Juliet's chamber. + +[Enter Nurse.] + + Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she. + Why, lamb! why, lady! Fie, you slug-abed! + Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! Why, bride! + What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now! + Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, + The County Paris hath set up his rest + That you shall rest but little. God forgive me! + Marry, and amen. How sound is she asleep! + I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam! + Ay, let the County take you in your bed! + He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? + [Draws aside 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 weraday that ever I was born! + Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! + + Enter Mother. + + Mother. What noise is here? + Nurse. O lamentable day! + Mother. What is the matter? + Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day! + Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only life! + Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! + Help, help! Call help. + + Enter Father. + + Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. + Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the day! + Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! + Cap. 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! + Mother. O woful time! + Cap. 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 the County [Paris], with Musicians. + + Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? + Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. + O son, the night before thy wedding day + Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, 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. + Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, + And doth it give me such a sight as this? + Mother. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! + Most miserable hour that e'er time saw + In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! + But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, + But one thing to rejoice and solace in, + And cruel Death hath catch'd it from my sight! + Nurse. O woe? O 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! + Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! + Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd, + By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! + O love! O life! not life, but love in death + Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! + Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now + To murther, murther our solemnity? + O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! + Dead art thou, dead! alack, my child is dead, + And with my child my joys are buried! + Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure lives not + In these confusions. Heaven and yourself + Had part in this fair maid! now heaven hath all, + And all the better is it for the maid. + Your part in her you could not keep from death, + But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. + The most you sought was her promotion, + For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd; + And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd + Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? + O, in this love, you love your child so ill + That you run mad, seeing that she is well. + She's not well married that lives married long, + But she's best married that dies married young. + Dry up your tears and stick your rosemary + On this fair corse, and, as the custom is, + In all her best array bear her to church; + For though fond nature bids us all lament, + Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. + Cap. 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. 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 low'r upon you for some ill; + Move them no more by crossing their high will. + Exeunt. Manent Musicians [and Nurse]. + 1. Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. + Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up! + For well you know this is a pitiful case. [Exit.] + 1. Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. + + Enter Peter. + + Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease'! + O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' + 1. Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'', + Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full + of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me. + 1. Mus. Not a dump we! 'Tis no time to play now. + Pet. You will not then? + 1. Mus. No. + Pet. I will then give it you soundly. + 1. Mus. What will you give us? + Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the + minstrel. + 1. Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. + Pet. 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? + 1. Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. + 2. Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. + Pet. 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? + 1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. + Pet. Pretty! What say You, Hugh Rebeck? + 2. Mus. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver. + Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? + 3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. + Pet. 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. + + 1. Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? + 2. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the + mourners, and stay dinner. + Exeunt. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. Scene I. +Mantua. A street. + +Enter Romeo. + + Rom. 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 breath'd such life with kisses in my lips + That I reviv'd and was an emperor. + Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, + When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! + + Enter Romeo's Man 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. + Man. 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. + Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars! + Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper + And hire posthorses. I will hence to-night. + Man. I do beseech you, sir, have patience. + Your looks are pale and wild and do import + Some misadventure. + Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd. + Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do. + Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? + Man. No, my good lord. + Rom. 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 'a dwells, which late I noted + In tatt'red 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 scattered, 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. + + Apoth. Who calls so loud? + Rom. 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 mall fall dead, + And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath + As violently as hasty powder fir'd + Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. + Apoth. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law + Is death to any he that utters them. + Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness + And fearest 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. + Apoth. My poverty but not my will consents. + Rom. I pay thy poverty and not thy will. + Apoth. 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. + Rom. There is thy gold- worse poison to men's souls, + Doing more murther in this loathsome world, + Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. + I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. + Farewell. Buy food and get thyself in flesh. + Come, cordial and not poison, go with me + To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. + Exeunt. + + + + +Scene II. +Verona. Friar Laurence's cell. + +Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence. + + John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho! + + Enter Friar Laurence. + + Laur. 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. + John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, + One of our order, to associate me + Here in this city visiting the sick, + And finding him, the searchers of the town, + Suspecting that we both were in a house + Where the infectious pestilence did reign, + Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth, + So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. + Laur. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? + John. I could not send it- here it is again- + Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, + So fearful were they of infection. + Laur. 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. + John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit. + Laur. Now, must I to the monument alone. + Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake. + She will beshrew me much that Romeo + Hath had no notice of these accidents; + But I will write again to Mantua, + And keep her at my cell till Romeo come- + Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! Exit. + + + + +Scene III. +Verona. A churchyard; in it the monument of the Capulets. + +Enter Paris and his Page with flowers and [a torch]. + + Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof. + Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. + Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, + Holding 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.] + Par. 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. + Whistle Boy. + 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, a mattock, + and a crow of iron. + + Rom. 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 hearest 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 farther 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. + Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. + Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that. + Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. + Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout. + His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.] + Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, + Gorg'd 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. + Romeo opens the tomb. + Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague + That murd'red 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. + Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague! + Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death? + Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee. + Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. + Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. + Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man. + Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; + Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, + But not another sin upon my head + By urging me to fury. O, be gone! + By heaven, I love thee better than myself, + For I come hither arm'd against myself. + Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter say + A madman's mercy bid thee run away. + Par. I do defy thy, conjuration + And apprehend thee for a felon here. + Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy! + They fight. + Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. + [Exit. Paris falls.] + Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, + Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.] + Rom. 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 lanthorn, slaught'red youth, + For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes + This vault a feasting presence full of light. + Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. + [Lays him 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 chambermaids. O, here + Will I set up my everlasting rest + And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars + From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! + Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you + The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss + A dateless bargain to engrossing death! + Come, bitter conduct; come, unsavoury guide! + Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on + The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! + Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary! + Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Falls. + + Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade. + + Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night + Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? + Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. + Friar. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, + What torch is yond that vainly lends his light + To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern, + It burneth in the Capels' monument. + Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, + One that you love. + Friar. Who is it? + Bal. Romeo. + Friar. How long hath he been there? + Bal. Full half an hour. + Friar. Go with me to the vault. + Bal. 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. Stay then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me. + O, much I fear some ill unthrifty thing. + Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, + I dreamt my master and another fought, + And that my master slew him. + Friar. Romeo! + 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 rises. + Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord? + I do remember well where I should be, + And there I am. Where is my Romeo? + Friar. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest + Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. + A greater power than we can contradict + Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. + Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; + And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee + Among a sisterhood of holy nuns. + Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. + Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay. + Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. + Exit [Friar]. + What's here? A cup, clos'd 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 me die with a restorative. [Kisses him.] + Thy lips are warm! + Chief Watch. [within] Lead, boy. Which way? + Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! + [Snatches Romeo's dagger.] + This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die. + She stabs herself and falls [on Romeo's body]. + + Enter [Paris's] Boy and Watch. + + Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn. + Chief Watch. 'the ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard. + Go, some of you; whoe'er you find attach. + [Exeunt some of the Watch.] + Pitiful sight! here lies the County slain; + And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, + Who here hath lain this two days buried. + Go, tell the Prince; run to the Capulets; + Raise up the Montagues; some others search. + [Exeunt others of the Watch.] + We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, + But the true ground of all these piteous woes + We cannot without circumstance descry. + + Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man [Balthasar]. + + 2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the churchyard. + Chief Watch. Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither. + + Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman. + + 3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps. + We took this mattock and this spade from him + As he was coming from this churchyard side. + Chief Watch. A great suspicion! Stay the friar too. + + Enter the Prince [and Attendants]. + + Prince. What misadventure is so early up, + That calls our person from our morning rest? + + Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others]. + + Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? + Wife. 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? + Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; + And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, + Warm and new kill'd. + Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. + Chief Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man, + With instruments upon them fit to open + These dead men's tombs. + Cap. 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 missheathed in my daughter's bosom! + Wife. 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. + Mon. 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. + Mon. 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. I am the greatest, able to do least, + Yet most suspected, as the time and place + Doth make against me, of this direful murther; + And here I stand, both to impeach and purge + Myself condemned and myself excus'd. + Prince. Then say it once what thou dost know in this. + Friar. I will be brief, for my short date of breath + Is not so long as is a tedious tale. + Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; + And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife. + I married them; and their stol'n marriage day + Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death + Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; + For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. + You, to remove that siege of grief from her, + Betroth'd and would have married her perforce + To County Paris. Then comes she to me + And with wild looks bid me devise some mean + To rid her from this second marriage, + Or in my cell there would she kill herself. + Then gave I her (so tutored by my art) + A sleeping potion; which so took effect + As I intended, for it wrought on her + The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo + That he should hither come as this dire night + To help to take her from her borrowed 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 sacrific'd, some hour before his time, + Unto the rigour of severest law. + Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. + Where's Romeo's man? What can he say in this? + Bal. 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 threat'ned me with death, going in the vault, + If I departed not and left him there. + Prince. Give me the letter. I will look on it. + Where is the County's page that rais'd the watch? + Sirrah, what made your master in this place? + Boy. 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, Montage, + See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, + That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! + And I, for winking at you, discords too, + Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish'd. + Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand. + This is my daughter's jointure, for no more + Can I demand. + Mon. But I can give thee more; + For I will raise her Statue in pure gold, + That whiles Verona by that name is known, + There shall no figure at such rate be set + As that of true and faithful Juliet. + Cap. 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 omnes. + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + +1594 + + + + + +THE TAMING OF THE SHREW + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + Persons in the Induction + A LORD + CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker + HOSTESS + PAGE + PLAYERS + HUNTSMEN + SERVANTS + + BAPTISTA MINOLA, a gentleman of Padua + VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa + LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca + PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina + + Suitors to Bianca + GREMIO + HORTENSIO + + Servants to Lucentio + TRANIO + BIONDELLO + + Servants to Petruchio + GRUMIO + CURTIS + + A PEDANT + + Daughters to Baptista + KATHERINA, the shrew + BIANCA + + A WIDOW + + Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and + Petruchio + + SCENE: + Padua, and PETRUCHIO'S house in the country + +SC_1 + INDUCTION. SCENE I. + Before an alehouse on a heath + + Enter HOSTESS and SLY + + SLY. I'll pheeze you, in faith. + HOSTESS. A pair of stocks, you rogue! + SLY. Y'are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues. Look in the + chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas + pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa! + HOSTESS. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? + SLY. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed + and warm thee. + HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. + Exit + SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law. + I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. + [Falls asleep] + + Wind horns. 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 wak'd. + LORD. Even as a flatt'ring 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. + [SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds] + Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds- + Exit SERVANT + Belike some noble gentleman that means, + Travelling some journey, to repose him here. + + Re-enter a 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 to-night? + PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty. + LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I remember + Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son; + 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well. + I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part + Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. + PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. + LORD. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent. + Well, you are come to me in happy time, + The rather for I have some sport in hand + Wherein your cunning can assist me much. + There is a lord will hear you play to-night; + But I am doubtful of your modesties, + Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, + For yet his honour never heard a play, + You break into some merry passion + And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, + If you should smile, he grows impatient. + PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, + Were he the veriest 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 Bartholomew my page, + And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady; + That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, + And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. + Tell him from me- as he will win my love- + He bear himself with honourable action, + Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies + Unto their lords, by them accomplished; + Such duty to the drunkard let him do, + With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, + And say 'What is't your honour will command, + Wherein your lady and your humble wife + May show her duty and make known her love?' + And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, + And with declining head into his bosom, + Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed + To see her noble lord restor'd to health, + Who for this seven years hath esteemed him + No better than a poor and loathsome beggar. + And if the boy have not a woman's gift + To rain a shower of commanded tears, + An onion will do well for such a shift, + Which, in a napkin being close convey'd, + Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. + See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst; + Anon I'll give thee more instructions. Exit 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 + +SC_2 + SCENE II. + A bedchamber in the LORD'S house + + Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin + and ewer, and other 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, sometime more feet than + shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather. + LORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! + O, that a mighty man of such descent, + Of such possessions, and so high esteem, + Should be infused with so foul a spirit! + SLY. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old + Sly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a + cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present + profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of + Wincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on + the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in + Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale] + 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 shall 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 wi' th' wind. + LORD. We'll show thee lo as she was a maid + And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, + As lively painted as the deed was done. + THIRD SERVANT. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, + Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds + And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, + So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. + LORD. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord. + Thou hast a lady far more beautiful + Than any woman in this waning age. + FIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee + Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, + She was the fairest creature in the world; + And yet she is inferior to none. + SLY. Am I a lord and have I such a lady? + Or do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now? + I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; + I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things. + Upon my life, I am a lord indeed, + And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly. + Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; + And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale. + SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands? + O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd! + O, that once more you knew but what you are! + These fifteen years you have been in a dream; + Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. + SLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. + But did I never speak of all that time? + FIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words; + For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, + Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; + And rail upon the hostess of the house, + And say you would present her at the leet, + Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts. + Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. + SLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. + THIRD SERVANT. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid, + Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, + As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, + And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell; + And twenty more such names and men as these, + Which never were, nor no man ever saw. + SLY. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! + ALL. Amen. + + Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS + + SLY. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. + PAGE. How fares my noble lord? + SLY. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. + Where is my wife? + PAGE. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her? + SLY. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband? + My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman. + PAGE. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband; + I am your wife in all obedience. + SLY. I know it well. What must I call her? + LORD. Madam. + SLY. 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. + Exeunt SERVANTS + Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. + PAGE. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you + To pardon me yet for a night or two; + Or, if not so, until the sun be set. + For your physicians have expressly charg'd, + In peril to incur your former malady, + That I should yet absent me from your bed. + I hope this reason stands for my excuse. + SLY. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would + be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in + despite of the flesh and the blood. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, + Are come to play a pleasant comedy; + For so your doctors hold it very meet, + Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, + And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. + Therefore they thought it good you hear a play + And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, + Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. + SLY. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a + Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick? + PAGE. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff. + SLY. What, household stuff? + PAGE. It is a kind of history. + SLY. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let + the world slip;-we shall ne'er be younger. + [They sit down] + + A flourish of trumpets announces the play + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, + The pleasant garden of great Italy, + And by my father's love and leave am arm'd + With his good will and thy good company, + My trusty servant well approv'd in all, + Here let us breathe, and haply institute + A course of learning and ingenious studies. + Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, + Gave me my being and my father first, + A merchant of great traffic through the world, + Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii; + Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence, + It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv'd, + To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds. + And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, + Virtue and that part of philosophy + Will I apply that treats of happiness + By virtue specially to be achiev'd. + Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left + And am to Padua come as he that leaves + A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep, + And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. + TRANIO. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine; + I am in all affected as yourself; + Glad that you thus continue your resolve + To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. + Only, good master, while we do admire + This virtue and this moral discipline, + Let's be no Stoics nor no stocks, I pray, + Or so devote to Aristotle's checks + As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd. + Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, + And practise rhetoric in your common talk; + Music and poesy use to quicken you; + The mathematics and the metaphysics, + Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you. + No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; + In brief, sir, study what you most affect. + LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. + If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, + We could at once put us in readiness, + And take a lodging fit to entertain + Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. + + Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA + and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO, + suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by + + But stay awhile; what company is this? + TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town. + BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, + For how I firmly am resolv'd you know; + That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter + Before I have a husband for the elder. + If either of you both love Katherina, + Because I know you well and love you well, + Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. + GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me. + There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? + KATHERINA. [To BAPTISTA] I pray you, sir, is it your will + To make a stale of me amongst these mates? + HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you, + Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. + KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear; + Iwis it is not halfway to her heart; + But if it were, doubt not her care should be + To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, + And paint your face, and use you like a fool. + HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us! + GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord! + TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward; + That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. + LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see + Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. + Peace, Tranio! + TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. + BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good + What I have said- Bianca, get you in; + And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, + For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. + KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best + Put finger in the eye, 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 look, and practise by myself. + LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak! + HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? + Sorry am I that our good will effects + Bianca's grief. + GREMIO. Why will you mew her up, + Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, + And make her bear the penance of her tongue? + BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd. + Go in, Bianca. Exit BIANCA + And for I know she taketh most delight + In music, instruments, and poetry, + Schoolmasters will I keep within my house + Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, + Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such, + Prefer them hither; for to cunning men + I will be very kind, and liberal + To mine own children in good bringing-up; + And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay; + For I have more to commune with Bianca. Exit + KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? + What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike, + I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha! Exit + GREMIO. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts are so good + here's none will hold you. There! Love is not so great, + Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly + out; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell; yet, for the love + I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man + to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her + father. + HORTENSIO. SO Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray. Though + the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon + advice, it toucheth us both- that we may yet again have access to + our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to + labour and effect one thing specially. + GREMIO. What's that, I pray? + HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. + GREMIO. A husband? a devil. + HORTENSIO. I say a husband. + GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st 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 whipp'd at the high cross every morning. + HORTENSIO. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten + apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it + shall be so far forth friendly maintain'd till by helping + Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest free + for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man + be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, + Signior Gremio? + GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in + Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, + and bed her, and rid the house of her! Come on. + Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO + TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible + That love should of a sudden take such hold? + LUCENTIO. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, + I never thought it possible or likely. + But see! while idly I stood looking on, + I found the effect of love in idleness; + And now in plainness do confess to thee, + That art to me as secret and as dear + As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was- + Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, + If I achieve not this young modest girl. + Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; + Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. + TRANIO. Master, it is no time to chide you now; + Affection is not rated from the heart; + If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so: + 'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' + LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents; + The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. + TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid. + Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. + LUCENTIO. O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, + Such as the daughter of Agenor had, + That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, + When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. + TRANIO. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how her sister + Began to scold and raise up such a storm + That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? + LUCENTIO. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, + And with her breath she did perfume the air; + Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. + TRANIO. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance. + I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid, + Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: + Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd + That, till the father rid his hands of her, + Master, your love must live a maid at home; + And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, + Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. + LUCENTIO. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! + But art thou not advis'd he took some care + To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? + TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted. + LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio. + TRANIO. Master, for my hand, + Both our inventions meet and jump in one. + LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first. + TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster, + And undertake the teaching of the maid- + That's your device. + LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done? + TRANIO. Not possible; for who shall bear your part + And be in Padua here Vincentio's son; + Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, + Visit his countrymen, and banquet them? + LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full. + We have not yet been seen in any house, + Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces + For man or master. Then it follows thus: + Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, + Keep house and port and servants, as I should; + I will some other be- some Florentine, + Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. + 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once + Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak. + When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; + But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. + TRANIO. So had you need. [They exchange habits] + In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, + And I am tied to be obedient- + For so your father charg'd me at our parting: + 'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he, + Although I think 'twas in another sense- + I am content to be Lucentio, + Because so well I love Lucentio. + LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves; + And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid + Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. + + Enter BIONDELLO. + + Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been? + BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you? + Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes? + Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news? + LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest, + And therefore frame your manners to the time. + Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, + Puts my apparel and my count'nance on, + And I for my escape have put on his; + For in a quarrel since I came ashore + I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. + Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, + While I make way from hence to save my life. + You understand me? + BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit. + LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: + Tranio is chang'd 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] + + + + +SCENE II. +Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house + +Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO + + PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave, + To see my friends in Padua; but of all + My best beloved and approved friend, + Hortensio; and I trow this is his house. + Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say. + GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock? + Is there any man has rebus'd 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 cause for me to leave his service- look you, sir: + he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit + for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I + see, two and thirty, a pip out? + Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, + Then had not Grumio come by the worst. + PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, + I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, + And could not get him for my heart to do it. + GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words + plain: 'Sirrah knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and + knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking at the gate'? + PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. + HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge; + Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, + Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. + And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale + Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? + PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world + To seek their fortunes farther than at home, + Where small experience grows. But in a few, + Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: + Antonio, my father, is deceas'd, + And I have thrust myself into this maze, + Haply to wive and thrive as best I may; + Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, + And so am come abroad to see the world. + HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee + And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? + Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel, + And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, + And very rich; but th'art too much my friend, + And I'll not wish thee to her. + PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we + Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know + One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, + As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, + Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, + As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd + As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse- + She moves me not, or not removes, at least, + Affection's edge in me, were she as rough + As are the swelling Adriatic seas. + I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; + If wealthily, then happily in Padua. + GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is. + Why, give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an + aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though + she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing + comes amiss, so money comes withal. + HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, + I will continue that I broach'd in jest. + I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife + With wealth enough, and young and beauteous; + Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman; + Her only fault, and that is faults enough, + Is- that she is intolerable curst, + And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure + That, were my state far worser than it is, + I would not wed her for a mine of gold. + PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect. + Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; + For I will board her though she chide as loud + As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. + HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola, + An affable and courteous gentleman; + Her name is Katherina Minola, + Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. + PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her; + And he knew my deceased father well. + I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; + And therefore let me be thus bold with you + To give you over at this first encounter, + Unless you will accompany me thither. + GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my + word, and she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding + would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a + score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once, he'll + rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: 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 Bianca; + And her withholds from me, and other more, + Suitors to her and rivals in my love; + Supposing it a thing impossible- + For those defects I have before rehears'd- + That ever Katherina will be woo'd. + Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, + That none shall have access unto Bianca + Till Katherine the curst have got a husband. + GRUMIO. Katherine the curst! + A title for a maid of all titles the worst. + HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, + And offer me disguis'd in sober robes + To old Baptista as a schoolmaster + Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; + That so I may by this device at least + Have leave and leisure to make love to her, + And unsuspected court her by herself. + + Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO + + GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the + young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about + you. Who goes there, ha? + HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, + stand by awhile. + GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous! + [They stand aside] + GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note. + Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound- + All books of love, see that at any hand; + And see you read no other lectures to her. + You understand me- over and beside + Signior Baptista's liberality, + I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, + And let me have them very well perfum'd; + For she is sweeter than perfume itself + To whom they go to. What will you read to her? + LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you + As for my patron, stand you so assur'd, + As firmly as yourself were still in place; + Yea, and perhaps with more successful words + Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. + GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is! + GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is! + PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah! + HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward] + God save you, Signior Gremio! + GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. + Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. + I promis'd to enquire carefully + About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; + And by good fortune I have lighted well + On this young man; for learning and behaviour + Fit for her turn, well read in poetry + And other books- good ones, I warrant ye. + HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman + Hath promis'd me to help me to another, + A fine musician to instruct our mistress; + So shall I no whit be behind in duty + To fair Bianca, so 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 Katherine; + Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. + GREMIO. So said, so done, is well. + Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? + PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold; + If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. + GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? + PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son. + My father dead, my fortune lives for me; + And I do hope good days and long to see. + GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange! + But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name; + You shall have me assisting you in all. + But will you woo this wild-cat? + PETRUCHIO. Will I live? + GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her. + PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent? + Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? + Have I not in my time heard lions roar? + Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, + Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? + Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, + And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? + Have I not in a pitched battle heard + Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? + And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, + That gives not half so great a blow to hear + As will a chestnut in a fariner's fire? + Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. + GRUMIO. For he fears none. + GREMIO. Hortensio, hark: + This gentleman is happily arriv'd, + My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. + HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors + And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. + GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her. + GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. + + Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO + + TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, + Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way + To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? + BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean? + TRANIO. Even he, Biondello. + GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to- + TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do? + PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. + TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away. + LUCENTIO. [Aside] Well begun, Tranio. + HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go. + Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? + TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence? + GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence. + TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free + For me as for you? + GREMIO. But so is not she. + + TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you? + GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know, + That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. + HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. + TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, + Do me this right- hear me with patience. + Baptista is a noble gentleman, + To whom my father is not all unknown, + And, were his daughter fairer than she is, + She may more suitors have, and me for one. + Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; + Then well one more may fair Bianca have; + And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, + Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. + GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all! + LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade. + PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? + HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, + Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? + TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two: + The one as famous for a scolding tongue + As is the other for beauteous modesty. + PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. + GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, + And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. + PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: + The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, + Her father keeps from all access of suitors, + And will not promise her to any man + Until the elder sister first be wed. + The younger then is free, and not before. + TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man + Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; + And if you break the ice, and do this feat, + Achieve the elder, set the younger free + For our access- whose hap shall be to have her + Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. + HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; + And since you do profess to be a suitor, + You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, + To whom we all rest generally beholding. + TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof, + Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, + And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; + And do as adversaries do in law- + Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. + GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone. + HORTENSIO. The motion's good indeed, and be it so. + Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT Il. SCENE I. +Padua. BAPTISTA'S house + +Enter KATHERINA and BIANCA + + BIANCA. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, + To make a bondmaid and a slave of me- + That I disdain; but for these other gawds, + Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, + Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; + Or what you will command me will I do, + So well I know my duty to my elders. + KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell + Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not. + BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive + I never yet beheld that special face + Which I could fancy more than any other. + KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? + BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear + I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him. + KATHERINA. O then, belike, you fancy riches more: + You will have Gremio to keep you fair. + BIANCA. Is it for him you do envy me so? + Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive + You have but jested with me all this while. + I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. + KATHERINA. [Strikes her] If that be jest, then an the rest was so. + + Enter BAPTISTA + + BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? + Bianca, stand aside- poor girl! she weeps. + [He unbinds her] + Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. + For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, + Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? + When did she cross thee with a bitter word? + KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. + [Flies after BIANCA] + BAPTISTA. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. + Exit BIANCA + KATHERINA. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see + She is your treasure, she must have a husband; + I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, + And for your love to her lead apes in hell. + Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep, + Till I can find occasion of revenge. Exit KATHERINA + BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? + But who comes here? + + Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man; + PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO, + as LUCENTIO, with his boy, BIONDELLO, bearing a lute and books + + GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. + BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. + God save you, gentlemen! + PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter + Call'd Katherina, fair and virtuous? + BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina. + GREMIO. You are too blunt; go to it orderly. + PETRUCHIO. You wrong me, Signior Gremio; give me leave. + I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, + That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, + Her affability and bashful modesty, + Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, + Am bold to show myself a forward guest + Within your house, to make mine eye the witness + Of that report which I so oft have heard. + And, for an entrance to my entertainment, + I do present you with a man of mine, + [Presenting HORTENSIO] + Cunning in music and the mathematics, + To instruct her fully in those sciences, + Whereof I know she is not ignorant. + Accept of him, or else you do me wrong- + His name is Licio, born in Mantua. + BAPTISTA. Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; + But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, + She is not for your turn, the more my grief. + PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her; + Or else you like not of my company. + BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. + Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name? + PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son, + A man well known throughout all Italy. + BAPTISTA. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake. + GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, + Let us that are poor petitioners speak too. + Bacare! 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 leading HORTENSIO carrying the lute + and LUCENTIO with the books + + We will go walk a little in the orchard, + And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, + And so I pray you all to think yourselves. + PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, + And every day I cannot come to woo. + You knew my father well, and in him me, + Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, + Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd. + Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, + What dowry shall I have with her to wife? + BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands + And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. + PETRUCHIO. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of + Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, + In all my lands and leases whatsoever. + Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, + That covenants may be kept on either hand. + BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, + That is, her love; for that is all in all. + PETRUCHIO. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, + I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; + And where two raging fires meet together, + They do consume the thing that feeds their fury. + Though little fire grows great with little wind, + Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all. + So I to her, and so she yields to me; + For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. + BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed + But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. + PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, + That shake not though they blow perpetually. + + Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke + + BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale? + HORTENSIO. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. + BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician? + HORTENSIO. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier: + Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. + BAPTISTA. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? + HORTENSIO. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. + I did but tell her she mistook her frets, + And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, + When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, + 'Frets, call you these?' quoth she 'I'll fume with them.' + And with that word she struck me on the head, + And through the instrument my pate made way; + And there I stood amazed for a while, + As on a pillory, looking through the lute, + While she did call me rascal fiddler + And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms, + As she had 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 practice with my younger daughter; + She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. + Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, + Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? + PETRUCHIO. I pray you do. Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO + I'll 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; :Lnd.now, Petruchio, speak. + + Enter KATHERINA + + Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear. + KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: + They call me Katherine that do talk of me. + PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate, + And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; + But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, + Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, + For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, + Take this of me, Kate of my consolation- + Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, + Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, + Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, + Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. + KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither + Remove you hence. I knew you at the first + You were a moveable. + PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable? + KATHERINA. A join'd-stool. + PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me. + KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. + PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you. + KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean. + PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee! + For, knowing thee to be but young and light- + KATHERINA. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; + And yet as heavy as my weight should be. + PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz! + KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. + PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee? + KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. + PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. + KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. + PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out. + KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. + PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? + In his tail. + KATHERINA. In his tongue. + PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue? + KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. + PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, + Good Kate; I am a gentleman. + KATHERINA. That I'll try. [She strikes him] + PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. + KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms. + If you strike me, you are no gentleman; + And if no gentleman, why then no arms. + PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! + KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb? + PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. + KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven. + PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. + KATHERINA. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. + PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. + KATHERINA. There is, there is. + PETRUCHIO. Then show it me. + KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would. + PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face? + KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one. + PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. + KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd. + PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares. + KATHERINA. I care not. + PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so. + KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. + PETRUCHIO. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. + 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, + And now I find report a very liar; + For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, + But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers. + Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, + Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, + Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; + But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers; + With gentle conference, soft and affable. + Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? + O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig + Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue + As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. + O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt. + KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. + PETRUCHIO. Did ever Dian so become a grove + As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? + O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; + And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! + KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech? + PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother wit. + KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son. + PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise? + KATHERINA. Yes, keep you warm. + PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed. + And therefore, setting all this chat aside, + Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented + That you shall be my wife your dowry greed on; + And will you, nill you, I will marry you. + Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; + For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, + Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well, + Thou must be married to no man but me; + For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, + And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate + Conformable as other household Kates. + + Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO + + Here comes your father. Never make denial; + I must and will have Katherine to my wife. + BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? + PETRUCHIO. How but well, sir? how but well? + It were impossible I should speed amiss. + BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps? + KATHERINA. Call you me daughter? Now I promise you + You have show'd a tender fatherly regard + To wish me wed to one half lunatic, + A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, + That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. + PETRUCHIO. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world + That talk'd of her have talk'd amiss of her. + If she be curst, it is for policy, + For,she's not froward, but modest as the dove; + She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; + For patience she will prove a second Grissel, + And Roman Lucrece for her chastity. + And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together + That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. + KATHERINA. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. + GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first. + TRANIO. Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part! + PETRUCHIO. Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself; + If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? + 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, + That she shall still be curst in company. + I tell you 'tis incredible to believe. + How much she loves me- O, the kindest Kate! + She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss + She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, + That in a twink she won me to her love. + O, you are novices! 'Tis a world to see, + How tame, when men and women are alone, + A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. + Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice, + To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. + Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; + I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine. + BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands. + God send you joy, Petruchio! 'Tis a match. + GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. + PETRUCHIO. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. + I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace; + We will have rings and things, and fine array; + And kiss me, Kate; we will be married a Sunday. + Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA severally + GREMIO. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? + BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, + And venture madly on a desperate mart. + TRANIO. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; + 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. + BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is quiet in the match. + GREMIO. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. + But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: + Now is the day we long have looked for; + I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. + TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more + Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess. + GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. + TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. + GREMIO. But thine doth fry. + Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. + TRANIO. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. + BAPTISTA. Content you, gentlemen; I 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 needle-work; + Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs + To house or housekeeping. Then at my farm + I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, + Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, + And all things answerable to this portion. + Myself am struck in years, I must confess; + And if I die 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's 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! + [Aside] My land amounts not to so much in all.- + That she shall have, besides an argosy + That now is lying in Marseilles road. + What, have I chok'd you with an argosy? + TRANIO. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less + Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, + And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her, + And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next. + GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red all; I have no more; + And she can have no more than all I have; + If you like me, she shall have me and mine. + TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world + By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. + BAPTISTA. I must confess your offer is the best; + And let your father make her the assurance, + She is your own. Else, you must pardon me; + If you should die before him, where's her dower? + TRANIO. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. + GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old? + BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen, + I am thus resolv'd: on Sunday next you know + My daughter Katherine is to be married; + Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca + Be bride to you, if you make this assurance; + If not, to Signior Gremio. + And so I take my leave, and thank you both. + GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour. Exit BAPTISTA + Now, I fear thee not. + Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool + To give thee all, and in his waning age + Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy! + An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. Exit + TRANIO. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide! + Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten. + 'Tis in my head to do my master good: + I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio + Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio; + And that's a wonder- fathers commonly + Do get their children; but in this case of wooing + A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. + Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Padua. BAPTISTA'S house + +Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA + + LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir. + Have you so soon forgot the entertainment + Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal? + HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is + The patroness of heavenly harmony. + Then give me leave to have prerogative; + And when in music we have spent an hour, + Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. + LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far + To know the cause why music was ordain'd! + Was it not to refresh the mind of man + After his studies or his usual pain? + Then give me leave to read philosophy, + And while I pause serve in your harmony. + HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. + BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong + To strive for that which resteth in my choice. + I arn no breeching scholar in the schools, + I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, + But learn my lessons as I please myself. + And to cut off all strife: here sit we down; + Take you your instrument, play you the whiles! + His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. + HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? + 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 bass. + HORTENSIO. The bass 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 master, take it not unkindly, pray, + That I have been thus pleasant with you both. + HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave + awhile; + My lessons make no music in three Parts. + LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait, + [Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, + Our fine musician groweth amorous. + HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument + To learn the order of my fingering, + I must begin with rudiments of art, + To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, + More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, + Than hath been taught by any of my trade; + And there it is in writing fairly drawn. + BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. + HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. + BIANCA. [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 odd inventions. + + Enter a SERVANT + + SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books + And help to dress your sister's chamber up. + You know 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 wand'ring eyes on every stale- + Seize thee that list. If once I find thee ranging, + HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Padua. Before BAPTISTA'So house + +Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO as LUCENTIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, +LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and ATTENDANTS + + BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day + That Katherine and Petruchio should be married, + And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. + What will be said? What mockery will it be + To want the bridegroom when the priest attends + To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage! + What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? + KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd + To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, + Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen, + Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. + I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, + Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour; + And, to be noted for a merry man, + He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, + Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns; + Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. + Now must the world point at poor Katherine, + And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, + If it would please him come and marry her!' + TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too. + Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, + Whatever fortune stays him from his word. + Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; + Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. + KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though! + Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others + BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep, + For such an injury would vex a very saint; + Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. + + Enter BIONDELLO + + Master, master! News, and such old 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 turn'd; a pair of boots + that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old + rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, + and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an + old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd + with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with + the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped + with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, + stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in + the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a + half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which, + being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often + burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times piec'd, + and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her + name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with + pack-thread. + BAPTISTA. Who comes with him? + BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like + the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose + on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and + the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a + monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian + footboy or a gentleman's lackey. + TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; + Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd. + BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes. + BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not. + BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes? + BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came? + BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came. + BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back. + BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one. + BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy, + I hold you a penny, + A horse and a man + Is more than one, + And yet not many. + + Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO + + PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who'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 tell us what occasion of import + Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, + And sent you hither so unlike yourself? + PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear; + Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, + Though in some part enforced to digress, + Which at more leisure I will so excuse + As you shall well be satisfied withal. + But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; + The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. + TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; + Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. + PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. + BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. + PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words; + To me she's married, not unto my clothes. + Could I repair what she will wear in me + As I can change these poor accoutrements, + 'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. + But what a fool am I to chat with you, + When I should bid good-morrow to my bride + And seal the title with a lovely kiss! + Exeunt PETRUCHIO and PETRUCHIO + 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, BIONDELLO, and ATTENDENTS + TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us to ad + Her father's liking; which to bring to pass, + As I before imparted to your worship, + I am to get a man- whate'er he be + It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn- + And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, + And make assurance here in Padua + Of greater sums than I have promised. + So shall you quietly enjoy your hope + And marry sweet Bianca with consent. + LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster + Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, + 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; + Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, + I'll keep mine own despite of all the world. + TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into + And watch our vantage in this business; + We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, + The narrow-prying father, Minola, + The quaint musician, amorous Licio- + All for my master's sake, Lucentio. + + Re-enter GREMIO + + Signior Gremio, came you from the church? + GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school. + TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? + GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed, + A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. + TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible. + GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. + TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. + GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him! + I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest + Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, + 'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud + That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book; + And as he stoop'd again to take it up, + This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff + That down fell priest and book, and book and priest. + 'Now take them up,' quoth he 'if any list.' + TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again? + GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore + As if the vicar meant to cozen him. + But after many ceremonies done + He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if + He had been abroad, carousing to his mates + After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel, + And threw the sops all in the sexton's face, + Having no other reason + But that his beard grew thin and hungerly + And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. + This done, he took the bride about the neck, + And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack + That at the parting all the church did echo. + And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; + And after me, I know, the rout is coming. + Such a mad marriage never was before. + Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music plays] + + Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, + GRUMIO, and train + + PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains. + I know you think to dine with me to-day, + And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer + But so it is- my haste doth call me hence, + And therefore here I mean to take my leave. + BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away 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. + KATHERINA. Let me entreat you. + PETRUCHIO. I am content. + KATHERINA. Are you content to stay? + PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay; + But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. + KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay. + PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse. + GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses. + KATHERINA. Nay, then, + Do what thou canst, I will not go 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. + KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do? + Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. + GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. + KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. + I see a woman may be made a fool + If she had not a spirit to resist. + PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. + Obey the bride, you that attend on her; + Go to the feast, revel and domineer, + Carouse full measure to her maidenhead; + Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves. + But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. + Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; + I will be master of what is mine own- + She is my goods, my chattels, she is my house, + My household stuff, my field, my barn, + My horse, my ox, my ass, my 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, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO + BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. + GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. + TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like. + LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? + BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. + GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. + BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants + For to supply the places at the table, + You know there wants no junkets at the feast. + Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; + And let Bianca take her sister's room. + TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? + BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 ray'd? Was + ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are + coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and soon + hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof + of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to + thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for, + considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. + Holla, ho! Curtis! + + Enter CURTIS + + CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly? + GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my + shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my + neck. A fire, good Curtis. + CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? + GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no + water. + CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? + GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st + winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd 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 thou wilt. + 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 trimm'd, rushes + strew'd, 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 everything in order? + CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. + GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fall'n + 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. [Striking him] + CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. + GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this cuff + was but to knock at your car and beseech list'ning. 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 cross'd 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 + bemoil'd, 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 pray'd that never pray'd + 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 unexperienc'd to + thy grave. + CURTIS. By this reck'ning 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 comb'd, their blue coats brush'd + and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with + their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my mastcr'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 SERVINGMEN + + NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio! + PHILIP. How now, Grumio! + JOSEPH. What, Grumio! + NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio! + NATHANIEL. How now, old lad! + GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!- and + thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, + and all things neat? + NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master? + GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not- + Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master. + + Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA + + PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door + To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse! + Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? + ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir. + PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! + You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! + What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? + Where is the foolish knave I sent before? + GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. + PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! + Did I not bid thee meet me in the park + And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? + GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, + And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' 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 some of the SERVINGMEN + + [Sings] Where is the life that late I led? + Where are those- + + Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud! + + 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! + + Enter one with water + + Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence, + And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: + Exit SERVINGMAN + One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with. + Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? + Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. + You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? [Strikes him] + KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. + PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! + Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. + Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I? + What's this? Mutton? + FIRST SERVANT. Ay. + PETRUCHIO. Who brought it? + PETER. I. + PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. + What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook? + How durst you villains bring it from the dresser + And serve it thus to me that love it not? + There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all; + [Throws the meat, etc., at them] + You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! + What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. + Exeunt SERVANTS + KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; + The meat was well, if you were so contented. + PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, + And I expressly am forbid to touch it; + For it engenders choler, planteth anger; + And better 'twere that both of us did fast, + Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, + Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. + Be patient; 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-gorg'd, + For then she never looks upon her lure. + Another way I have to man my haggard, + To make her come, and know her keeper's call, + That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites + That bate and beat, and will not be obedient. + She eat no meat 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 + + + + +SCENE II. +Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house + +Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and HORTENSIO as LICIO + + TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca + Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? + I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. + HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, + Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. + [They stand aside] + + Enter BIANCA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO + + LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? + BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that. + LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.' + BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art! + LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. + [They retire] + HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray, + You that durst swear that your Mistress Blanca + Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. + TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! + I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. + HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio. + Nor a musician as I seem to be; + But one that scorn to live in this disguise + For such a one as leaves a gentleman + And makes a god of such a cullion. + Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. + TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard + Of your entire affection to Bianca; + And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, + I will with you, if you be so contented, + Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. + HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, + Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow + Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, + As one unworthy all the former favours + That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. + TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, + Never to marry with her though she would entreat; + Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him! + HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! + For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, + I will be married to a wealtlly widow + Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me + As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard. + And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. + Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, + Shall win my love; and so I take my leave, + In resolution as I swore before. Exit + TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace + As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! + Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love, + And have forsworn you with Hortensio. + BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me? + TRANIO. Mistress, we have. + LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio. + TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now, + That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. + BIANCA. God give him joy! + TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her. + BIANCA. He says so, Tranio. + TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. + BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place? + TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master, + That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, + To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. + + Enter BIONDELLO + + BIONDELLO. O master, master, have watch'd so long + That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied + An ancient angel coming down the hill + Will serve the turn. + TRANIO. What is he, Biondello? + BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant, + I know not what; but formal in apparel, + In gait and countenance surely like a father. + LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio? + TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale, + I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio, + And give assurance to Baptista Minola + As if he were the right Vincentio. + Take in your love, and then let me alone. + Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA + + Enter a PEDANT + + PEDANT. God save you, sir! + TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome. + Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? + PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two; + But then up farther, and as far as Rome; + And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. + TRANIO. What countryman, I pray? + PEDANT. Of Mantua. + TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid, + And come to Padua, careless of your life! + PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard. + TRANIO. 'Tis death for 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 count'nance somewhat doth resemble you. + BIONDELLO. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all + one. + TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity, + This favour will I do you for his sake; + And think it not the worst of all your fortunes + That you are like to Sir Vincentio. + His name and credit shall you undertake, + And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd; + Look that you take upon you as you should. + You understand me, sir. So shall you stay + Till you have done your business in the city. + If this be court'sy, 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 dow'r in marriage + 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here. + In all these circumstances I'll instruct you. + Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +PETRUCHIO'S house + +Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO + + GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. + KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. + What, did he marry me to famish me? + Beggars that come unto my father's door + Upon entreaty have a present alms; + If not, elsewhere they meet with charity; + But I, who never knew how to entreat, + Nor never needed that I should entreat, + Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; + With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed; + And that which spites me more than all these wants- + He does it under name of perfect love; + As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, + 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. + I prithee go and get me some repast; + I care not what, so it be wholesome food. + GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot? + KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it. + GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat. + How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? + KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. + GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. + What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? + KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon. + GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. + KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest. + GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, + Or else you get no beef of Grumio. + KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. + GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef. + KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, + [Beats him] + That feed'st me with the very name of meat. + Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you + That triumph thus upon my misery! + Go, get thee gone, I say. + + Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meat + + PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? + HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer? + KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be. + PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. + Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am, + To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee. + I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. + What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not, + And all my pains is sorted to no proof. + Here, take away this dish. + KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand. + PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks; + And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. + KATHERINA. I thank you, sir. + HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. + Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. + PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.- + Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! + Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love, + Will we return unto thy father's house + And revel it as bravely as the best, + With silken coats and caps, and golden rings, + With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things, + With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry. + With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry. + What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure, + To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. + + Enter TAILOR + + Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; + Lay forth the gown. + + Enter HABERDASHER + + What news with you, sir? + HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. + PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer; + A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy; + Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, + A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap. + Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger. + KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, + And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. + PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, + And not till then. + HORTENSIO. [Aside] That will not be in haste. + KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; + And speak I will. I am no child, no babe. + Your betters have endur'd me say my mind, + And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. + My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, + Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; + And rather than it shall, I will be free + Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. + PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, + A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie; + I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not. + KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; + And it I will have, or I will have none. Exit HABERDASHER + PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see't. + O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? + What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon. + What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart? + Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, + Like to a censer in a barber's shop. + Why, what a 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 rememb'red, + I did not bid you mar it to the time. + Go, hop me over every kennel home, + For you shall hop without my custom, sir. + I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it. + KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown, + More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; + Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. + PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. + TAILOR. She says your worship means to make a puppet of her. + PETRUCHIO. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou + thimble, + Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, + Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou- + Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread! + Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; + Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard + As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! + I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. + TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made + Just as my master had direction. + Grumio gave order how it should be done. + GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. + TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made? + GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. + TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut? + GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things. + TAILOR. I have. + GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I + will neither be fac'd nor brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy + master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces. + Ergo, thou liest. + TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. + PETRUCHIO. Read it. + GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so. + TAILOR. [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 bread; I + said a gown. + PETRUCHIO. Proceed. + TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a small compass'd 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 villainy. + GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded the + sleeves should be cut out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll + prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. + TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou + shouldst know it. + GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy + meteyard, 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' th' 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 to-morrow; + Take no unkindness of his hasty words. + Away, I say; commend me to thy master. Exit TAILOR + PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's + Even in these honest mean habiliments; + Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; + For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; + And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, + So honour peereth in the meanest habit. + What, is the jay more precious than the lark + Because his feathers are more beautiful? + Or is the adder better than the eel + Because his painted skin contents the eye? + O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse + For this poor furniture and mean array. + If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me; + And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith + To feast and sport us at thy father's house. + Go call my men, and let us straight to him; + And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; + There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. + Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, + And well we may come there by dinner-time. + KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two, + And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. + PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse. + Look what I speak, or do, or think to do, + You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone; + I will not go to-day; and ere I do, + It shall be what o'clock I say it is. + HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house + +Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, 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. + + Enter BIONDELLO + + PEDANT. I warrant you. 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. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink. + Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir. + + Enter BAPTISTA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO + + Signior Baptista, you are happily met. + [To 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 heark'ning 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. Cambio, hie you home, + And bid Bianca make her ready straight; + And, if you will, tell what hath happened- + Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, + And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Exit LUCENTIO + 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 + + Re-enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and BIONDELLO + + BIONDELLO. Cambio. + LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello? + BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? + LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that? + BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound + the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. + LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them. + BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving + father of a deceitful son. + LUCENTIO. And what of him? + BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. + LUCENTIO. And then? + BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command + at all hours. + LUCENTIO. And what of all this? + BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a + counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio + ad imprimendum solum; to th' church take the priest, clerk, and + some sufficient honest witnesses. + If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, + But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. + LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello? + BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an afternoon + as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so + may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to + go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come against you + come with your appendix. + Exit + LUCENTIO. I may and will, if she be so contented. + She will be pleas'd; then wherefore should I doubt? + Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; + It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. Exit + + + + +SCENE V. +A public road + +Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS + + PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our father's. + Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! + KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now. + PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright. + KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. + PETRUCHIO. Now by my mother's son, and that's myself, + It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, + Or ere I journey to your father's house. + Go on and fetch our horses back again. + Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! + HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go. + KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, + And be it moon, or sun, or what you please; + And if you please to call it a rush-candle, + Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. + PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon. + KATHERINA. I know it is the moon. + PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. + KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun; + But sun it is not, when you say it is not; + And the moon changes even as your mind. + What you will have it nam'd, even that it is, + And so it shall be so for Katherine. + HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won. + PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, + And not unluckily against the bias. + But, soft! Company is coming here. + + Enter VINCENTIO + + [To VINCENTIO] Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?- + Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, + Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? + Such war of white and red within her cheeks! + What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty + As those two eyes become that heavenly face? + Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. + Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. + HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. + KATHERINA. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, + Whither away, or where is thy abode? + Happy the parents of so fair a child; + Happier the man whom favourable stars + Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow. + PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad! + This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered, + And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is. + KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, + That have been so bedazzled with the sun + That everything I look on seemeth green; + Now I perceive thou art a reverend father. + Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. + PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known + Which way thou travellest- if along with us, + We shall be joyful of thy company. + VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, + That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, + My name is 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 met; the happier for thy son. + And now by law, as well as reverend age, + I may entitle thee my loving father: + The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, + Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, + Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem, + Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; + Beside, so qualified as may beseem + The spouse of any noble gentleman. + Let me embrace with old Vincentio; + And wander we to see thy honest son, + Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. + VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure, + Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest + Upon the company you overtake? + HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is. + PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; + For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. + Exeunt all but HORTENSIO + HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. + Have to my widow; and if she be froward, + Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house + +Enter BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO is out before + + BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready. + LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at + home, therefore leave us. + BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and then + come back to my master's as soon as I can. + Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO + GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. + + Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO, + and ATTENDANTS + + PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house; + My father's bears more toward the market-place; + Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. + VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go; + I think I shall command your welcome here, + And by all likelihood some cheer is toward. [Knocks] + GREMIO. They're busy within; you were best knock louder. + [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, Vicentio! Now we + are undone and brought to nothing. + VINCENTIO. [Seeing BIONDELLO] Come hither, crack-hemp. + BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir. + VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? + BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir. I could not forget you, for I never + saw you before in all my life. + VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy + master's father, Vincentio? + BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see + where he looks out of the window. + VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed? [He beats BIONDELLO] + BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a madman will murder me. + Exit + PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! Exit from above + PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this + controversy. [They stand aside] + + Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS + + TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? + VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! + O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, + and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the + good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the + university. + TRANIO. How now! what's the matter? + BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic? + TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but + your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I + wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to + maintain it. + VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. + BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you + think is his name? + VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him + up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. + PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine + only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio. + VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red 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-catch'd in + this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. + PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st. + 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 hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous + villain! + + Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA + + BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him, forswear + him, or else we are all undone. + Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be + LUCENTIO. [Kneeling] Pardon, sweet father. + VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son? + 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 blear'd thine eyne. + GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! + VINCENTIO. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, + That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? + BAPTISTA. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? + BIANCA. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. + LUCENTIO. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love + Made me exchange my state with Tranio, + While he did bear my countenance in the town; + And happily I have arrived at the last + Unto the wished haven of my bliss. + What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; + Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. + VINCENTIO. I'll slit the villain's nose that would have sent me to + the gaol. + BAPTISTA. [To LUCENTIO] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my + daughter without asking my good will? + VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but I + will in to be revenged for this villainy. Exit + BAPTISTA. And I to sound the depth of this knavery. Exit + LUCENTIO. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. + Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA + GREMIO. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest; + Out of hope of all but my share of the feast. Exit + KATHERINA. Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado. + PETRUCHIO. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. + KATHERINA. What, in the midst of the street? + PETRUCHIO. What, art thou asham'd of me? + KATHERINA. No, sir; God forbid; but asham'd to kiss. + PETRUCHIO. Why, then, let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away. + KATHERINA. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; now pray thee, love, stay. + PETRUCHIO. Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate: + Better once than never, for never too late. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +LUCENTIO'S house + +Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, +PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. The SERVINGMEN with TRANIO, +BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO, 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 Katherina, + And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, + Feast with the best, and welcome to my house. + My banquet is to close our stomachs up + After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; + For now we sit to chat as well as eat. [They sit] + PETRUCHIO. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! + BAPTISTA. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. + PETRUCHIO. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. + HORTENSIO. For both our sakes I would that word were true. + PETRUCHIO. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. + WIDOW. Then never trust me if I be afeard. + PETRUCHIO. YOU are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: + I mean Hortensio is afeard of you. + WIDOW. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. + PETRUCHIO. Roundly replied. + KATHERINA. Mistress, how mean you that? + WIDOW. Thus I conceive by him. + PETRUCHIO. Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? + HORTENSIO. My widow says thus she conceives her tale. + PETRUCHIO. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. + KATHERINA. 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.' + I pray you tell me what you meant by that. + WIDOW. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, + Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe; + And now you know my meaning. + KATHERINA. A very mean meaning. + WIDOW. Right, I mean you. + KATHERINA. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. + PETRUCHIO. To her, Kate! + HORTENSIO. To her, widow! + PETRUCHIO. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. + HORTENSIO. That's my office. + PETRUCHIO. Spoke like an officer- ha' to thee, lad. + [Drinks to HORTENSIO] + BAPTISTA. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? + GREMIO. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. + BIANCA. Head and butt! An hasty-witted body + Would say your head and butt were head and horn. + VINCENTIO. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you? + BIANCA. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. + PETRUCHIO. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, + Have at you for a bitter jest or two. + BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, + And then pursue me as you draw your bow. + You are welcome all. + Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW + PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio, + This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; + Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. + TRANIO. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, + Which runs himself, and catches for his master. + PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish. + TRANIO. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; + 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. + BAPTISTA. O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. + LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. + HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here? + PETRUCHIO. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; + And, as the jest did glance away from me, + 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. + BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, + I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. + PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance, + Let's each one send unto his wife, + And he whose wife is most obedient, + To come at first when he doth send for her, + Shall win the wager which we will propose. + HORTENSIO. Content. What's the wager? + LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns. + PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns? + I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound, + But twenty times so much upon my wife. + LUCENTIO. A hundred then. + HORTENSIO. Content. + PETRUCHIO. A match! 'tis done. + HORTENSIO. Who shall begin? + LUCENTIO. That will I. + Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. + BIONDELLO. I go. Exit + BAPTISTA. Son, I'll be your half Bianca comes. + LUCENTIO. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. + + Re-enter BIONDELLO + + How now! what news? + BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word + That she is busy and she cannot come. + PETRUCHIO. How! She's busy, and she cannot come! + Is that an answer? + GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too. + Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. + PETRUCHIO. I hope better. + HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife + To come to me forthwith. Exit BIONDELLO + PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her! + Nay, then she must needs come. + HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir, + Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. + + Re-enter BIONDELLO + + Now, where's my wife? + BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand: + She will not come; she bids you come to her. + PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, + Intolerable, not to be endur'd! + Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; + Say I command her come to me. Exit GRUMIO + HORTENSIO. I know her answer. + PETRUCHIO. What? + HORTENSIO. She will not. + PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. + + Re-enter KATHERINA + + BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina! + KATHERINA. What is your sir, that you send for me? + PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? + KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. + PETRUCHIO. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come. + Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. + Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. + Exit KATHERINA + LUCENTIO. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. + HORTENSIO. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes. + PETRUCHIO. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, + An awful rule, and right supremacy; + And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy. + BAPTISTA. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio! + The wager thou hast won; and I will ad + Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; + Another dowry to another daughter, + For she is chang'd, as she had never been. + PETRUCHIO. Nay, I will win my wager better yet, + And show more sign of her obedience, + Her new-built virtue and obedience. + + Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW + + See where she comes, and brings your froward wives + As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. + Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not: + Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot. + [KATHERINA complies] + WIDOW. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh + Till I be brought to such a silly pass! + BIANCA. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? + LUCENTIO. I would your duty were as foolish too; + The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, + Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time! + BIANCA. The more fool you for laying on my duty. + PETRUCHIO. Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women + What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. + WIDOW. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. + PETRUCHIO. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. + WIDOW. She shall not. + PETRUCHIO. I say she shall. And first begin with her. + KATHERINA. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, + And dart not scornful glances from those eyes + To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. + It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, + Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, + And in no sense is meet or amiable. + A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled- + Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; + And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty + Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. + Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, + Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, + And for thy maintenance commits his body + To painful labour both by sea and land, + To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, + Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; + And craves no other tribute at thy hands + But love, fair looks, and true obedience- + Too little payment for so great a debt. + Such duty as the subject owes the prince, + Even such a woman oweth to her husband; + And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, + And not obedient to his honest will, + What is she but a foul contending rebel + And graceless traitor to her loving lord? + I am asham'd that women are so simple + To offer war where they should kneel for peace; + Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, + When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. + Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, + Unapt to toll 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 KATHERINA + HORTENSIO. Now go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a curst shrow. + LUCENTIO. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. + Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1612 + +THE TEMPEST + +by William Shakespeare + + + +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 + + Lords + ADRIAN + FRANCISCO + CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave + TRINCULO, a jester + STEPHANO, a drunken butler + MASTER OF A SHIP + BOATSWAIN + MARINERS + + MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero + + ARIEL, an airy spirit + + Spirits + IRIS + CERES + JUNO + NYMPHS + REAPERS + Other Spirits attending on Prospero + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +A ship at sea; afterwards an uninhabited island + + + +THE TEMPEST +ACT I. SCENE 1 + +On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard + +Enter a SHIPMASTER and a BOATSWAIN + + MASTER. Boatswain! + BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer? + MASTER. Good! Speak to th' mariners; fall to't yarely, or + we run ourselves aground; bestir, bestir. Exit + + Enter MARINERS + + BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! + yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to th' master's + whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough. + + Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND + GONZALO, and OTHERS + + ALONSO. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? + Play the men. + BOATSWAIN. I pray now, keep below. + ANTONIO. Where is the master, boson? + BOATSWAIN. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour; + keep your cabins; you do assist the storm. + GONZALO. Nay, good, be patient. + BOATSWAIN. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these + roarers for the name of king? To cabin! silence! Trouble + us not. + GONZALO. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. + BOATSWAIN. None that I more love than myself. You are + 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 liv'd so long, and make yourself ready + in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so + hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I say. + Exit + GONZALO. I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks + he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is + perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging; + make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth + little advantage. If he be not born to be hang'd, our + case is miserable. Exeunt + + Re-enter BOATSWAIN + + BOATSWAIN. Down with the topmast. Yare, lower, lower! + Bring her to try wi' th' maincourse. [A cry within] A + plague upon this howling! They are louder than the + weather or our office. + + 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 drown'd than thou art. + GONZALO. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were + no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched + wench. + BOATSWAIN. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off + to sea again; lay her off. + + Enter MARINERS, Wet + MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! + Exeunt + BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold? + GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers! + Let's assist them, + For our case is as theirs. + SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience. + ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. + This wide-chopp'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 wid'st to glut him. + [A confused noise within: Mercy on us! + We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children! + Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!] + ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King. + 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 + dry death. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2 + +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 th' welkin's cheek, + Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered + With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, + Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, + Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock + Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd. + Had I been any god of power, I would + Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere + It should the good ship so have swallow'd and + The fraughting souls within her. + PROSPERO. Be conected; + 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 rememb'rest aught, ere thou cam'st here, + How thou cam'st here thou mayst. + MIRANDA. But that I do not. + PROSPERO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, + Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and + A prince of power. + MIRANDA. Sir, are not you my father? + PROSPERO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and + She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father + Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir + And princess no worse issued. + MIRANDA. O, the heavens! + What foul play had we that we came from thence? + Or blessed was't we did? + PROSPERO. Both, both, my girl. + By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; + But blessedly holp hither. + MIRANDA. O, my heart bleeds + To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to, + Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. + PROSPERO. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio- + I pray thee, mark me that a brother should + Be so perfidious. He, whom next thyself + Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put + The manage of my state; as at that time + Through all the signories it was the first, + And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed + In dignity, and for the liberal arts + Without a parallel, those being all my study- + The government I cast upon my brother + And to my state grew stranger, being transported + And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle- + Dost thou attend me? + MIRANDA. Sir, most heedfully. + PROSPERO. Being once perfected how to grant suits, + How to deny them, who t' advance, and who + To trash for over-topping, new created + The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em, + Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key + Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state + To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was + The ivy which had hid my princely trunk + And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. + MIRANDA. O, good sir, I do! + PROSPERO. I pray thee, mark me. + I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated + To closeness and the bettering of my mind + With that which, but by being so retir'd, + O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother + Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust, + Like a good parent, did beget of him + A falsehood, in its contrary as great + As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, + A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, + Not only with what my revenue yielded, + But what my power might else exact, like one + Who having into truth, by telling of it, + Made such a sinner of his memory, + To credit his own lie-he did believe + He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution, + And executing th' outward face of royalty + With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing- + Dost thou hear? + MIRANDA. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. + PROSPERO. To have no screen between this part he play'd + And him he play'd it for, he needs will be + Absolute Milan. Me, poor man-my library + Was dukedom large enough-of temporal royalties + He thinks me now incapable; confederates, + So dry he was for sway, wi' th' King of Naples, + To give him annual tribute, do him homage, + Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend + The dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan!- + To most ignoble stooping. + MIRANDA. O the heavens! + PROSPERO. Mark his condition, and th' event, then tell me + If this might be a brother. + MIRANDA. I should sin + To think but nobly of my grandmother: + Good wombs have borne bad sons. + PROSPERO. Now the condition: + This King of Naples, being an enemy + To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; + Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises, + Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, + Should presently extirpate me and mine + Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan + With all the honours on my brother. Whereon, + A treacherous army levied, one midnight + Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open + The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness, + The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence + Me and thy crying self. + MIRANDA. Alack, for pity! + I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, + Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint + That wrings mine eyes to't. + PROSPERO. Hear a little further, + And then I'll bring thee to the present busines + 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 butt, not rigg'd, + Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats + Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, + To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh + To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again, + Did us but loving wrong. + MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble + Was I then to you! + PROSPERO. O, a cherubin + Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, + Infused with a fortitude from heaven, + When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, + Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me + An undergoing stomach, to bear up + Against what should ensue. + MIRANDA. How came we ashore? + PROSPERO. By Providence divine. + Some food we had and some fresh water that + A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, + Out of his charity, who being then appointed + Master of this design, did give us, with + Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, + Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, + Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me + From mine own library with volumes that + I prize above my dukedom. + MIRANDA. Would I might + But ever see that man! + PROSPERO. Now I arise. [Puts on his mantle] + Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. + Here in this island we arriv'd; and here + Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit + Than other princess' can, that have more time + For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. + MIRANDA. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, + sir, + For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason + For raising this sea-storm? + PROSPERO. Know thus far forth: + By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, + Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies + Brought to this shore; and by my prescience + I find my zenith doth depend upon + A most auspicious star, whose influence + If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes + Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions; + Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dullness, + And give it way. I know thou canst not choose. + [MIRANDA sleeps] + Come away, servant; come; I am ready now. + Approach, my Ariel. Come. + + Enter ARIEL + + ARIEL. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come + To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, + To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride + On the curl'd clouds. To thy strong bidding task + Ariel and all his quality. + PROSPERO. Hast thou, spirit, + Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? + ARIEL. To every article. + I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak, + Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, + I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide, + And burn in many places; on the topmast, + The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, + Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors + O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary + And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks + Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune + Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, + Yea, his dread trident shake. + PROSPERO. My brave spirit! + Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil + Would not infect his reason? + ARIEL. Not a soul + But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd + Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners + Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, + Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand, + With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hair- + Was the first man that leapt; cried 'Hell is empty, + And all the devils are here.' + PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit! + But was not this nigh shore? + ARIEL. Close by, my master. + PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe? + ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd; + On their sustaining garments not a blemish, + But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, + In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. + The King's son have I landed by himself, + Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs + In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, + His arms in this sad knot. + PROSPERO. Of the King's ship, + The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, + And all the rest o' th' fleet? + ARIEL. Safely in harbour + Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once + Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew + From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid; + The mariners all under hatches stowed, + Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour, + I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet, + Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, + And are upon the Mediterranean flote + Bound sadly home for Naples, + Supposing that they saw the King's ship 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' th' day? + ARIEL. Past the mid season. + PROSPERO. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now + Must by us both be spent most preciously. + ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, + Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, + Which is not yet perform'd me. + PROSPERO. How now, moody? + What is't thou canst demand? + ARIEL. My liberty. + PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more! + ARIEL. I prithee, + Remember I have done thee worthy service, + Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd + Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise + To bate me a full year. + PROSPERO. Dost thou forget + From what a torment I did free thee? + ARIEL. No. + PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze + Of the salt deep, + To run upon the sharp wind of the north, + To do me business in the veins o' th' earth + When it is bak'd with frost. + ARIEL. I do not, sir. + PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot + The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy + Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? + ARIEL. No, sir. + PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born? + Speak; tell me. + ARIEL. Sir, in Argier. + PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must + Once in a month recount what thou hast been, + Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, + For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible + To enter human hearing, from Argier + Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did + They would not take her life. Is not this true? + ARIEL. Ay, sir. + PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, + And here was left by th'sailors. Thou, my slave, + As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; + And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate + To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, + Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, + By help of her more potent ministers, + And in her most unmitigable rage, + Into a cloven pine; within which rift + Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain + A dozen years; within which space she died, + And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans + As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island- + Save for the son that she did litter here, + A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with + A human shape. + ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son. + PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban + Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st + What torment I did find thee in; thy groans + Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts + Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment + To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax + Could not again undo. It was mine art, + When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape + The pine, and let thee out. + ARIEL. I thank thee, master. + PROSPERO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak + And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till + Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. + ARIEL. Pardon, master; + I will be correspondent to command, + And do my spriting gently. + PROSPERO. Do so; and after two days + I will discharge thee. + ARIEL. That's my noble master! + What shall I do? Say what. What shall I do? + PROSPERO. Go make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea; be subject + To no sight but thine and mine, invisible + To every eyeball else. Go take this shape, + And hither come in 't. Go, hence with diligence! + Exit ARIEL + Awake, dear heart, awake; thou hast slept well; + Awake. + MIRANDA. 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 tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first, + Thou strok'st me and made much of me, wouldst give me + Water with berries in't, and teach me how + To name the bigger light, and how the less, + That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd thee, + And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, + The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile. + Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms + Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! + For I am all the subjects that you have, + Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me + In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me + The rest o' th' island. + PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave, + Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us'd thee, + Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd thee + In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate + The honour of my child. + CALIBAN. O ho, O ho! Would't had been done. + Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl'd else + This isle with Calibans. + MIRANDA. Abhorred slave, + Which any print of goodness wilt not take, + Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, + Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour + One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage, + Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like + A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes + With words that made them known. But thy vile race, + Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures + Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou + Deservedly confin'd into this rock, who hadst + Deserv'd more than a prison. + CALIBAN. You taught me language, and my profit on't + Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you + For learning me your language! + PROSPERO. Hag-seed, hence! + Fetch us in fuel. And be quick, thou 'rt best, + To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? + If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly + What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, + Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar, + That beasts shall tremble at thy din. + CALIBAN. No, pray thee. + [Aside] I must obey. His art is of such pow'r, + 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 ad singing; + FERDINAND following + + ARIEL'S SONG. + Come unto these yellow sands, + And then take hands; + Curtsied when you have and kiss'd, + The wild waves whist, + Foot it featly here and there, + And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. + Hark, hark! + [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] + The watch dogs bark. + [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] + Hark, hark! I hear + The strain of strutting chanticleer + Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. + FERDINAND. Where should this music be? I' th' air or th' + earth? + It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon + Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, + Weeping again the King my father's 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'S SONG + Full fathom five thy father lies; + Of his bones are coral made; + Those are pearls that were his eyes; + Nothing of him that doth fade + But doth suffer a sea-change + Into something rich and strange. + Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: + [Burden: Ding-dong.] + Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell. + + FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. + This is no mortal business, nor no sound + That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. + PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, + And say what thou seest yond. + MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit? + Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, + It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. + PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses + As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest + Was in the 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 pray'r + 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 chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel, + I'll set thee free for this. [To FERDINAND] A word, good + sir; + I fear you have done yourself some wrong; a word. + MIRANDA. Why speaks my father so ungently? This + Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first + That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father + To be inclin'd my way! + FERDINAND. O, if a virgin, + And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you + The Queen of Naples. + PROSPERO. Soft, Sir! one word more. + [Aside] They are both in either's pow'rs; but this swift + busines + I must uneasy make, lest too light winning + Make the prize light. [To FERDINAND] One word more; I + charge thee + That thou attend me; thou dost here usurp + The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself + Upon this island as a spy, to win it + From me, the lord on't. + FERDINAND. No, as I am a man. + MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. + If the ill spirit have so fair a house, + Good things will strive to dwell with't. + PROSPERO. 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 mussels, wither'd roots, and husks + Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. + FERDINAND. No; + I will resist such entertainment till + Mine enemy has more power. + [He draws, and is charmed from moving] + MIRANDA. O dear father, + Make not too rash a trial of him, for + He's gentle, and not fearful. + PROSPERO. What, I say, + My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; + Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy conscience + Is so possess'd with guilt. Come from thy ward; + For I can here disarm thee with this stick + And make thy weapon drop. + MIRANDA. Beseech you, father! + PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments. + MIRANDA. Sir, have pity; + I'll be his surety. + PROSPERO. Silence! One word more + Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! + An advocate for an impostor! hush! + Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, + Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench! + To th' most of men this is a Caliban, + And they to him are angels. + MIRANDA. My affections + Are then most humble; I have no ambition + To see a goodlier man. + PROSPERO. 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 subdu'd, are but light to me, + Might I but through my prison once a day + Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth + Let liberty make use of; space enough + Have I in such a prison. + PROSPERO. [Aside] It works. [To FERDINAND] Come on.- + Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow + me. + [To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me. + MIRANDA. Be of comfort; + My father's of a better nature, sir, + Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted + Which now came from him. + PROSPERO. [To ARIEL] Thou shalt be as free + As mountain winds; but then exactly do + All points of my command. + ARIEL. To th' syllable. + PROSPERO. [To FERDINAND] Come, follow. [To MIRANDA] + Speak not for him. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1 + +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 th' entertainer- + SEBASTIAN. A dollar. + GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken + truer than you purpos'd. + 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 cock'rel. + SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager? + ANTONIO. A laughter. + SEBASTIAN. A match! + ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert- + ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha! + SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid. + ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible- + SEBASTIAN. Yet- + ADRIAN. Yet- + ANTONIO. He could not miss't. + ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate + temperance. + ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench. + SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly + deliver'd. + ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. + SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. + ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen. + GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life. + ANTONIO. True; save means to live. + SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little. + GONZALO. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! + ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny. + SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't. + ANTONIO. He misses not much. + SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. + GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost + beyond credit- + SEBASTIAN. As many vouch'd rarities are. + GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd + in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and + glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd 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 grac'd before with such a paragon + to their queen. + GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time. + ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow' + in? Widow Dido! + SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too? + Good Lord, how you take it! + ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of + that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. + GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. + ADRIAN. Carthage? + GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage. + ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp. + SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. + ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next? + SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his + pocket, and give it his son for an apple. + ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring + forth more islands. + 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 fish'd for. + GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? + ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against + The stomach of my sense. Would I had never + Married my daughter there; for, coming thence, + My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, + Who is so far from Italy removed + I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir + Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish + Hath made his meal on thee? + FRANCISCO. Sir, he may live; + I saw him beat the surges under him, + And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, + Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted + The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head + 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared + Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke + To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed, + As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt + He came alive to land. + ALONSO. No, no, he's gone. + SEBASTIAN. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, + That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, + But rather lose her to an African; + Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, + Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. + ALONSO. Prithee, peace. + SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise + By all of us; and the fair soul herself + Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at + Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son, + I fear, for ever. Milan and Naples have + Moe widows in them of this business' making, + Than we bring men to comfort them; + The fault's your own. + ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss. + GONZALO. My lord Sebastian, + The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, + And time to speak it in; you rub the sore, + When you should bring the plaster. + SEBASTIAN. Very well. + ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly. + GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, + When you are cloudy. + SEBASTIAN. Foul weather? + ANTONIO. Very foul. + GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord- + ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed. + SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows. + GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do? + SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine. + GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries + Execute all things; for no kind of traffic + Would I admit; no name of magistrate; + Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, + And use of service, none; contract, succession, + Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; + No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; + No occupation; all men idle, all; + And women too, but innocent and pure; + No sovereignty- + SEBASTIAN. Yet he would be king on't. + ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the + beginning. + GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce + Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony, + Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, + Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, + Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance, + To feed my innocent people. + SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects? + ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. + GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir, + T' excel the golden age. + SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty! + ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo! + GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir? + ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me. + GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to + minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such + sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh + at nothing. + ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd 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 fall'n flat-long. + GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would + lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue + in it five weeks without changing. + + Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music + + SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling. + ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. + GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my + discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am + very heavy? + ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us. + [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] + ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes + Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find + They are inclin'd to do so. + SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir, + Do not omit the heavy offer of it: + It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, + It is a comforter. + ANTONIO. We two, my lord, + Will guard your person while you take your rest, + And watch your safety. + ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy! + [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL] + SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! + ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate. + SEBASTIAN. Why + Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not + Myself dispos'd to sleep. + ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. + They fell together all, as by consent; + They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, + Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more! + And yet methinks I see it in thy face, + What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and + My strong imagination sees a crown + Dropping upon thy head. + SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking? + ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak? + SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely + It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st + Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? + This is a strange repose, to be asleep + With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, + And yet so fast asleep. + ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian, + Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st + Whiles thou art waking. + SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly; + There's meaning in thy snores. + ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you + Must be so too, if heed me; which to do + Trebles thee o'er. + SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water. + ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow. + SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb, + Hereditary sloth instructs me. + ANTONIO. O, + If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, + Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, + You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed, + Most often, do so near the bottom run + By their own fear or sloth. + SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on. + The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim + A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, + Which throes thee much to yield. + ANTONIO. Thus, sir: + Although this lord of weak remembrance, this + Who shall be of as little memory + When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded- + For he's a spirit of persuasion, only + Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive, + 'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd + As he that sleeps here swims. + SEBASTIAN. I have no hope + That he's undrown'd. + ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope' + What great hope have you! No hope that way is + Another way so high a hope, that even + Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, + But 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' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins + Be rough and razorable; she that from whom + We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again, + And by that destiny, to perform an act + Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come + In yours and my discharge. + SEBASTIAN. What stuff is this! How say you? + 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis; + So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions + There is some space. + ANTONIO. A space whose ev'ry cubit + Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel + Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, + And let Sebastian wake.' Say this were death + That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse + Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples + As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate + As amply and unnecessarily + As this Gonzalo; I myself could make + A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore + The mind that I do! What a sleep were this + For your advancement! Do you understand me? + SEBASTIAN. Methinks I do. + ANTONIO. And how does your content + Tender your own good fortune? + SEBASTIAN. I remember + You did supplant your brother Prospero. + ANTONIO. True. + And look how well my garments sit upon me, + Much feater than before. My brother's servants + Were then my fellows; now they are my men. + SEBASTIAN. But, for your conscience- + ANTONIO. Ay, sir; where lies that? If 'twere a kibe, + 'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not + This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences + That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they + And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother, + No better than the earth he lies upon, + If he were that which now he's like-that's dead; + Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it, + Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, + To the perpetual wink for aye might put + This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who + Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, + They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; + They'll tell the clock to any business that + We say befits the hour. + SEBASTIAN. Thy case, dear friend, + Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, + I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword. One stroke + Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest; + And I the King shall love thee. + ANTONIO. Draw together; + And when I rear my hand, do you the like, + To fall it on Gonzalo. + SEBASTIAN. O, but one word. [They talk apart] + + Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, with music and song + + ARIEL. My master through his art foresees the danger + That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth- + For else his project dies-to keep them living. + [Sings in GONZALO'S ear] + While you here do snoring lie, + Open-ey'd conspiracy + His time doth take. + If of life you keep a care, + Shake off slumber, and beware. + Awake, awake! + + ANTONIO. Then let us both be sudden. + GONZALO. Now, good angels + Preserve the King! [They wake] + ALONSO. Why, how now?-Ho, awake!-Why are you drawn? + Wherefore this ghastly looking? + GONZALO. What's the matter? + SEBASTIAN. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, + Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing + Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you? + It struck mine ear most terribly. + ALONSO. I heard nothing. + ANTONIO. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, + To make an earthquake! Sure it was the roar + Of a whole herd of lions. + ALONSO. Heard you this, Gonzalo? + GONZALO. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, + And that a strange one too, which did awake me; + I shak'd you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open'd, + I saw their weapons drawn-there was a noise, + That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard, + Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. + ALONSO. Lead off this ground; and let's make further + search + For my poor son. + GONZALO. Heavens keep him from these beasts! + For he is, sure, i' th' island. + ALONSO. Lead away. + ARIEL. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done; + So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 2 + +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' th' mire, + Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark + Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but + For every trifle are they set upon me; + Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me, + And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which + Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount + Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I + All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues + Do hiss me into madness. + + Enter TRINCULO + + Lo, now, lo! + Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me + For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat; + Perchance he will not mind me. + TRINCULO. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any + weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it + sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, + looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If + it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to + hide my head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by + pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or + alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and + fish-like smell; kind of not-of-the-newest Poor-John. A + strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and + had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but + would give a piece of silver. There would this monster + make a man; any strange beast there makes a man; when + they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they + will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a + man, and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now + let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no + fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by + thunderbolt. [Thunder] Alas, the storm is come again! My + best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no + other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with + strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs + of the storm be past. + + Enter STEPHANO singing; a bottle in his hand + + STEPHANO. I shall no more to sea, to sea, + Here shall I die ashore- + This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral; + well, here's my comfort. [Drinks] + + The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, + The gunner, and his mate, + Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, + But none of us car'd for Kate; + For she had a tongue with a tang, + Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!' + She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, + Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch. + Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! + + This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort. + [Drinks] + CALIBAN. Do not torment me. O! + STEPHANO. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you + put tricks upon 's with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I + have not scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four + legs; for it hath been said: As proper a man as ever + went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it + shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at + nostrils. + CALIBAN. The spirit torments me. O! + STEPHANO. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, + who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil + should he learn our language? I will give him some + relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and + keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a + present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's + leather. + CALIBAN. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood + home faster. + STEPHANO. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the + wisest. He shall taste of my bottle; if he have never + drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If + I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take + too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, + and that soundly. + CALIBAN. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, + I know it by thy trembling; now Prosper works upon thee. + STEPHANO. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is + that which will give language to you, cat. Open your + mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and + that soundly; you cannot tell who's your friend. Open + your chaps again. + TRINCULO. I should know that voice; it should be-but he is + drown'd; 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 + the by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these + are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How cam'st thou + to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent + Trinculos? + TRINCULO. I took him to be kill'd with a thunderstroke. + But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now thou are + not drown'd. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the + dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And + art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans + scap'd! + STEPHANO. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not + constant. + CALIBAN. [Aside] These be fine things, an if they be not + sprites. + That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor. + I will kneel to him. + STEPHANO. How didst thou scape? How cam'st thou hither? + Swear by this bottle how thou cam'st hither-I escap'd + 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 escap'dst. + TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like + a duck, I'll be sworn. + STEPHANO. [Passing the bottle] Here, kiss the book. Though + thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a + goose. + TRINCULO. O Stephano, hast any more of this? + STEPHANO. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by + th' seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! + How does thine ague? + CALIBAN. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? + STEPHANO. Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man + i' th' 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. + [CALIBAN drinks] + TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow + monster! + I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The Man i' th' + Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, + monster, in good sooth! + CALIBAN. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island; + and will kiss thy foot. I prithee be my god. + TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken + monster! When's god's asleep he'll rob his bottle. + CALIBAN. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy + subject. + STEPHANO. Come on, then; down, and swear. + TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- + headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in + my heart to beat him- + STEPHANO. Come, kiss. + TRINCULO. But that the poor monster's in drink. An + abominable monster! + CALIBAN. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee + berries; + I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. + A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! + I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, + Thou wondrous man. + TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of + a poor drunkard! + CALIBAN. I prithee let me bring thee where crabs grow; + And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; + Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how + To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee + To clust'ring 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 drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. + Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. + CALIBAN. [Sings drunkenly] Farewell, master; farewell, + farewell! + TRINCULO. A howling monster; a drunken monster! + CALIBAN. No more dams I'll make for fish; + Nor fetch in firing + At requiring, + Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish. + 'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban, + Has a new master-Get a new man. + Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high- + day, freedom! + STEPHANO. O brave monster! Lead the way. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1 + +Before PROSPERO'S cell + +Enter FERDINAND, hearing a log + + FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and their + labour + Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness + Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters + Point to rich ends. This my mean task + Would be as heavy to me as odious, but + The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, + And makes my labours pleasures. O, she is + Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; + And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove + Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, + Upon a sore injunction; my sweet mistress + Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness + Had never like executor. I forget; + But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, + Most busy, least when I do it. + + Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO 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. [Aside] Poor worm, thou art infected! + This visitation shows it. + MIRANDA. You look wearily. + FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me + When you are by at night. I do beseech you, + Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, + What is your name? + MIRANDA. Miranda-O my father, + I have broke your hest to say so! + FERDINAND. Admir'd Miranda! + What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady + I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time + Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage + Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues + Have I lik'd several women, never any + With so full soul, but some defect in her + Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, + And put it to the foil; but you, O you, + So perfect and so peerless, are created + Of every creature's best! + MIRANDA. I do not know + One of my sex; no woman's face remember, + Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen + More that I may call men than you, good friend, + And my dear father. How features are abroad, + I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, + The jewel in my dower, I would not wish + Any companion in the world but you; + Nor can imagination form a shape, + Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle + Something too wildly, and my father's precepts + I therein do forget. + FERDINAND. I am, in my condition, + A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king- + I would not so!-and would no more endure + This wooden slavery than to suffer + The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: + The very instant that I saw you, did + My heart fly to your service; there resides + To make me slave to it; and for your sake + Am I this patient log-man. + MIRANDA. Do you love me? + FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, + And crown what I profess with kind event, + If I speak true! If hollowly, invert + What best is boded me to mischief! I, + Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world, + Do love, prize, honour you. + MIRANDA. I am a fool + To weep at what I am glad of. + PROSPERO. [Aside] Fair encounter + Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace + On that which breeds between 'em! + FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you? + MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer + What I desire to give, and much less take + What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; + And all the more it seeks to hide itself, + The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! + And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! + I am your wife, if you will marry me; + If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow + You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, + Whether you will or no. + FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest; + And I thus humble ever. + MIRANDA. My husband, then? + FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing + As bondage e'er of freedom. Here's my hand. + MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in't. And now farewell + Till half an hour hence. + FERDINAND. A thousand thousand! + Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally + PROSPERO. So glad of this as they I cannot be, + Who are surpris'd withal; but my rejoicing + At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; + For yet ere supper time must I perform + Much business appertaining. Exit + + + + +SCENE 2 + +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 brain'd like us, the state + totters. + STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee; thy + eyes are almost set in thy head. + TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave + monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. + STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in + sack. For my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere + I could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues, off + and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, + monster, or my standard. + TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. + STEPHANO. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster. + TRINCULO. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs, and + yet say nothing neither. + STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest + a good moon-calf. + CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. + I'll not serve him; he is not valiant. + TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case + to justle a constable. Why, thou debosh'd 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 fish and half a monster? + CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! Wilt thou let him, my + lord? + TRINCULO. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such + a natural! + CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! Bite him to death, I prithee. + STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if + you prove a mutineer-the next tree! The poor monster's + my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. + CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to + hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? + STEPHANO. Marry will I; kneel and repeat it; I will stand, + and so shall Trinculo. + + Enter ARIEL, invisible + + CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, + 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 dar'st, + But this thing dare not- + STEPHANO. That's most certain. + CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. + STEPHANO. How now shall this be compass'd? Canst thou + bring me to the party? + CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep, + Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. + ARIEL. Thou liest; thou canst not. + CALIBAN. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch! + I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, + And take his bottle from him. When that's gone + He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him + Where the quick freshes are. + STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger; interrupt + the monster one word further and, by this hand, I'll turn + my mercy out o' doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. + TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther + off. + STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied? + ARIEL. Thou liest. + STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that. [Beats him] As you like + this, give me the lie another time. + TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and + hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! This can sack and + drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil + take your fingers! + CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha! + STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.-Prithee stand + further off. + CALIBAN. Beat him enough; after a little time, I'll beat + him too. + STEPHANO. Stand farther. Come, proceed. + CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him + I' th' afternoon to sleep; there thou mayst brain him, + Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log + Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, + Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember + First to possess his books; for without them + He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not + One spirit to command; they all do hate him + As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. + He has brave utensils-for so he calls them- + Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. + And that most deeply to consider is + The beauty of his daughter; he himself + Calls her a nonpareil. I never saw a woman + But only Sycorax my dam and she; + But she as far surpasseth Sycorax + As great'st does least. + STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass? + CALIBAN. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant, + And bring thee forth brave brood. + STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man; his daughter and I + will be King and Queen-save our Graces!-and Trinculo + and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, + Trinculo? + TRINCULO. Excellent. + STEPHANO. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee; but + while thou liv'st, keep a good tongue in thy head. + CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep. + Wilt thou destroy him then? + STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour. + ARIEL. This will I tell my master. + CALIBAN. Thou mak'st me merry; I am full of pleasure. + Let us be jocund; will you troll the catch + You taught me but while-ere? + STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any + reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings] + + Flout 'em and scout 'em, + And scout 'em and flout 'em; + Thought is free. + + CALIBAN. That's not the tune. + [ARIEL plays the tune on a tabor and pipe] + STEPHANO. What is this same? + TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the + picture of Nobody. + STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy + likeness; if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. + TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins! + STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts. I defy thee. Mercy + upon us! + CALIBAN. Art thou afeard? + STEPHANO. No, monster, not I. + CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, + Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. + Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments + Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, + That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, + Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, + The clouds methought would open and show riches + Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, + I cried to dream again. + STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I + shall have my music for nothing. + CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroy'd. + STEPHANO. That shall be by and by; I remember the story. + TRINCULO. The sound is going away; let's follow it, and + after do our work. + STEPHANO. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see + this taborer; he lays it on. + TRINCULO. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE 3 + +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 th' dulling of my spirits; sit down and rest. + Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it + No longer for my flatterer; he is drown'd + Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks + Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. + ANTONIO. [Aside to SEBASTIAN] I am right glad that he's + so out of hope. + Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose + That you resolv'd t' 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; and PROSPERO on the + top, invisible. Enter several strange SHAPES, + bringing in a banquet; and dance about it with + gentle actions of salutations; and inviting the + KING, etc., to eat, they depart + + ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark! + GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music! + ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these? + SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe + That there are unicorns; that in Arabia + There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix + At this hour reigning-there. + ANTONIO. I'll believe both; + And what does else want credit, come to me, + And I'll be sworn 'tis true; travellers ne'er did lie, + Though fools at home condemn '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, + Dewlapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em + Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men + Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find + Each putter-out of five for one will bring us + Good warrant of. + ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed, + Although my last; no matter, since I feel + The best is past. Brother, my lord the Duke, + Stand to, and do as we. + + Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy; + claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint + device, the banquet vanishes + + ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, + That hath to instrument this lower world + And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea + Hath caus'd 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 etc., draw their swords] + You fools! I and my fellows + Are ministers of Fate; the elements + Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well + Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs + Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish + One dowle that's in my plume; my fellow-ministers + Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, + Your swords are now too massy for your strengths + And will not be uplifted. But remember- + For that's my business to you-that you three + From Milan did supplant good Prospero; + Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, + Him, and his innocent child; for which foul deed + The pow'rs, delaying, not forgetting, have + Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, + Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, + They have bereft; and do pronounce by me + Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death + Can be at once, shall step by step attend + You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from- + Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls + Upon your heads-is nothing but heart's 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 pow'r; + And in these fits I leave them, while I visit + Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, + And his and mine lov'd darling. Exit above + GONZALO. I' th' name of something holy, sir, why stand you + In this strange stare? + ALONSO. O, it is monstrous, monstrous! + Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; + The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, + That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd + The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. + Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded; and + I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, + And with him there lie mudded. Exit + SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time, + I'll fight their legions o'er. + ANTONIO. I'll be thy second. Exeunt SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO + GONZALO. All three of them are desperate; their great guilt, + Like poison given to work a great time after, + Now gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, + That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, + And hinder them from what this ecstasy + May now provoke them to. + ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1 + +Before PROSPERO'S cell + +Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA + + PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish'd you, + Your compensation makes amends; for + 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 + Wort'hily purchas'd, take my daughter. But + If thou dost break her virgin-knot before + All sanctimonious ceremonies may + With full and holy rite be minist'red, + No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall + To make this contract grow; but barren hate, + Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew + The union of your bed with weeds so loathly + That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed, + As Hymen's lamps shall light you. + FERDINAND. As I hope + For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, + With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, + The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion + Our worser genius can, shall never melt + Mine honour into lust, to take away + The edge of that day's celebration, + When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd + Or Night kept chain'd below. + PROSPERO. Fairly spoke. + Sit, then, and talk with her; she is thine own. + What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! + + Enter ARIEL + + ARIEL. What would my potent master? Here I am. + PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service + Did worthily perform; and I must use you + In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, + O'er whom I give thee pow'r, here to this place. + Incite them to quick motion; for I must + Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple + Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise, + And they expect it from me. + ARIEL. Presently? + PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink. + ARIEL. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,' + And breathe twice, and cry 'so, so,' + Each one, tripping on his toe, + Will be here with mop and mow. + Do you love me, master? No? + PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach + Till thou dost hear me call. + ARIEL. Well! I conceive. Exit + PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance + Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw + To th' fire i' th' 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' th' sky, + Whose wat'ry arch and messenger am I, + Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, + Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, + To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain. + [JUNO descends in her car] + Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. + + Enter CERES + + CERES. Hail, many-coloured messenger, that ne'er + Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; + Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flow'rs + Diffusest honey drops, refreshing show'rs; + 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-rite shall be paid + Till Hymen's torch be lighted; but in vain. + Mars's hot minion is return'd again; + Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, + Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, + And be a boy right out. [JUNO alights] + CERES. Highest Queen of State, + Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. + JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me + To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, + And honour'd in their issue. [They sing] + JUNO. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, + Long continuance, and increasing, + Hourly joys be still upon you! + Juno sings her blessings on you. + CERES. Earth's increase, foison plenty, + Barns and gamers never empty; + Vines with clust'ring bunches growing, + Plants with goodly burden bowing; + Spring come to you at the farthest, + In the very end of harvest! + Scarcity and want shall shun you, + Ceres' blessing so is on you. + FERDINAND. This is a most majestic vision, and + Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold + To think these spirits? + PROSPERO. Spirits, which by mine art + I have from their confines call'd to enact + My present fancies. + FERDINAND. Let me live here ever; + So rare a wond'red father and a wise + Makes this place Paradise. + [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment] + PROSPERO. Sweet now, silence; + Juno and Ceres whisper seriously. + There's something else to do; hush, and be mute, + Or else our spell is marr'd. + IRIS. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind'ring brooks, + With your sedg'd crowns and ever harmless looks, + Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land + Answer your summons; Juno does command. + Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate + A contract of true love; be not too late. + + Enter certain NYMPHS + + You sun-burnt sicklemen, of August weary, + Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; + Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on, + And these fresh nymphs encounter every one + In country footing. + + Enter certain REAPERS, properly habited; they join + with the NYMPHS in a graceful dance; towards the + end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks, + after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused + noise, they heavily vanish + + PROSPERO. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy + Of the beast Caliban and his confederates + Against my life; the minute of their plot + Is almost come. [To the SPIRITS] Well done; avoid; no + more! + FERDINAND. This is strange; your father's in some passion + That works him strongly. + MIRANDA. Never till this day + Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. + PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, + As if you were dismay'd; be cheerful, sir. + Our revels now are ended. These our actors, + As I foretold you, were all spirits, and + Are melted into air, into thin air; + And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, + The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, + The solemn temples, the great globe itself, + Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, + And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, + Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff + As dreams are made on; and our little life + Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; + Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled; + Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. + If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell + And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk + To still my beating mind. + FERDINAND, MIRANDA. We wish your peace. Exeunt + PROSPERO. Come, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel; come. + + Enter ARIEL + + ARIEL. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure? + PROSPERO. Spirit, + We must prepare to meet with Caliban. + ARIEL. Ay, my commander. When I presented 'Ceres.' + I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd + Lest I might anger thee. + PROSPERO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? + ARIEL. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; + So full of valour that they smote the air + For breathing in their faces; beat the ground + For kissing of their feet; yet always bending + Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, + At which like unback'd colts they prick'd their ears, + Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses + As they smelt music; so I charm'd their cars, + That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through + Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, + Which ent'red their frail shins. At last I left them + I' th' filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, + There dancing up to th' chins, that the foul lake + O'erstunk their feet. + PROSPERO. This was well done, my bird. + Thy shape invisible retain thou still. + The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither + For stale to catch these thieves. + ARIEL. I go, I go. Exit + PROSPERO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature + Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, + Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; + And as with age his body uglier grows, + So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, + Even to roaring. + + Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. + + Come, hang them on this line. + [PROSPERO and ARIEL remain, invisible] + + Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet + + CALIBAN. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not + Hear a foot fall; we now are near his cell. + STEPHANO. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless + fairy, has done little better than play'd the Jack with us. + TRINCULO. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss at which my + nose is in great indignation. + STEPHANO. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should + take a displeasure against you, look you- + TRINCULO. Thou wert but a lost monster. + CALIBAN. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. + Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to + Shall hoodwink this mischance; therefore speak softly. + All's hush'd as midnight yet. + TRINCULO. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool! + STEPHANO. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in + that, monster, but an infinite loss. + TRINCULO. That's more to me than my wetting; yet this is + your harmless fairy, monster. + STEPHANO. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er + ears for my labour. + CALIBAN. Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here, + This is the mouth o' th' cell; no noise, and enter. + Do that good mischief which may make this island + Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, + For aye thy foot-licker. + STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody + thoughts. + TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! + Look what a wardrobe here is for thee! + CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. + TRINCULO. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to a + frippery. O King Stephano! + STEPHANO. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll + have that gown. + TRINCULO. Thy Grace shall have it. + CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean + To dote thus on such luggage? Let 't alone, + And do the murder first. If he awake, + From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; + Make us strange stuff. + STEPHANO. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not + this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line; now, + jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald + jerkin. + TRINCULO. Do, do. We steal by line and level, an't like + your Grace. + STEPHANO. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment + for't. Wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of + this country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent + pass of pate; there's another garmet for't. + TRINCULO. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, + and away with the rest. + CALIBAN. I will have none on't. We shall lose our time, + And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes + With foreheads villainous low. + STEPHANO. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear this + away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out + of my kingdom. Go to, carry this. + TRINCULO. And this. + STEPHANO. Ay, and this. + + A noise of hunters beard. Enter divers SPIRITS, in + shape of dogs and hounds, bunting them about; + PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on + + PROSPERO. Hey, Mountain, hey! + ARIEL. Silver! there it goes, Silver! + PROSPERO. Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! Hark, hark! + [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO are driven out] + Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints + With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews + With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them + Than pard or cat o' mountain. + ARIEL. Hark, they roar. + PROSPERO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour + Lies at my mercy all mine enemies. + Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou + Shalt have the air at freedom; for a little + Follow, and do me service. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1 + +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 rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, + How fares the King and 's followers? + ARIEL. Confin'd together + In the same fashion as you gave in charge; + Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, + In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; + They cannot budge till your release. The King, + His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, + And the remainder mourning over them, + Brim full of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly + Him you term'd, sir, 'the good old lord, Gonzalo'; + His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops + From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em + That if you now beheld them your affections + Would become tender. + PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit? + ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human. + PROSPERO. And mine shall. + Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling + Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, + One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, + Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? + Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, + Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury + Do I take part; the rarer action is + In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent, + The sole drift of my purpose doth extend + Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel; + My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, + And they shall be themselves. + ARIEL. I'll fetch them, sir. Exit + PROSPERO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and + groves; + And ye that on the sands with printless foot + Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him + When he comes back; you demi-puppets that + By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, + Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime + Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice + To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid- + Weak masters though ye be-I have be-dimm'd + The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, + And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault + Set roaring war. To the dread rattling thunder + Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak + With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promontory + Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up + The pine and cedar. Graves at my command + Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth, + By my so potent art. But this rough magic + I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd + Some heavenly music-which even now I do- + To work mine end upon their senses that + This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, + Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, + And deeper than did ever plummet sound + I'll drown my book. [Solem music] + + Here enters ARIEL before; then ALONSO, with + 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 charm'd; 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, ev'n sociable to the show of thine, + Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace, + And as the morning steals upon the night, + Melting the darkness, so their rising senses + Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle + Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, + My true preserver, and a loyal sir + To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces + Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly + Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter; + Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. + Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, + You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, + Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- + Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- + Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, + Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding + Begins to swell, and the approaching tide + Will shortly fill the reasonable 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; Exit ARIEL + I will discase me, and myself present + As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit + Thou shalt ere long be free. + + ARIEL, on returning, 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. Whe'er thou be'st he or no, + Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, + As late I have been, I not know. Thy pulse + Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, + Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, + I fear, a madness held me. This must crave- + An if this be at all-a most strange story. + Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat + Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero + Be living and be here? + PROSPERO. First, noble friend, + Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot + Be measur'd or confin'd. + GONZALO. Whether this be + Or be not, I'll not swear. + PROSPERO. You do yet taste + Some subtleties o' th' isle, that will not let you + Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all! + [Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] But you, my brace of + lords, were I so minded, + I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, + And justify you traitors; at this time + I will tell no tales. + SEBASTIAN. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. + PROSPERO. No. + For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother + Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive + Thy rankest fault-all of them; and require + My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know + Thou must restore. + ALONSO. If thou beest Prospero, + Give us particulars of thy preservation; + How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since + Were 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 wrecked, was landed + To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; + For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, + Not a relation for a breakfast, nor + Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; + This cell's my court; here have I few attendants, + And subjects none abroad; pray you, look in. + My dukedom since you have given me again, + I will requite you with as good a thing; + At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye + As much as me my dukedom. + + Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA, + playing at chess + + MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false. + FERDINAND. No, my dearest love, + I would not for the world. + MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle + And I would call it fair play. + ALONSO. If this prove + A vision of the island, one dear son + Shall I twice lose. + SEBASTIAN. A most high miracle! + FERDINAND. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; + I have curs'd them without cause. [Kneels] + ALONSO. Now all the blessings + Of a glad father compass thee about! + Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. + MIRANDA. O, wonder! + How many goodly creatures are there here! + How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world + That has such people in't! + PROSPERO. 'Tis new to thee. + ALONSO. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play? + Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours; + Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, + And brought us thus together? + FERDINAND. Sir, she is mortal; + But by immortal Providence she's mine. + I chose her when I could not ask my father + For his advice, nor thought I had one. She + Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, + Of whom so often I have heard renown + But never saw before; of whom I have + Receiv'd a second life; and second father + This lady makes him to me. + ALONSO. I am hers. + But, O, how oddly will it sound that I + Must ask my child forgiveness! + PROSPERO. There, sir, stop; + Let us not burden our remembrances with + A heaviness that's gone. + GONZALO. I have inly wept, + Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, + And on this couple drop a blessed crown; + For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way + Which brought us hither. + ALONSO. I say, Amen, Gonzalo! + GONZALO. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue + Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice + Beyond a common joy, and set it down + With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage + Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; + And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife + Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom + In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves + When no man was his own. + ALONSO. [To FERDINAND and MIRANDA] Give me your + hands. + Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart + That doth not wish you joy. + GONZALO. Be it so. Amen! + + Re-enter ARIEL, with the MASTER and BOATSWAIN + amazedly following + + O look, sir; look, sir! Here 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'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, + And-how, we know not-all clapp'd under hatches; + Where, but even now, with strange and several noises + Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, + And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible, + We were awak'd; straightway at liberty; + Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld + Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master + Cap'ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, + Even in a dream, were we divided from them, + And were brought moping hither. + ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Was't well done? + PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] Bravely, my diligence. Thou + shalt be free. + ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; + And there is in this business more than nature + Was ever conduct of. Some oracle + Must rectify our knowledge. + PROSPERO. Sir, my liege, + Do not infest your mind with beating on + The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure, + Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you, + Which to you shall seem probable, of every + These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful + And think of each thing well. [Aside to ARIEL] Come + hither, spirit; + Set Caliban and his companions free; + Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL] How fares my gracious sir? + There are yet missing of your company + Some few odd lads that you remember not. + + Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and + + TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel + STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man + take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, + bully-monster, coragio! + TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, + here's a goodly sight. + CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! + How fine my master is! I am afraid + He will chastise me. + SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha! + What things are these, my lord Antonio? + Will money buy'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 I + Acknowledge mine. + CALIBAN. I shall be pinch'd to death. + ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? + SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now; where had he wine? + ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling ripe; where should they + Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? + How cam'st thou in this pickle? + TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you + last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I + shall not fear fly-blowing. + SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano! + STEPHANO. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a + cramp. + PROSPERO. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah? + STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then. + ALONSO. [Pointing to CALIBAN] This is as strange a thing + as e'er I look'd on. + PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners + As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; + Take with you your companions; as you look + To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. + CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, + And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass + Was I to take this drunkard for a god, + And worship this dull fool! + PROSPERO. Go to; away! + ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. + SEBASTIAN. Or stole it, rather. + Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO + PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train + To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest + For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste + With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it + Go quick away-the story of my life, + And the particular accidents gone by + Since I came to this isle. And in the morn + I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, + Where I have hope to see the nuptial + Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized, + And thence retire me to my Milan, where + Every third thought shall be my grave. + ALONSO. I long + To hear the story of your life, which must + Take the ear strangely. + PROSPERO. I'll deliver all; + And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, + And sail so expeditious that shall catch + Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to ARIEL] My Ariel, + chick, + That is thy charge. Then to the elements + Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near. + Exeunt + + + +EPILOGUE + 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 confin'd by you, + Or sent to Naples. Let me not, + Since I have my dukedom got, + And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell + In this bare island by your spell; + But release me from my bands + With the help of your good hands. + Gentle breath of yours my sails + Must fill, or else my project fails, + Which was to please. Now I want + Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; + And my ending is despair + Unless I be reliev'd by prayer, + Which pierces so that it assaults + Mercy itself, and frees all faults. + As you from crimes would pardon'd be, + Let your indulgence set me free. + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1608 + +THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + TIMON of Athens + + LUCIUS + LUCULLUS + SEMPRONIUS + flattering lords + + VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends + ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain + APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher + FLAVIUS, steward to Timon + + FLAMINIUS + LUCILIUS + SERVILIUS + Timon's servants + + CAPHIS + PHILOTUS + TITUS + HORTENSIUS + servants to Timon's creditors + + POET + PAINTER + JEWELLER + MERCHANT + MERCER + AN OLD ATHENIAN + THREE STRANGERS + A PAGE + A FOOL + + PHRYNIA + TIMANDRA + mistresses to Alcibiades + + CUPID + AMAZONS + in the Masque + + Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and + Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Athens and the neighbouring woods + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Athens. TIMON'S house + +Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors + + POET. Good day, sir. + PAINTER. I am glad y'are well. + POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world? + PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows. + POET. Ay, that's well known. + But what particular rarity? What strange, + Which manifold record not matches? See, + Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power + Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant. + PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. + MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord! + JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd. + MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were, + To an untirable and continuate goodness. + He passes. + JEWELLER. I have a jewel here- + MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir? + JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that- + POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, + It stains the glory in that happy verse + Which aptly sings the good. + MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form. + JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye. + PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication + To the great lord. + POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me. + Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes + From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint + Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame + Provokes itself, and like the current flies + Each bound it chafes. What have you there? + PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? + POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. + Let's see your piece. + PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece. + POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent. + PAINTER. Indifferent. + POET. Admirable. How this grace + Speaks his own standing! What a mental power + This eye shoots forth! How big imagination + Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture + One might interpret. + PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life. + Here is a touch; is't good? + POET. I will say of it + It tutors nature. Artificial strife + Lives in these touches, livelier than life. + + Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over + + PAINTER. How this lord is followed! + POET. The senators of Athens- happy man! + PAINTER. Look, moe! + POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. + I have in this rough work shap'd out a man + Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug + With amplest entertainment. My free drift + Halts not particularly, but moves itself + In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice + Infects one comma in the course I hold, + But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, + Leaving no tract behind. + PAINTER. How shall I understand you? + POET. I will unbolt to you. + You see how all conditions, how all minds- + As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as + Of grave and austere quality, tender down + Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, + Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, + Subdues and properties to his love and tendance + All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer + To Apemantus, that few things loves better + Than to abhor himself; even he drops down + The knee before him, and returns in peace + Most rich in Timon's nod. + PAINTER. I saw them speak together. + POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill + Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount + Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures + That labour on the bosom of this sphere + To propagate their states. Amongst them all + Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd + One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, + Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; + Whose present grace to present slaves and servants + Translates his rivals. + PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. + This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, + With one man beckon'd from the rest below, + Bowing his head against the steepy mount + To climb his happiness, would be well express'd + In our condition. + POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on. + All those which were his fellows but of late- + Some better than his value- on the moment + Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, + Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, + Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him + Drink the free air. + PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these? + POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood + Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, + Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top + Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, + Not one accompanying his declining foot. + PAINTER. 'Tis common. + A thousand moral paintings I can show + That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's + More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well + To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen + The foot above the head. + + Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself + courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from + VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other + servants following + + TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you? + MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt; + His means most short, his creditors most strait. + Your honourable letter he desires + To those have shut him up; which failing, + Periods his comfort. + TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well. + I am not of that feather to shake of + My friend when he must need me. I do know him + A gentleman that well deserves a help, + Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. + MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him. + TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom; + And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me. + 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, + But to support him after. Fare you well. + MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit + + Enter an OLD ATHENIAN + + OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak. + TIMON. Freely, good father. + OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. + TIMON. I have so; what of him? + OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. + TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! + LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service. + OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, + By night frequents my house. I am a man + That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift, + And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd + Than one which holds a trencher. + TIMON. Well; what further? + OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else, + On whom I may confer what I have got. + The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride, + And I have bred her at my dearest cost + In qualities of the best. This man of thine + Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord, + Join with me to forbid him her resort; + Myself have spoke in vain. + TIMON. The man is honest. + OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon. + His honesty rewards him in itself; + It must not bear my daughter. + TIMON. Does she love him? + OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt: + Our own precedent passions do instruct us + What levity's in youth. + TIMON. Love you the maid? + LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. + OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing, + I call the gods to witness I will choose + Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, + And dispossess her all. + TIMON. How shall she be endow'd, + If she be mated with an equal husband? + OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all. + TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;. + To build his fortune I will strain a little, + For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: + What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, + And make him weigh with her. + OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord, + Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. + TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. + LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may + That state or fortune fall into my keeping + Which is not owed to you! + Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN + POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your + lordship! + TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon; + Go not away. What have you there, my friend? + PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech + Your lordship to accept. + TIMON. Painting is welcome. + The painting is almost the natural man; + For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, + He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are + Even such as they give out. I like your work, + And you shall find I like it; wait attendance + Till you hear further from me. + PAINTER. The gods preserve ye! + TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand; + We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel + Hath suffered under praise. + JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise? + TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations; + If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, + It would unclew me quite. + JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated + As those which sell would give; but you well know + Things of like value, differing in the owners, + Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord, + You mend the jewel by the wearing it. + TIMON. Well mock'd. + + Enter APEMANTUS + + MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, + Which all men speak with him. + TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid? + JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship. + MERCHANT. He'll spare none. + TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! + APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; + When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. + TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not. + APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians? + TIMON. Yes. + APEMANTUS. Then I repent not. + JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name. + TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. + TIMON. Whither art going? + APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. + TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for. + APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law. + TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence. + TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it? + APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's + but a filthy piece of work. + PAINTER. Y'are a dog. + APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog? + TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords. + TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. + APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. + TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension. + APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour. + TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man + a doit. + TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth? + APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! + POET. How now, philosopher! + APEMANTUS. Thou liest. + POET. Art not one? + APEMANTUS. Yes. + POET. Then I lie not. + APEMANTUS. Art not a poet? + POET. Yes. + APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast + feign'd him a worthy fellow. + POET. That's not feign'd- he is so. + APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy + labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer. + Heavens, that I were a lord! + TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart. + TIMON. What, thyself? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. Wherefore? + APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a + merchant? + MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! + MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it. + APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee! + + Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER + + TIMON. What trumpet's that? + MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, + All of companionship. + TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us. + Exeunt some attendants + You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence + Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done + Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. + + Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest + + Most welcome, sir! [They salute] + APEMANTUS. So, so, there! + Aches contract and starve your supple joints! + That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, + And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out + Into baboon and monkey. + ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed + Most hungerly on your sight. + TIMON. Right welcome, sir! + Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time + In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. + Exeunt all but APEMANTUS + + Enter two LORDS + + FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Time to be honest. + FIRST LORD. That time serves still. + APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it. + SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast. + APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. + SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well. + APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. + SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give + thee none. + FIRST LORD. Hang thyself. + APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests + to thy friend. + SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. + APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass. Exit + FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in + And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes + The very heart of kindness. + SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold, + Is but his steward; no meed but he repays + Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him + But breeds the giver a return exceeding + All use of quittance. + FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries + That ever govern'd man. + SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in? + FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +A room of state in TIMON'S house + +Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in; +FLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states, +the ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison. +Then comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself + + VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon, + It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age, + And call him to long peace. + He is gone happy, and has left me rich. + Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound + To your free heart, I do return those talents, + Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help + I deriv'd liberty. + TIMON. O, by no means, + Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love; + I gave it freely ever; and there's none + Can truly say he gives, if he receives. + If our betters play at that game, we must not dare + To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair. + VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit! + TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first + To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, + Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; + But where there is true friendship there needs none. + Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes + Than my fortunes to me. [They sit] + FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it. + APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not? + TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome. + APEMANTUS. No; + You shall not make me welcome. + I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. + TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there + Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame. + They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever + angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither + affect company nor is he fit for't indeed. + APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon. + I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. + TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore + welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make + thee silent. + APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er + flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he + sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one + man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. + I wonder men dare trust themselves with men. + Methinks they should invite them without knives: + Good for their meat and safer for their lives. + There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, + parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided + draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has been proved. If + I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals. + Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: + Great men should drink with harness on their throats. + TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round. + SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord. + APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. + Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. + Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which + ne'er left man i' th' mire. + This and my food are equals; there's no odds.' + Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. + + APEMANTUS' Grace + + Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; + I pray for no man but myself. + Grant I may never prove so fond + To trust man on his oath or bond, + Or a harlot for her weeping, + Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, + Or a keeper with my freedom, + Or my friends, if I should need 'em. + Amen. So fall to't. + Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks] + + Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! + TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. + ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. + TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of + friends. + ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat + like 'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast. + APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that + then thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em. + FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you + would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of + our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. + TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have + provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been + my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from + thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told + more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own + behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what + need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em? + They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er + have use for 'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung + up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have + often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We + are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call + our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious + comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one + another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born! + Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their + faults, I drink to you. + APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. + SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, + And at that instant like a babe sprung up. + APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. + THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. + APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket] + TIMON. What means that trump? + + Enter a SERVANT + + How now? + SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most + desirous of admittance. + TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills? + SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears + that office to signify their pleasures. + TIMON. I pray let them be admitted. + + Enter CUPID + CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all + That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses + Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely + To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear, + Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise; + They only now come but to feast thine eyes. + TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance. + Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID + FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd. + + Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons, + with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing + + APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! + They dance? They are mad women. + Like madness is the glory of this life, + As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. + We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves, + And spend our flatteries to drink those men + Upon whose age we void it up again + With poisonous spite and envy. + Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? + Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves + Of their friends' gift? + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + + The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of + TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an + Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty + strain or two to the hautboys, and cease + + TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, + Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, + Which was not half so beautiful and kind; + You have added worth unto't and lustre, + And entertain'd me with mine own device; + I am to thank you for't. + FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best. + APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold + taking, I doubt me. + TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you; + Please you to dispose yourselves. + ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord. + Exeunt CUPID and LADIES + TIMON. Flavius! + FLAVIUS. My lord? + TIMON. The little casket bring me hither. + FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet! + There is no crossing him in's humour, + Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I should- + When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. + 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, + That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit + FIRST LORD. Where be our men? + SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness. + SECOND LORD. Our horses! + + Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket + + TIMON. O my friends, + I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord, + I must entreat you honour me so much + As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, + Kind my lord. + FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts- + ALL. So are we all. + + Enter a SERVANT + + SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly + alighted and come to visit you. + TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT + FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does + concern you near. + TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's + be provided to show them entertainment. + FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how. + + Enter another SERVANT + + SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his + free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd + in silver. + TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents + Be worthily entertain'd. Exit SERVANT + + Enter a third SERVANT + + How now! What news? + THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord + Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and + has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. + TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd, + Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT + FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to? + He commands us to provide and give great gifts, + And all out of an empty coffer; + Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, + To show him what a beggar his heart is, + Being of no power to make his wishes good. + His promises fly so beyond his state + That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes + For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now + Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. + Well, would I were gently put out of office + Before I were forc'd out! + Happier is he that has no friend to feed + Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. + I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit + TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong; + You bate too much of your own merits. + Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. + SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it. + THIRD LORD. O, he's the very soul of bounty! + TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other + day of a bay courser I rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it. + THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that. + TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man + Can justly praise but what he does affect. + I weigh my friend's affection with mine own. + I'll tell you true; I'll call to you. + ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome! + TIMON. I take all and your several visitations + So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give; + Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends + And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, + Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. + It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living + Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast + Lie in a pitch'd field. + ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. + FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound- + TIMON. And so am I to you. + SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'd- + TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights! + FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with + you, Lord Timon! + TIMON. Ready for his friends. + Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON + APEMANTUS. What a coil's here! + Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! + I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums + That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: + Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs. + Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies. + TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen + I would be good to thee. + APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there + would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin + the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give + away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, + and vain-glories? + TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to + give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. + Exit + APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll + lock thy heaven from thee. + O that men's ears should be + To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +A SENATOR'S house + +Enter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand + + SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore + He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, + Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion + Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. + If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog + And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. + If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe + Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, + Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight, + And able horses. No porter at his gate, + But rather one that smiles and still invites + All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason + Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho! + Caphis, I say! + + Enter CAPHIS + + CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure? + SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon; + Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd + With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when + 'Commend me to your master' and the cap + Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him + My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn + Out of mine own; his days and times are past, + And my reliances on his fracted dates + Have smit my credit. I love and honour him, + But must not break my back to heal his finger. + Immediate are my needs, and my relief + Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, + But find supply immediate. Get you gone; + Put on a most importunate aspect, + A visage of demand; for I do fear, + When every feather sticks in his own wing, + Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, + Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. + CAPHIS. I go, sir. + SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you, + And have the dates in compt. + CAPHIS. I will, sir. + SENATOR. Go. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Before TIMON'S house + +Enter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand + + FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense + That he will neither know how to maintain it + Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account + How things go from him, nor resumes no care + Of what is to continue. Never mind + Was to be so unwise to be so kind. + What shall be done? He will not hear till feel. + I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting. + Fie, fie, fie, fie! + + Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO + + CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money? + VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too? + CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore? + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so. + CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd! + VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it. + CAPHIS. Here comes the lord. + + Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES + + TIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again, + My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will? + CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. + TIMON. Dues! Whence are you? + CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord. + TIMON. Go to my steward. + CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off + To the succession of new days this month. + My master is awak'd by great occasion + To call upon his own, and humbly prays you + That with your other noble parts you'll suit + In giving him his right. + TIMON. Mine honest friend, + I prithee but repair to me next morning. + CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord- + TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend. + VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lord- + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy + payment- + CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants- + VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and + past. + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and + I am sent expressly to your lordship. + TIMON. Give me breath. + I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; + I'll wait upon you instantly. + Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS + [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you, + How goes the world that I am thus encount'red + With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds + And the detention of long-since-due debts, + Against my honour? + FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen, + The time is unagreeable to this business. + Your importunacy cease till after dinner, + That I may make his lordship understand + Wherefore you are not paid. + TIMON. Do so, my friends. + See them well entertain'd. Exit + FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit + + Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL + + CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus. + Let's ha' some sport with 'em. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us! + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog! + VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool? + APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? + VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee. + APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away. + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on + your back already. + APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet. + CAPHIS. Where's the fool now? + APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers' + men! Bawds between gold and want! + ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Asses. + ALL SERVANTS. Why? + APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know + yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. + FOOL. How do you, gentlemen? + ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress? + FOOL. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you + are. Would we could see you at Corinth! + APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy. + + Enter PAGE + + FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. + PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise + company? How dost thou, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee + profitably! + PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these + letters; I know not which is which. + APEMANTUS. Canst not read? + PAGE. No. + APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art + hang'd. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast + born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. + PAGE. Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death. + Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE + APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace. + Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. + FOOL. Will you leave me there? + APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? + ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv'd us! + APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd + thief. + FOOL. Are you three usurers' men? + ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool. + FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress + is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your + masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my + mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this? + VARRO'S SERVANT. I could render one. + APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a + knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. + VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool? + FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a + spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; + sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's + artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, + in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to + thirteen, this spirit walks in. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool. + FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man. + As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st. + APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. + + Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS + + APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come. + FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; + sometime the philosopher. + Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL + FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon. + Exeunt SERVANTS + TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time + Had you not fully laid my state before me, + That I might so have rated my expense + As I had leave of means. + FLAVIUS. You would not hear me + At many leisures I propos'd. + TIMON. Go to; + Perchance some single vantages you took + When my indisposition put you back, + And that unaptness made your minister + Thus to excuse yourself. + FLAVIUS. O my good lord, + At many times I brought in my accounts, + Laid them before you; you would throw them off + And say you found them in mine honesty. + When, for some trifling present, you have bid me + Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; + Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you + To hold your hand more close. I did endure + Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have + Prompted you in the ebb of your estate + And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord, + Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time: + The greatest of your having lacks a half + To pay your present debts. + TIMON. Let all my land be sold. + FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; + And what remains will hardly stop the mouth + Of present dues. The future comes apace; + What shall defend the interim? And at length + How goes our reck'ning? + TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. + FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word; + Were it all yours to give it in a breath, + How quickly were it gone! + TIMON. You tell me true. + FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, + Call me before th' exactest auditors + And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, + When all our offices have been oppress'd + With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept + With drunken spilth of wine, when every room + Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, + I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock + And set mine eyes at flow. + TIMON. Prithee no more. + FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord! + How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants + This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's? + What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? + Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!' + Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise, + The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. + Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs, + These flies are couch'd. + TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. + No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; + Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. + Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack + To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart: + If I would broach the vessels of my love, + And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, + Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use + As I can bid thee speak. + FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts! + TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd + That I account them blessings; for by these + Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you + Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. + Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! + + Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT + + SERVANTS. My lord! my lord! + TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord + Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius. + Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions + have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the + request be fifty talents. + FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS + FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh! + TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators, + Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have + Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant + A thousand talents to me. + FLAVIUS. I have been bold, + For that I knew it the most general way, + To them to use your signet and your name; + But they do shake their heads, and I am here + No richer in return. + TIMON. Is't true? Can't be? + FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, + That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot + Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable- + But yet they could have wish'd- they know not- + Something hath been amiss- a noble nature + May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pity- + And so, intending other serious matters, + After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, + With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods, + They froze me into silence. + TIMON. You gods, reward them! + Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows + Have their ingratitude in them hereditary. + Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; + 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; + And nature, as it grows again toward earth, + Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy. + Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad, + Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak, + No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately + Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd + Into a great estate. When he was poor, + Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, + I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me, + Bid him suppose some good necessity + Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red + With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows + To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r speak or think + That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. + FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it. + That thought is bounty's foe; + Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +LUCULLUS' house + +FLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him + + SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. + FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir. + + Enter LUCULLUS + + SERVANT. Here's my lord. + LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why, + this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night- + Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome, + sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that + honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very + bountiful good lord and master? + FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir. + LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what + hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? + FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's + behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having + great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to + your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present + assistance therein. + LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good + lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a + house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told him + on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him + spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning + by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha' + told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. + + Re-enter SERVANT, with wine + + SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine. + LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. + FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. + LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit, + give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and + canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in + thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw + nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but + thou art wise, and thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st + to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare + friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee. + Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. + FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the world should so much differ, + And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, + To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back] + LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. + Exit + FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee! + Let molten coin be thy damnation, + Thou disease of a friend and not himself! + Has friendship such a faint and milky heart + It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, + I feel my master's passion! This slave + Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him; + Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment + When he is turn'd to poison? + O, may diseases only work upon't! + And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature + Which my lord paid for be of any power + To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +A public place + +Enter Lucius, with three STRANGERS + + LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an + honourable gentleman. + FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but + strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and + which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours + are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. + LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money. + SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago + one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many + talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what necessity + belong'd to't, and yet was denied. + LUCIUS. How? + SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord. + LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am + asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very little + honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I have + received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, + and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he + mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his + occasion so many talents. + + Enter SERVILIUS + + SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see + his honour.- My honour'd lord! + LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend + me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. + SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent- + LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord: + he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And what + has he sent now? + SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord, + requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many + talents. + LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me; + He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. + SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. + If his occasion were not virtuous + I should not urge it half so faithfully. + LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? + SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. + LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such + a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! How + unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the day before for a + little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now + before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I + was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can + witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't + now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his + honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power + to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my + greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an + honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far + as to use mine own words to him? + SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall. + LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. + Exit SERVILIUS + True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; + And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit + FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius? + SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well. + FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same + piece + Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend + That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing, + Timon has been this lord's father, + And kept his credit with his purse; + Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money + Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks + But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; + And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man + When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!- + He does deny him, in respect of his, + What charitable men afford to beggars. + THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it. + FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part, + I never tasted Timon in my life, + Nor came any of his bounties over me + To mark me for his friend; yet I protest, + For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, + And honourable carriage, + Had his necessity made use of me, + I would have put my wealth into donation, + And the best half should have return'd to him, + So much I love his heart. But I perceive + Men must learn now with pity to dispense; + For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +SEMPRONIUS' house + +Enter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S + + SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all others? + He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; + And now Ventidius is wealthy too, + Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these + Owe their estates unto him. + SERVANT. My lord, + They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for + They have all denied him. + SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him? + Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? + And does he send to me? Three? Humh! + It shows but little love or judgment in him. + Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians, + Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me? + Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him, + That might have known my place. I see no sense for't, + But his occasions might have woo'd me first; + For, in my conscience, I was the first man + That e'er received gift from him. + And does he think so backwardly of me now + That I'll requite it last? No; + So it may prove an argument of laughter + To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool. + I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum + Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; + I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, + And with their faint reply this answer join: + Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit + SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil + knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd himself + by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man + will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! + Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot + ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire. + Of such a nature is his politic love. + This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, + Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead, + Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards + Many a bounteous year must be employ'd + Now to guard sure their master. + And this is all a liberal course allows: + Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +A hall in TIMON'S house + +Enter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others, +all being servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out. +Then enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS + + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. + TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro. + HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all; + for mine is money. + TITUS. So is theirs and ours. + + Enter PHILOTUS + + LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too! + PHILOTUS. Good day at once. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour? + PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much? + PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet. + PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him; + You must consider that a prodigal course + Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable. + I fear + 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; + That is, one may reach deep enough and yet + Find little. + PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that. + TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event. + Your lord sends now for money. + HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does. + TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, + For which I wait for money. + HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows + Timon in this should pay more than he owes; + And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels + And send for money for 'em. + HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness; + I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, + And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's + yours? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine. + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th' + sum + Your master's confidence was above mine, + Else surely his had equall'd. + + Enter FLAMINIUS + + TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to + come forth? + FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not. + TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much. + FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent. + Exit + + Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled + + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so? + He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him. + TITUS. Do you hear, sir? + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir. + FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend? + TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir. + FLAVIUS. Ay, + If money were as certain as your waiting, + 'Twere sure enough. + Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills + When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? + Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts, + And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws. + You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; + Let me pass quietly. + Believe't, my lord and I have made an end: + I have no more to reckon, he to spend. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve. + FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you, + For you serve knaves. Exit + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship mutter? + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's + revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house + to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings. + + Enter SERVILIUS + + TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. + SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other + hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my soul, my lord + leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has + forsook him; he's much out of health and keeps his chamber. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick; + And if it be so far beyond his health, + Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, + And make a clear way to the gods. + SERVILIUS. Good gods! + TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir. + FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! + + Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following + + TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage? + Have I been ever free, and must my house + Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? + The place which I have feasted, does it now, + Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus. + TITUS. My lord, here is my bill. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine. + HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord. + BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord. + PHILOTUS. All our bills. + TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lord- + TIMON. Cut my heart in sums. + TITUS. Mine, fifty talents. + TIMON. Tell out my blood. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord. + TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours? + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- + TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit + HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at + their money. These debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a + madman owes 'em. Exeunt + + Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS + + TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. + Creditors? Devils! + FLAVIUS. My dear lord- + TIMON. What if it should be so? + FLAMINIUS. My lord- + TIMON. I'll have it so. My steward! + FLAVIUS. Here, my lord. + TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again: + Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all. + I'll once more feast the rascals. + FLAVIUS. O my lord, + You only speak from your distracted soul; + There is not so much left to furnish out + A moderate table. + TIMON. Be it not in thy care. + Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide + Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +The Senate House + +Enter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with attendants + + FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody. + 'Tis necessary he should die: + Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. + SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him. + ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate! + FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain? + ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; + For pity is the virtue of the law, + And none but tyrants use it cruelly. + It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy + Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood + Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth + To those that without heed do plunge into't. + He is a man, setting his fate aside, + Of comely virtues; + Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice- + An honour in him which buys out his fault- + But with a noble fury and fair spirit, + Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, + He did oppose his foe; + And with such sober and unnoted passion + He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent, + As if he had but prov'd an argument. + FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox, + Striving to make an ugly deed look fair; + Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd + To bring manslaughter into form and set + Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed, + Is valour misbegot, and came into the world + When sects and factions were newly born. + He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer + The worst that man can breathe, + And make his wrongs his outsides, + To wear them like his raiment, carelessly, + And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, + To bring it into danger. + If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, + What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! + ALCIBIADES. My lord- + FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear: + To revenge is no valour, but to bear. + ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me + If I speak like a captain: + Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, + And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't, + And let the foes quietly cut their throats, + Without repugnancy? If there be + Such valour in the bearing, what make we + Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant, + That stay at home, if bearing carry it; + And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow + Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, + If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, + As you are great, be pitifully good. + Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? + To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; + But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. + To be in anger is impiety; + But who is man that is not angry? + Weigh but the crime with this. + SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain. + ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done + At Lacedaemon and Byzantium + Were a sufficient briber for his life. + FIRST SENATOR. What's that? + ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service, + And slain in fight many of your enemies; + How full of valour did he bear himself + In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! + SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em. + He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often + Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner. + If there were no foes, that were enough + To overcome him. In that beastly fury + He has been known to commit outrages + And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us + His days are foul and his drink dangerous. + FIRST SENATOR. He dies. + ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war. + My lords, if not for any parts in him- + Though his right arm might purchase his own time, + And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you, + Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both; + And, for I know your reverend ages love + Security, I'll pawn my victories, all + My honours to you, upon his good returns. + If by this crime he owes the law his life, + Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; + For law is strict, and war is nothing more. + FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more + On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother, + He forfeits his own blood that spills another. + ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords, + I do beseech you, know me. + SECOND SENATOR. How! + ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances. + THIRD SENATOR. What! + ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; + It could not else be I should prove so base + To sue, and be denied such common grace. + My wounds ache at you. + FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger? + 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect: + We banish thee for ever. + ALCIBIADES. Banish me! + Banish your dotage! Banish usury + That makes the Senate ugly. + FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee, + Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, + He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS + ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live + Only in bone, that none may look on you! + I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes, + While they have told their money and let out + Their coin upon large interest, I myself + Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? + Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate + Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! + It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; + It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, + That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up + My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. + 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; + Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit + + + + +SCENE VI. +A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house + +Music. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, +friends of TIMON, at several doors + + FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir. + SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord + did but try us this other day. + FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red. + I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial + of his several friends. + SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new + feasting. + FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting, + which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath + conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs appear. + SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate + business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he + sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. + FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all + things go. + SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of + you? + FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces. + SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces! + FIRST LORD. What of you? + SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes. + + Enter TIMON and attendants + + TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you? + FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. + SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we + your lordship. + TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds + are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long + stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so + harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently. + FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that + I return'd you an empty messenger. + TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you. + SECOND LORD. My noble lord- + TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? + SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that, + when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so + unfortunate a beggar. + TIMON. Think not on't, sir. + SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before- + TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet + brought in] Come, bring in all together. + SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes! + FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you. + THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. + FIRST LORD. How do you? What's the news? + THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it? + FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd! + THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it. + FIRST LORD. How? how? + SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what? + TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near? + THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. + SECOND LORD. This is the old man still. + THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold? + SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so- + THIRD LORD. I do conceive. + TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip + of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not + a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon + the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks: + + You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. + For your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to + give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, + that one need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to + borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be + beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of + twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit twelve women + at the table, let a dozen of them be- as they are. The rest of + your foes, O gods, the senators of Athens, together with the + common lag of people, what is amiss in them, you gods, make + suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they + are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are + they welcome. + + Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and + seen to he full of warm water] + SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean? + SOME OTHER. I know not. + TIMON. May you a better feast never behold, + You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water + Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; + Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, + Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces + [Throwing the water in their faces] + Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long, + Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, + Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, + You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies, + Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks! + Of man and beast the infinite malady + Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? + Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou. + Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the + dishes at them, and drives them out] + What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast + Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. + Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be + Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit + + Re-enter the LORDS + + FIRST LORD. How now, my lords! + SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? + THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap? + FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown. + FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him. + He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of + my hat. Did you see my jewel? + THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap? + SECOND LORD. Here 'tis. + FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown. + FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay. + SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad. + THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones. + FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Without the walls of Athens + +Enter TIMON + + TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall + That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth + And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent. + Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools, + Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench + And minister in their steads. To general filths + Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity. + Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast; + Rather than render back, out with your knives + And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal: + Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, + And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed: + Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen, + Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, + With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear, + Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, + Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, + Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, + Degrees, observances, customs and laws, + Decline to your confounding contraries + And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men, + Your potent and infectious fevers heap + On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica, + Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt + As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty, + Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, + That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive + And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains, + Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop + Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, + That their society, as their friendship, may + Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee + But nakedness, thou detestable town! + Take thou that too, with multiplying bans. + Timon will to the woods, where he shall find + Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. + The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all- + The Athenians both within and out that wall! + And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow + To the whole race of mankind, high and low! + Amen. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Athens. TIMON's house + +Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS + + FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master? + Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining? + FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? + Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, + I am as poor as you. + FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke! + So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not + One friend to take his fortune by the arm + And go along with him? + SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs + From our companion, thrown into his grave, + So his familiars to his buried fortunes + Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, + Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, + A dedicated beggar to the air, + With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, + Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. + + Enter other SERVANTS + + FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. + THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; + That see I by our faces. We are fellows still, + Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark; + And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, + Hearing the surges threat. We must all part + Into this sea of air. + FLAVIUS. Good fellows all, + The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. + Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, + Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say, + As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune, + 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some. + [Giving them money] + Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more! + Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. + [Embrace, and part several ways] + O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! + Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, + Since riches point to misery and contempt? + Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live + But in a dream of friendship, + To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, + But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? + Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, + Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, + When man's worst sin is he does too much good! + Who then dares to be half so kind again? + For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. + My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst, + Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes + Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! + He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat + Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to + Supply his life, or that which can command it. + I'll follow and enquire him out. + I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; + Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave + +Enter TIMON in the woods + + TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth + Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb + Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb- + Whose procreation, residence, and birth, + Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes: + The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature, + To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune + But by contempt of nature. + Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord: + The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, + The beggar native honour. + It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, + The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, + In purity of manhood stand upright, + And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be, + So are they all; for every grise of fortune + Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate + Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique; + There's nothing level in our cursed natures + But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd + All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! + His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains. + Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots. + [Digging] + Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate + With thy most operant poison. What is here? + Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, + I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! + Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, + Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. + Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this + Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, + Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads- + This yellow slave + Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd, + Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves + And give them title, knee, and approbation, + With senators on the bench. This is it + That makes the wappen'd widow wed again- + She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores + Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices + To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth, + Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds + Among the rout of nations, I will make thee + Do thy right nature. [March afar off] + Ha! a drum? Th'art quick, + But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief, + When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. + Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold] + + Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike + manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA + + ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak. + TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart + For showing me again the eyes of man! + ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee + That art thyself a man? + TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. + For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, + That I might love thee something. + ALCIBIADES. I know thee well; + But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. + TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee + I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; + With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules. + Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; + Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine + Hath in her more destruction than thy sword + For all her cherubin look. + PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off! + TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns + To thine own lips again. + ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change? + TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give. + But then renew I could not, like the moon; + There were no suns to borrow of. + ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon, + What friendship may I do thee? + TIMON. None, but to + Maintain my opinion. + ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon? + TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not + promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost + perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! + ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. + TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity. + ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time. + TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. + TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world + Voic'd so regardfully? + TIMON. Art thou Timandra? + TIMANDRA. Yes. + TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee. + Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. + Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves + For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth + To the tub-fast and the diet. + TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster! + ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits + Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. + I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, + The want whereof doth daily make revolt + In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd, + How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, + Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, + But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them- + TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone. + ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. + TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? + I had rather be alone. + ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well; + Here is some gold for thee. + TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it. + ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap- + TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens? + ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause. + TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; + And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! + ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon? + TIMON. That by killing of villains + Thou wast born to conquer my country. + Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on. + Be as a planetary plague, when Jove + Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison + In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one. + Pity not honour'd age for his white beard: + He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron: + It is her habit only that is honest, + Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek + Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps + That through the window bars bore at men's eyes + Are not within the leaf of pity writ, + But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe + Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; + Think it a bastard whom the oracle + Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, + And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects; + Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, + Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, + Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, + Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. + Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, + Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. + ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, + Not all thy counsel. + TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon. + Hast thou more? + TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, + And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, + Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable, + Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear, + Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, + Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths; + I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still; + And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you- + Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; + Let your close fire predominate his smoke, + And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months + Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs + With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd, + No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still; + Paint till a horse may mire upon your face. + A pox of wrinkles! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then? + Believe't that we'll do anything for gold. + TIMON. Consumptions sow + In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, + And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, + That he may never more false title plead, + Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen, + That scolds against the quality of flesh + And not believes himself. Down with the nose, + Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away + Of him that, his particular to foresee, + Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald, + And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war + Derive some pain from you. Plague all, + That your activity may defeat and quell + The source of all erection. There's more gold. + Do you damn others, and let this damn you, + And ditches grave you all! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous + Timon. + TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. + ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon; + If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. + TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. + ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm. + TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. + ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm? + TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take + Thy beagles with thee. + ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike. + Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON + TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, + Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging] + Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast + Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, + Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, + Engenders the black toad and adder blue, + The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, + With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven + Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine- + Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, + From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! + Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, + Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! + Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; + Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face + Hath to the marbled mansion all above + Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!- + Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, + Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts + And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, + That from it all consideration slips- + + Enter APEMANTUS + + More man? Plague, plague! + APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report + Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them. + TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, + Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee! + APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected, + A poor unmanly melancholy sprung + From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place? + This slave-like habit and these looks of care? + Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, + Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot + That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods + By putting on the cunning of a carper. + Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive + By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, + And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe + Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, + And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus; + Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, + To knaves and all approachers. 'Tis most just + That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again + Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. + TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. + APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; + A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st + That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, + Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, + That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels + And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook, + Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste + To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures + Whose naked natures live in all the spite + Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, + To the conflicting elements expos'd, + Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee. + O, thou shalt find- + TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart. + APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did. + TIMON. I hate thee worse. + APEMANTUS. Why? + TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery. + APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. + TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out? + APEMANTUS. To vex thee. + TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's. + Dost please thyself in't? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. What, a knave too? + APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on + To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou + Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again + Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery + Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before. + The one is filling still, never complete; + The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless, + Hath a distracted and most wretched being, + Worse than the worst, content. + Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. + TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable. + Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm + With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog. + Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded + The sweet degrees that this brief world affords + To such as may the passive drugs of it + Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself + In general riot, melted down thy youth + In different beds of lust, and never learn'd + The icy precepts of respect, but followed + The sug'red game before thee. But myself, + Who had the world as my confectionary; + The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men + At duty, more than I could frame employment; + That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves + Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush + Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare + For every storm that blows- I to bear this, + That never knew but better, is some burden. + Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time + Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? + They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given? + If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, + Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff + To some she-beggar and compounded thee + Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone. + If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, + Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. + APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet? + TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee. + APEMANTUS. I, that I was + No prodigal. + TIMON. I, that I am one now. + Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, + I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. + That the whole life of Athens were in this! + Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root] + APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast. + [Offering him food] + TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself. + APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine. + TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd. + If not, I would it were. + APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens? + TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, + Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. + APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold. + TIMON. The best and truest; + For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. + APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon? + TIMON. Under that's above me. + Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it. + TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! + APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it? + TIMON. To sauce thy dishes. + APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the + extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy + perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags + thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a + medlar for thee; eat it. + TIMON. On what I hate I feed not. + APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar? + TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee. + APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have + loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift + that was beloved after his means? + TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever + know belov'd? + APEMANTUS. Myself. + TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog. + APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to + thy flatterers? + TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What + wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy + power? + APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. + TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and + remain a beast with the beasts? + APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon. + TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! + If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert + the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion + would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the + ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and + still thou liv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert + the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou + shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn, + pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the + conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by + the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the + leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and + the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety + were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou + be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou + already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! + APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou + mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is + become a forest of beasts. + TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the + city? + APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company + light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I + know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. + TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be + welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. + TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! + APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. + TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. + APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. + TIMON. If I name thee. + I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands. + APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off! + TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! + Choler does kill me that thou art alive; + I swoon to see thee. + APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst! + TIMON. Away, + Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose + A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him] + APEMANTUS. Beast! + TIMON. Slave! + APEMANTUS. Toad! + TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue! + I am sick of this false world, and will love nought + But even the mere necessities upon't. + Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; + Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat + Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph, + That death in me at others' lives may laugh. + [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce + 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler + Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! + Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, + Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow + That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, + That sold'rest close impossibilities, + And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue + To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! + Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue + Set them into confounding odds, that beasts + May have the world in empire! + APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so! + But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold. + Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. + TIMON. Throng'd to? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. Thy back, I prithee. + APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery! + TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More + things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them. + + Enter the BANDITTI + + FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor + fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of + gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this + melancholy. + SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure. + THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't, + he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how + shall's get it? + SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid. + FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he? + BANDITTI. Where? + SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description. + THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him. + BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon! + TIMON. Now, thieves? + BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves. + TIMON. Both too, and women's sons. + BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. + TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. + Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; + Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; + The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; + The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush + Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want? + FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, + As beasts and birds and fishes. + TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; + You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con + That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not + In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft + In limited professions. Rascal thieves, + Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape + Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, + And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician; + His antidotes are poison, and he slays + Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together; + Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't, + Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: + The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction + Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, + And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; + The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves + The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, + That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n + From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief. + The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power + Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away, + Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats; + All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, + Break open shops; nothing can you steal + But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this + I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! + Amen. + THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by + persuading me to it. + FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises + us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. + SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my + trade. + FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so + miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES + + Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON + + FLAVIUS. O you gods! + Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord? + Full of decay and failing? O monument + And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! + What an alteration of honour + Has desp'rate want made! + What viler thing upon the earth than friends, + Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! + How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, + When man was wish'd to love his enemies! + Grant I may ever love, and rather woo + Those that would mischief me than those that do! + Has caught me in his eye; I will present + My honest grief unto him, and as my lord + Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! + TIMON. Away! What art thou? + FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir? + TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; + Then, if thou grant'st th'art a man, I have forgot thee. + FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours. + TIMON. Then I know thee not. + I never had honest man about me, I. + All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. + FLAVIUS. The gods are witness, + Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief + For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. + TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee + Because thou art a woman and disclaim'st + Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give + But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping. + Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! + FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, + T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts + To entertain me as your steward still. + TIMON. Had I a steward + So true, so just, and now so comfortable? + It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. + Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man + Was born of woman. + Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, + You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim + One honest man- mistake me not, but one; + No more, I pray- and he's a steward. + How fain would I have hated all mankind! + And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee, + I fell with curses. + Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; + For by oppressing and betraying me + Thou mightst have sooner got another service; + For many so arrive at second masters + Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, + For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure, + Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, + If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts, + Expecting in return twenty for one? + FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast + Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late! + You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: + Suspect still comes where an estate is least. + That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, + Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind, + Care of your food and living; and believe it, + My most honour'd lord, + For any benefit that points to me, + Either in hope or present, I'd exchange + For this one wish, that you had power and wealth + To requite me by making rich yourself. + TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, + Here, take. The gods, out of my misery, + Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy, + But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men; + Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, + But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone + Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs + What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em, + Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, + And may diseases lick up their false bloods! + And so, farewell and thrive. + FLAVIUS. O, let me stay + And comfort you, my master. + TIMON. If thou hat'st curses, + Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free. + Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. + Exeunt severally + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +The woods. Before TIMON's cave + +Enter POET and PAINTER + + PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he + abides. + POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's + so full of gold? + PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had + gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with + great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. + POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends? + PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again, + and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender + our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show + honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what + they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his + having. + POET. What have you now to present unto him? + PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will + promise him an excellent piece. + POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming + toward him. + PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time; + it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller + for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people + the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most + courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or + testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that + makes it. + + Enter TIMON from his cave + + TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad + as is thyself. + POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It + must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness + of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that + follow youth and opulency. + TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own + work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have + gold for thee. + POET. Nay, let's seek him; + Then do we sin against our own estate + When we may profit meet and come too late. + PAINTER. True; + When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, + Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. + Come. + TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, + That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple + Than where swine feed! + 'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam, + Settlest admired reverence in a slave. + To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye + Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! + Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave] + POET. Hail, worthy Timon! + PAINTER. Our late noble master! + TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? + POET. Sir, + Having often of your open bounty tasted, + Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, + Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!- + Not all the whips of heaven are large enough- + What! to you, + Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence + To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover + The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude + With any size of words. + TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better. + You that are honest, by being what you are, + Make them best seen and known. + PAINTER. He and myself + Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, + And sweetly felt it. + TIMON. Ay, you are honest men. + PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service. + TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? + Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No? + BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. + TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold; + I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men. + PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore + Came not my friend nor I. + TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit + Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best; + Thou counterfeit'st most lively. + PAINTER. So, so, my lord. + TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction, + Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth + That thou art even natural in thine art. + But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, + I must needs say you have a little fault. + Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I + You take much pains to mend. + BOTH. Beseech your honour + To make it known to us. + TIMON. You'll take it ill. + BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. + TIMON. Will you indeed? + BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord. + TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave + That mightily deceives you. + BOTH. Do we, my lord? + TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, + Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, + Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd + That he's a made-up villain. + PAINTER. I know not such, my lord. + POET. Nor I. + TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, + Rid me these villains from your companies. + Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, + Confound them by some course, and come to me, + I'll give you gold enough. + BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them. + TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company; + Each man apart, all single and alone, + Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. + [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be, + Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside + But where one villain is, then him abandon.- + Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves. + [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence! + [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.- + Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out] + + Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS + + FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon; + For he is set so only to himself + That nothing but himself which looks like man + Is friendly with him. + FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave. + It is our part and promise to th' Athenians + To speak with Timon. + SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike + Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs + That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand, + Offering the fortunes of his former days, + The former man may make him. Bring us to him, + And chance it as it may. + FLAVIUS. Here is his cave. + Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! + Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians + By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee. + Speak to them, noble Timon. + + Enter TIMON out of his cave + + TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd! + For each true word a blister, and each false + Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue, + Consuming it with speaking! + FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon- + TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. + FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. + TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague, + Could I but catch it for them. + FIRST SENATOR. O, forget + What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. + The senators with one consent of love + Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought + On special dignities, which vacant lie + For thy best use and wearing. + SECOND SENATOR. They confess + Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross; + Which now the public body, which doth seldom + Play the recanter, feeling in itself + A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal + Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon, + And send forth us to make their sorrowed render, + Together with a recompense more fruitful + Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; + Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth + As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs + And write in thee the figures of their love, + Ever to read them thine. + TIMON. You witch me in it; + Surprise me to the very brink of tears. + Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, + And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. + FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us, + And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take + The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, + Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name + Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back + Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild, + Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up + His country's peace. + SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword + Against the walls of Athens. + FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon- + TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus: + If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, + Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, + That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, + And take our goodly aged men by th' beards, + Giving our holy virgins to the stain + Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, + Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it + In pity of our aged and our youth- + I cannot choose but tell him that I care not, + And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, + While you have throats to answer. For myself, + There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp + But I do prize it at my love before + The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you + To the protection of the prosperous gods, + As thieves to keepers. + FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain. + TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph; + It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness + Of health and living now begins to mend, + And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; + Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, + And last so long enough! + FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain. + TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not + One that rejoices in the common wreck, + As common bruit doth put it. + FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke. + TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen- + FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through + them. + SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers + In their applauding gates. + TIMON. Commend me to them, + And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, + Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, + Their pangs of love, with other incident throes + That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain + In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them- + I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. + FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again. + TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, + That mine own use invites me to cut down, + And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends, + Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree + From high to low throughout, that whoso please + To stop affliction, let him take his haste, + Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, + And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting. + FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. + TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens + Timon hath made his everlasting mansion + Upon the beached verge of the salt flood, + Who once a day with his embossed froth + The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come, + And let my gravestone be your oracle. + Lips, let sour words go by and language end: + What is amiss, plague and infection mend! + Graves only be men's works and death their gain! + Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign. + Exit TIMON into his cave + FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably + Coupled to nature. + SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return + And strain what other means is left unto us + In our dear peril. + FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Before the walls of Athens + +Enter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER + + FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files + As full as thy report? + MESSENGER. I have spoke the least. + Besides, his expedition promises + Present approach. + SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon. + MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend, + Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, + Yet our old love had a particular force, + And made us speak like friends. This man was riding + From Alcibiades to Timon's cave + With letters of entreaty, which imported + His fellowship i' th' cause against your city, + In part for his sake mov'd. + + Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON + + FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers. + THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. + The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring + Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare. + Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen + +Enter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON + + SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place. + Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this? + Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span. + Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man. + Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb + I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax. + Our captain hath in every figure skill, + An ag'd interpreter, though young in days; + Before proud Athens he's set down by this, + Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Before the walls of Athens + +Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens + + ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town + Our terrible approach. + + Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls + + Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time + With all licentious measure, making your wills + The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such + As slept within the shadow of your power, + Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd + Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush, + When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, + Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong + Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, + And pursy insolence shall break his wind + With fear and horrid flight. + FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young, + When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, + Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, + We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, + To wipe out our ingratitude with loves + Above their quantity. + SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo + Transformed Timon to our city's love + By humble message and by promis'd means. + We were not all unkind, nor all deserve + The common stroke of war. + FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours + Were not erected by their hands from whom + You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such + That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall + For private faults in them. + SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living + Who were the motives that you first went out; + Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess + Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, + Into our city with thy banners spread. + By decimation and a tithed death- + If thy revenges hunger for that food + Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth, + And by the hazard of the spotted die + Let die the spotted. + FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended; + For those that were, it is not square to take, + On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, + Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, + Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage; + Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin + Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall + With those that have offended. Like a shepherd + Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth, + But kill not all together. + SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt, + Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile + Than hew to't with thy sword. + FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot + Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope, + So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before + To say thou't enter friendly. + SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove, + Or any token of thine honour else, + That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress + And not as our confusion, all thy powers + Shall make their harbour in our town till we + Have seal'd thy full desire. + ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove; + Descend, and open your uncharged ports. + Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, + Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, + Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears + With my more noble meaning, not a man + Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream + Of regular justice in your city's bounds, + But shall be render'd to your public laws + At heaviest answer. + BOTH. 'Tis most nobly spoken. + ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words. + [The SENATORS descend and open the gates] + + Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger + + SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead; + Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea; + And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which + With wax I brought away, whose soft impression + Interprets for my poor ignorance. + + ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph + + 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft; + Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! + Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate. + Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy + gait.' + These well express in thee thy latter spirits. + Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, + Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which + From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit + Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye + On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead + Is noble Timon, of whose memory + Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, + And I will use the olive, with my sword; + Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each + Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. + Let our drums strike. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1594 + +THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor + BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus + TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman + MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus + + Sons to Titus Andronicus: + LUCIUS + QUINTUS + MARTIUS + MUTIUS + + YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius + PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus + + Kinsmen to Titus: + SEMPRONIUS + CAIUS + VALENTINE + + AEMILIUS, a noble Roman + + Sons to Tamora: + ALARBUS + DEMETRIUS + CHIRON + + AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora + A CAPTAIN + A MESSENGER + A CLOWN + + TAMORA, Queen of the Goths + LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus + A NURSE, and a black CHILD + + Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and + Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + SCENE: + Rome and the neighbourhood + + +ACT 1. SCENE I. +Rome. Before the Capitol + +Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below +SATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his followers +at the other, with drums and trumpets + + SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, + Defend the justice of my cause with arms; + And, countrymen, my loving followers, + Plead my successive title with your swords. + I am his first born son that was the last + That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; + Then let my father's honours live in me, + Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. + BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, + If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, + Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, + Keep then this passage to the Capitol; + And suffer not dishonour to approach + The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, + To justice, continence, and nobility; + But let desert in pure election shine; + And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. + + Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown + + MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends + Ambitiously for rule and empery, + Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand + A special party, have by common voice + In election for the Roman empery + Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius + For many good and great deserts to Rome. + A nobler man, a braver warrior, + Lives not this day within the city walls. + He by the Senate is accited home, + From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, + That with his sons, a terror to our foes, + Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. + Ten years are spent since first he undertook + This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms + Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd + Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons + In coffins from the field; and at this day + To the monument of that Andronici + Done sacrifice of expiation, + And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths. + And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, + Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, + Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. + Let us entreat, by honour of his name + Whom worthily you would have now succeed, + And in the Capitol and Senate's right, + Whom you pretend to honour and adore, + That you withdraw you and abate your strength, + Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, + Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. + SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts. + BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy + In thy uprightness and integrity, + And so I love and honour thee and thine, + Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, + And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, + Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, + That I will here dismiss my loving friends, + And to my fortunes and the people's favour + Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. + Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS + SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, + I thank you all and here dismiss you all, + And to the love and favour of my country + Commit myself, my person, and the cause. + Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS + Rome, be as just and gracious unto me + As I am confident and kind to thee. + Open the gates and let me in. + BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. + [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House] + + Enter a CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus, + Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, + Successful in the battles that he fights, + With honour and with fortune is return'd + From where he circumscribed with his sword + And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. + + Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS + and MUTIUS, two of TITUS' sons; and then two men + bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS + and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS ANDRONICUS; + and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three + sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the + Moor, and others, as many as can be. Then set down + the coffin and TITUS speaks + + TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! + Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught + Returns with precious lading to the bay + From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, + Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, + To re-salute his country with his tears, + Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. + Thou great defender of this Capitol, + Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! + Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, + Half of the number that King Priam had, + Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! + These that survive let Rome reward with love; + These that I bring unto their latest home, + With burial amongst their ancestors. + Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. + Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, + Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, + To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? + Make way to lay them by their brethren. + [They open the tomb] + There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, + And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars. + O sacred receptacle of my joys, + Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, + How many sons hast thou of mine in store + That thou wilt never render to me more! + LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, + That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile + Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh + Before this earthy prison of their bones, + That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, + Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. + TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives, + The eldest son of this distressed queen. + TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror, + Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, + A mother's tears in passion for her son; + And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, + O, think my son to be as dear to me! + Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome + To beautify thy triumphs, and return + Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; + But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets + For valiant doings in their country's cause? + O, if to fight for king and commonweal + Were piety in thine, it is in these. + Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. + Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? + Draw near them then in being merciful. + Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. + Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. + TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. + These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld + Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain + Religiously they ask a sacrifice. + To this your son is mark'd, and die he must + T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. + LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight; + And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, + Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd. + Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS + TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety! + CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous! + DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. + Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive + To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look. + Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal + The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy + With opportunity of sharp revenge + Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent + May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths- + When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen- + To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. + + Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and + MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody + + LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd + Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, + And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, + Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky. + Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren, + And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. + TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus + Make this his latest farewell to their souls. + [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb] + In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; + Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, + Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! + Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, + Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms, + No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. + In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! + + Enter LAVINIA + + LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; + My noble lord and father, live in fame! + Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears + I render for my brethren's obsequies; + And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy + Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. + O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, + Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! + TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd + The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! + Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, + And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! + + Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES; + re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants + + MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, + Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! + TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus. + MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, + You that survive and you that sleep in fame. + Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all + That in your country's service drew your swords; + But safer triumph is this funeral pomp + That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness + And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. + Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, + Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, + Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust, + This par]iament of white and spotless hue; + And name thee in election for the empire + With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons: + Be candidatus then, and put it on, + And help to set a head on headless Rome. + TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits + Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. + What should I don this robe and trouble you? + Be chosen with proclamations to-day, + To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, + And set abroad new business for you all? + Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, + And led my country's strength successfully, + And buried one and twenty valiant sons, + Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, + In right and service of their noble country. + Give me a staff of honour for mine age, + But not a sceptre to control the world. + Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. + MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. + SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell? + TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus. + SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right. + Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not + Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor. + Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell + Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! + LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good + That noble-minded Titus means to thee! + TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee + The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. + BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, + But honour thee, and will do till I die. + My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, + I will most thankful be; and thanks to men + Of noble minds is honourable meed. + TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here, + I ask your voices and your suffrages: + Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus? + TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus, + And gratulate his safe return to Rome, + The people will accept whom he admits. + TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make, + That you create our Emperor's eldest son, + Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, + Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, + And ripen justice in this commonweal. + Then, if you will elect by my advice, + Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!' + MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort, + Patricians and plebeians, we create + Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor; + And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' + [A long flourish till they come down] + SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done + To us in our election this day + I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, + And will with deeds requite thy gentleness; + And for an onset, Titus, to advance + Thy name and honourable family, + Lavinia will I make my emperess, + Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, + And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse. + Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? + TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match + I hold me highly honoured of your Grace, + And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, + King and commander of our commonweal, + The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate + My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners, + Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord; + Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, + Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. + SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life. + How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts + Rome shall record; and when I do forget + The least of these unspeakable deserts, + Romans, forget your fealty to me. + TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; + To him that for your honour and your state + Will use you nobly and your followers. + SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue + That I would choose, were I to choose anew.- + Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance; + Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, + Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome- + Princely shall be thy usage every way. + Rest on my word, and let not discontent + Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you + Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. + Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? + LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility + Warrants these words in princely courtesy. + SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go. + Ransomless here we set our prisoners free. + Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. + [Flourish] + BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. + [Seizing LAVINIA] + TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord? + BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal + To do myself this reason and this right. + MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: + This prince in justice seizeth but his own. + LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live. + TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard? + Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd! + SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom? + BASSIANUS. By him that justly may + Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. + Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA + MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, + And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. + Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS + TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. + MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here. + TITUS. What, villain boy! + Bar'st me my way in Rome? + MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help! + TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS, + TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON + + Re-enter Lucius + + LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so: + In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. + TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine; + My sons would never so dishonour me. + + Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR + with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor + + Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. + LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, + That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit + SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not, + Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock. + I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once; + Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, + Confederates all thus to dishonour me. + Was there none else in Rome to make a stale + But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, + Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine + That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands. + TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these? + SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece + To him that flourish'd for her with his sword. + A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; + One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, + To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. + TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart. + SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, + That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, + Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, + If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, + Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride + And will create thee Emperess of Rome. + Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? + And here I swear by all the Roman gods- + Sith priest and holy water are so near, + And tapers burn so bright, and everything + In readiness for Hymenaeus stand- + I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, + Or climb my palace, till from forth this place + I lead espous'd my bride along with me. + TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear, + If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, + She will a handmaid be to his desires, + A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. + SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany + Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride, + Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, + Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered; + There shall we consummate our spousal rites. + Exeunt all but TITUS + TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. + TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone, + Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs? + + Re-enter MARCUS, + and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS + + MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! + In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. + TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine- + Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed + That hath dishonoured all our family; + Unworthy brother and unworthy sons! + LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes; + Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. + TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb. + This monument five hundred years hath stood, + Which I have sumptuously re-edified; + Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors + Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls. + Bury him where you can, he comes not here. + MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you. + My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; + He must be buried with his bretheren. + QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany. + TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word? + QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here. + TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite? + MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee + To pardon Mutius and to bury him. + TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, + And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded. + My foes I do repute you every one; + So trouble me no more, but get you gone. + MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. + QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. + [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel] + MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead- + QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak- + TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. + MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul- + LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all- + MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter + His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, + That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. + Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous. + The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax, + That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son + Did graciously plead for his funerals. + Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, + Be barr'd his entrance here. + TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise; + The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw, + To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome! + Well, bury him, and bury me the next. + [They put MUTIUS in the tomb] + LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, + Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. + ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; + He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. + MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps- + How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths + Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome? + TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is- + Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell. + Is she not, then, beholding to the man + That brought her for this high good turn so far? + MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. + + Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA + and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door; + at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others + + SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: + God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! + BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, + Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave. + SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, + Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. + BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, + My true betrothed love, and now my wife? + But let the laws of Rome determine all; + Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine. + SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us; + But if we live we'll be as sharp with you. + BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, + Answer I must, and shall do with my life. + Only thus much I give your Grace to know: + By all the duties that I owe to Rome, + This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, + Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd, + That, in the rescue of Lavinia, + With his own hand did slay his youngest son, + In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath + To be controll'd in that he frankly gave. + Receive him then to favour, Saturnine, + That hath express'd himself in all his deeds + A father and a friend to thee and Rome. + TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds. + 'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me. + Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge + How I have lov'd and honoured Saturnine! + TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora + Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, + Then hear me speak indifferently for all; + And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. + SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly, + And basely put it up without revenge? + TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend + I should be author to dishonour you! + But on mine honour dare I undertake + For good Lord Titus' innocence in all, + Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. + Then at my suit look graciously on him; + Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, + Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. + [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul'd by me, + be won at last; + Dissemble all your griefs and discontents. + You are but newly planted in your throne; + Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, + Upon a just survey take Titus' part, + And so supplant you for ingratitude, + Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, + Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: + I'll find a day to massacre them all, + And raze their faction and their family, + The cruel father and his traitorous sons, + To whom I sued for my dear son's life; + And make them know what 'tis to let a queen + Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.- + Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus. + Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart + That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. + SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd. + TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord; + These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. + TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, + A Roman now adopted happily, + And must advise the Emperor for his good. + This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; + And let it be mine honour, good my lord, + That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. + For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd + My word and promise to the Emperor + That you will be more mild and tractable. + And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia. + By my advice, all humbled on your knees, + You shall ask pardon of his Majesty. + LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness + That what we did was mildly as we might, + Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own. + MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest. + SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. + TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends. + The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace. + I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. + SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, + And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, + I do remit these young men's heinous faults. + Stand up. + Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, + I found a friend; and sure as death I swore + I would not part a bachelor from the priest. + Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides, + You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. + This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. + TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty + To hunt the panther and the hart with me, + With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour. + SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. + Exeunt. Sound trumpets + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Rome. Before the palace + +Enter AARON + + AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, + Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft, + Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, + Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. + As when the golden sun salutes the morn, + And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, + Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach + And overlooks the highest-peering hills, + So Tamora. + Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, + And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. + Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts + To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, + And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long. + Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains, + And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes + Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. + Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! + I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold, + To wait upon this new-made emperess. + To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen, + This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, + This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine, + And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. + Hullo! what storm is this? + + Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving + + DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge + And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd, + And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be. + CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; + And so in this, to bear me down with braves. + 'Tis not the difference of a year or two + Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: + I am as able and as fit as thou + To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace; + And that my sword upon thee shall approve, + And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. + AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the + peace. + DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, + Gave you a dancing rapier by your side, + Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends? + Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath + Till you know better how to handle it. + CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, + Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. + DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw] + AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! + So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw + And maintain such a quarrel openly? + Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: + I would not for a million of gold + The cause were known to them it most concerns; + Nor would your noble mother for much more + Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome. + For shame, put up. + DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd + My rapier in his bosom, and withal + Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat + That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. + CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, + Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue, + And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. + AARON. Away, I say! + Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, + This pretty brabble will undo us all. + Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous + It is to jet upon a prince's right? + What, is Lavinia then become so loose, + Or Bassianus so degenerate, + That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd + Without controlment, justice, or revenge? + Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know + This discord's ground, the music would not please. + CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world: + I love Lavinia more than all the world. + DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: + Lavina is thine elder brother's hope. + AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome + How furious and impatient they be, + And cannot brook competitors in love? + I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths + By this device. + CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths + Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. + AARON. To achieve her- how? + DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange? + She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; + She is a woman, therefore may be won; + She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. + What, man! more water glideth by the mill + Than wots the miller of; and easy it is + Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know. + Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother, + Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. + AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. + DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it + With words, fair looks, and liberality? + What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, + And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? + AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so + Would serve your turns. + CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served. + DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it. + AARON. Would you had hit it too! + Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. + Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools + To square for this? Would it offend you, then, + That both should speed? + CHIRON. Faith, not me. + DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one. + AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar. + 'Tis policy and stratagem must do + That you affect; and so must you resolve + That what you cannot as you would achieve, + You must perforce accomplish as you may. + Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste + Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. + A speedier course than ling'ring languishment + Must we pursue, and I have found the path. + My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; + There will the lovely Roman ladies troop; + The forest walks are wide and spacious, + And many unfrequented plots there are + Fitted by kind for rape and villainy. + Single you thither then this dainty doe, + And strike her home by force if not by words. + This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. + Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit + To villainy and vengeance consecrate, + Will we acquaint with all what we intend; + And she shall file our engines with advice + That will not suffer you to square yourselves, + But to your wishes' height advance you both. + The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame, + The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears; + The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull. + There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; + There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye, + And revel in Lavinia's treasury. + CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. + DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream + To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, + Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +A forest near Rome + +Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, +making a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS + + TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, + The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green. + Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, + And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride, + And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal, + That all the court may echo with the noise. + Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, + To attend the Emperor's person carefully. + I have been troubled in my sleep this night, + But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. + + Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal. + Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA, + CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants + Many good morrows to your Majesty! + Madam, to you as many and as good! + I promised your Grace a hunter's peal. + SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords- + Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. + BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you? + LAVINIA. I say no; + I have been broad awake two hours and more. + SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, + And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see + Our Roman hunting. + MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord, + Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, + And climb the highest promontory top. + TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game + Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. + DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, + But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +A lonely part of the forest + +Enter AARON alone, with a bag of gold + + AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none, + To bury so much gold under a tree + And never after to inherit it. + Let him that thinks of me so abjectly + Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, + Which, cunningly effected, will beget + A very excellent piece of villainy. + And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest + [Hides the gold] + That have their alms out of the Empress' chest. + + Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor + + TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad + When everything does make a gleeful boast? + The birds chant melody on every bush; + The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun; + The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind + And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground; + Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, + And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds, + Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, + As if a double hunt were heard at once, + Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise; + And- after conflict such as was suppos'd + The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed, + When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, + And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave- + We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, + Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, + Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds + Be unto us as is a nurse's song + Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. + AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, + Saturn is dominator over mine. + What signifies my deadly-standing eye, + My silence and my cloudy melancholy, + My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls + Even as an adder when she doth unroll + To do some fatal execution? + No, madam, these are no venereal signs. + Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, + Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. + Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, + Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee- + This is the day of doom for Bassianus; + His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, + Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, + And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. + Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee, + And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll. + Now question me no more; we are espied. + Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, + Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. + + Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA + + TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! + AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes. + Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons + To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit + BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess, + Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? + Or is it Dian, habited like her, + Who hath abandoned her holy groves + To see the general hunting in this forest? + TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps! + Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had, + Thy temples should be planted presently + With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds + Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, + Unmannerly intruder as thou art! + LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess, + 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, + And to be doubted that your Moor and you + Are singled forth to try thy experiments. + Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! + 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. + BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian + Doth make your honour of his body's hue, + Spotted, detested, and abominable. + Why are you sequest'red from all your train, + Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, + And wand'red hither to an obscure plot, + Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, + If foul desire had not conducted you? + LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport, + Great reason that my noble lord be rated + For sauciness. I pray you let us hence, + And let her joy her raven-coloured love; + This valley fits the purpose passing well. + BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this. + LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long. + Good king, to be so mightily abused! + TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this. + + Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS + + DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! + Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan? + TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? + These two have 'ticed me hither to this place. + A barren detested vale you see it is: + The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, + Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe; + Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, + Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven. + And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, + They told me, here, at dead time of the night, + A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, + Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, + Would make such fearful and confused cries + As any mortal body hearing it + Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly. + No sooner had they told this hellish tale + But straight they told me they would bind me here + Unto the body of a dismal yew, + And leave me to this miserable death. + And then they call'd me foul adulteress, + Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms + That ever ear did hear to such effect; + And had you not by wondrous fortune come, + This vengeance on me had they executed. + Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, + Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. + DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son. + [Stabs BASSIANUS] + CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength. + [Also stabs] + LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora, + For no name fits thy nature but thy own! + TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys, + Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. + DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; + First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw. + This minion stood upon her chastity, + Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, + And with that painted hope braves your mightiness; + And shall she carry this unto her grave? + CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. + Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, + And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. + TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire, + Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. + CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. + Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy + That nice-preserved honesty of yours. + LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's face- + TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her! + LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. + DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory + To see her tears; but be your heart to them + As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. + LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? + O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee; + The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble, + Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. + Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: + [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity. + CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? + LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark. + Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!- + The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure + To have his princely paws par'd all away. + Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, + The whilst their own birds famish in their nests; + O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, + Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! + TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her! + LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake, + That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee, + Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. + TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, + Even for his sake am I pitiless. + Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain + To save your brother from the sacrifice; + But fierce Andronicus would not relent. + Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; + The worse to her the better lov'd of me. + LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, + And with thine own hands kill me in this place! + For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; + Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. + TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go. + LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more, + That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: + O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, + And tumble me into some loathsome pit, + Where never man's eye may behold my body; + Do this, and be a charitable murderer. + TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee; + No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. + DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. + LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature, + The blot and enemy to our general name! + Confusion fall- + CHIRON. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband. + This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. + + DEMETRIUS throws the body + of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt + DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA + + TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure. + Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed + Till all the Andronici be made away. + Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, + And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit + + Re-enter AARON, with two + of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS + + AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before; + Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit + Where I espied the panther fast asleep. + QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. + MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame, + Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. + [Falls into the pit] + QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, + Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers, + Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood + As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? + A very fatal place it seems to me. + Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? + MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt + That ever eye with sight made heart lament! + AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here, + That he thereby may have a likely guess + How these were they that made away his brother. Exit + MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out + From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? + QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; + A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; + My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. + MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart, + Aaron and thou look down into this den, + And see a fearful sight of blood and death. + QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart + Will not permit mine eyes once to behold + The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; + O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now + Was I a child to fear I know not what. + MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood, + All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb, + In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. + QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? + MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear + A precious ring that lightens all this hole, + Which, like a taper in some monument, + Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, + And shows the ragged entrails of this pit; + So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus + When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. + O brother, help me with thy fainting hand- + If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath- + Out of this fell devouring receptacle, + As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. + QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out, + Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, + I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb + Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. + I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. + MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. + QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, + Till thou art here aloft, or I below. + Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in] + + Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor + + SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here, + And what he is that now is leapt into it. + Say, who art thou that lately didst descend + Into this gaping hollow of the earth? + MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus, + Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, + To find thy brother Bassianus dead. + SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: + He and his lady both are at the lodge + Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; + 'Tis not an hour since I left them there. + MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive; + But, out alas! here have we found him dead. + + Re-enter TAMORA, with + attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius + + TAMORA. Where is my lord the King? + SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. + TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus? + SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; + Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. + TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, + The complot of this timeless tragedy; + And wonder greatly that man's face can fold + In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. + [She giveth SATURNINE a letter] + SATURNINUS. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely, + Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we mean- + Do thou so much as dig the grave for him. + Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward + Among the nettles at the elder-tree + Which overshades the mouth of that same pit + Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. + Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' + O Tamora! was ever heard the like? + This is the pit and this the elder-tree. + Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out + That should have murdered Bassianus here. + AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. + SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody + kind, + Have here bereft my brother of his life. + Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; + There let them bide until we have devis'd + Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. + TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! + How easily murder is discovered! + TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee + I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, + That this fell fault of my accursed sons- + Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them- + SATURNINUS. If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent. + Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? + TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up. + TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail; + For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow + They shall be ready at your Highness' will + To answer their suspicion with their lives. + SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me. + Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers; + Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain; + For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, + That end upon them should be executed. + TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King. + Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. + TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the forest + +Enter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, +her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd + + DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, + Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. + CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, + An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. + DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. + CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. + DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; + And so let's leave her to her silent walks. + CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself. + DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. + Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON + + Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting + + MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast? + Cousin, a word: where is your husband? + If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! + If I do wake, some planet strike me down, + That I may slumber an eternal sleep! + Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands + Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare + Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments + Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, + And might not gain so great a happiness + As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? + Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, + Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, + Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, + Coming and going with thy honey breath. + But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, + And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. + Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! + And notwithstanding all this loss of blood- + As from a conduit with three issuing spouts- + Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face + Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud. + Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so? + O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, + That I might rail at him to ease my mind! + Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, + Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. + Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue, + And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind; + But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee. + A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, + And he hath cut those pretty fingers off + That could have better sew'd than Philomel. + O, had the monster seen those lily hands + Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute + And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, + He would not then have touch'd them for his life! + Or had he heard the heavenly harmony + Which that sweet tongue hath made, + He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, + As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. + Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, + For such a sight will blind a father's eye; + One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads, + What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? + Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; + O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Rome. A street + +Enter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons +MARTIUS and QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, +and TITUS going before, pleading + + TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay! + For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent + In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept; + For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed, + For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd, + And for these bitter tears, which now you see + Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, + Be pitiful to my condemned sons, + Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. + For two and twenty sons I never wept, + Because they died in honour's lofty bed. + [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges + pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt] + For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write + My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears. + Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; + My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. + O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain + That shall distil from these two ancient urns, + Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs. + In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; + In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow + And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, + So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. + + Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn + + O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men! + Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death, + And let me say, that never wept before, + My tears are now prevailing orators. + LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain; + The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by, + And you recount your sorrows to a stone. + TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead! + Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you. + LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. + TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, + They would not mark me; if they did mark, + They would not pity me; yet plead I must, + And bootless unto them. + Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; + Who though they cannot answer my distress, + Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes, + For that they will not intercept my tale. + When I do weep, they humbly at my feet + Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; + And were they but attired in grave weeds, + Rome could afford no tribunes like to these. + A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones. + A stone is silent and offendeth not, + And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. + [Rises] + But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? + LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death; + For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd + My everlasting doom of banishment. + TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee. + Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive + That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? + Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey + But me and mine; how happy art thou then + From these devourers to be banished! + But who comes with our brother Marcus here? + + Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA + + MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, + Or if not so, thy noble heart to break. + I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. + TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. + MARCUS. This was thy daughter. + TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. + LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me. + TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. + Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand + Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? + What fool hath added water to the sea, + Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy? + My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, + And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. + Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too, + For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; + And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life; + In bootless prayer have they been held up, + And they have serv'd me to effectless use. + Now all the service I require of them + Is that the one will help to cut the other. + 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; + For hands to do Rome service is but vain. + LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? + MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts + That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence + Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, + Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung + Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! + LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? + MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park, + Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer + That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. + TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her + Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead; + For now I stand as one upon a rock, + Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, + Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, + Expecting ever when some envious surge + Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. + This way to death my wretched sons are gone; + Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, + And here my brother, weeping at my woes. + But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn + Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. + Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, + It would have madded me; what shall I do + Now I behold thy lively body so? + Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, + Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; + Thy husband he is dead, and for his death + Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. + Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! + When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears + Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew + Upon a gath'red lily almost withered. + MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; + Perchance because she knows them innocent. + TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, + Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. + No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; + Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. + Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, + Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. + Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius + And thou and I sit round about some fountain, + Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks + How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry + With miry slime left on them by a flood? + And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, + Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, + And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? + Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? + Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows + Pass the remainder of our hateful days? + What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues + Plot some device of further misery + To make us wonder'd at in time to come. + LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief + See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. + MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. + TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot + Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, + For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. + LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. + TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs. + Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say + That to her brother which I said to thee: + His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, + Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. + O, what a sympathy of woe is this + As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! + + Enter AARON the Moor + + AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor + Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, + Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, + Or any one of you, chop off your hand + And send it to the King: he for the same + Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, + And that shall be the ransom for their fault. + TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron! + Did ever raven sing so like a lark + That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? + With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand. + Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? + LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, + That hath thrown down so many enemies, + Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn, + My youth can better spare my blood than you, + And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. + MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome + And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, + Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? + O, none of both but are of high desert! + My hand hath been but idle; let it serve + To ransom my two nephews from their death; + Then have I kept it to a worthy end. + AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, + For fear they die before their pardon come. + MARCUS. My hand shall go. + LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go! + TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these + Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. + LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, + Let me redeem my brothers both from death. + MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care, + Now let me show a brother's love to thee. + TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. + LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe. + MARCUS. But I will use the axe. + Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS + TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both; + Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. + AARON. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, + And never whilst I live deceive men so; + But I'll deceive you in another sort, + And that you'll say ere half an hour pass. + [He cuts off TITUS' hand] + + Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS + + TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd. + Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand; + Tell him it was a hand that warded him + From thousand dangers; bid him bury it. + More hath it merited- that let it have. + As for my sons, say I account of them + As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; + And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. + AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand + Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. + [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy + Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! + Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace: + Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit + TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, + And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; + If any power pities wretched tears, + To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with me? + Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers, + Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim + And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds + When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. + MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, + And do not break into these deep extremes. + TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? + Then be my passions bottomless with them. + MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. + TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, + Then into limits could I bind my woes. + When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? + If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, + Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face? + And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? + I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow. + She is the weeping welkin, I the earth; + Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; + Then must my earth with her continual tears + Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; + For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, + But like a drunkard must I vomit them. + Then give me leave; for losers will have leave + To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. + + Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand + + MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid + For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor. + Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; + And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back- + Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd, + That woe is me to think upon thy woes, + More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit + MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily, + And be my heart an ever-burning hell! + These miseries are more than may be borne. + To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, + But sorrow flouted at is double death. + LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, + And yet detested life not shrink thereat! + That ever death should let life bear his name, + Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! + [LAVINIA kisses TITUS] + MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless + As frozen water to a starved snake. + TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? + MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus. + Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads, + Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; + Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight + Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, + Even like a stony image, cold and numb. + Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs. + Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand + Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight + The closing up of our most wretched eyes. + Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? + TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! + MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. + TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed; + Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, + And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes + And make them blind with tributary tears. + Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? + For these two heads do seem to speak to me, + And threat me I shall never come to bliss + Till all these mischiefs be return'd again + Even in their throats that have committed them. + Come, let me see what task I have to do. + You heavy people, circle me about, + That I may turn me to each one of you + And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. + The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, + And in this hand the other will I bear. + And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this; + Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. + As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; + Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. + Hie to the Goths and raise an army there; + And if ye love me, as I think you do, + Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. + Exeunt all but Lucius + LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, + The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome. + Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again, + He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. + Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; + O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! + But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives + But in oblivion and hateful griefs. + If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs + And make proud Saturnine and his emperess + Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. + Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r + To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. TITUS' house + +A banquet. + +Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS + + TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more + Than will preserve just so much strength in us + As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. + Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; + Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, + And cannot passionate our tenfold grief + With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine + Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; + Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, + Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, + Then thus I thump it down. + [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! + When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, + Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. + Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; + Or get some little knife between thy teeth + And just against thy heart make thou a hole, + That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall + May run into that sink and, soaking in, + Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. + MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay + Such violent hands upon her tender life. + TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already? + Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. + What violent hands can she lay on her life? + Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands? + To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er + How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? + O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, + Lest we remember still that we have none. + Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, + As if we should forget we had no hands, + If Marcus did not name the word of hands! + Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: + Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says- + I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; + She says she drinks no other drink but tears, + Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks. + Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; + In thy dumb action will I be as perfect + As begging hermits in their holy prayers. + Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, + Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, + But I of these will wrest an alphabet, + And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. + BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; + Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. + MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, + Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. + TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, + And tears will quickly melt thy life away. + [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife] + What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? + MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly. + TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart! + Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny; + A deed of death done on the innocent + Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone; + I see thou art not for my company. + MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. + TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother? + How would he hang his slender gilded wings + And buzz lamenting doings in the air! + Poor harmless fly, + That with his pretty buzzing melody + Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him. + MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly, + Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. + TITUS. O, O, O! + Then pardon me for reprehending thee, + For thou hast done a charitable deed. + Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, + Flattering myself as if it were the Moor + Come hither purposely to poison me. + There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. + Ah, sirrah! + Yet, I think, we are not brought so low + But that between us we can kill a fly + That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. + MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, + He takes false shadows for true substances. + TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me; + I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee + Sad stories chanced in the times of old. + Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, + And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +Rome. TITUS' garden + +Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, +and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. + +Enter TITUS and MARCUS + + BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia + Follows me everywhere, I know not why. + Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! + Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. + MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. + TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. + BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. + MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? + TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean. + See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee. + Somewhither would she have thee go with her. + Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care + Read to her sons than she hath read to thee + Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. + MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? + BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, + Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her; + For I have heard my grandsire say full oft + Extremity of griefs would make men mad; + And I have read that Hecuba of Troy + Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear; + Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt + Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, + And would not, but in fury, fright my youth; + Which made me down to throw my books, and fly- + Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt; + And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, + I will most willingly attend your ladyship. + MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her + stumps the books which Lucius has let fall] + TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this? + Some book there is that she desires to see. + Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.- + But thou art deeper read and better skill'd; + Come and take choice of all my library, + And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens + Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. + Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? + MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one + Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was, + Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. + TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? + BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; + My mother gave it me. + MARCUS. For love of her that's gone, + Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. + TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her. + What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? + This is the tragic tale of Philomel + And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; + And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy. + MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves. + TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, + Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was, + Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? + See, see! + Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt- + O, had we never, never hunted there!- + Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, + By nature made for murders and for rapes. + MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den, + Unless the gods delight in tragedies? + TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, + What Roman lord it was durst do the deed. + Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, + That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? + MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me. + Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, + Inspire me, that I may this treason find! + My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia! + [He writes his name with his + staff, and guides it with feet and mouth] + This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, + This after me. I have writ my name + Without the help of any hand at all. + Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! + Write thou, good niece, and here display at last + What God will have discovered for revenge. + Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, + That we may know the traitors and the truth! + [She takes the staff in her mouth + and guides it with stumps, and writes] + O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? + TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.' + MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora + Performers of this heinous bloody deed? + TITUS. Magni Dominator poli, + Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? + MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know + There is enough written upon this earth + To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, + And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. + My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; + And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; + And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere + And father of that chaste dishonoured dame, + Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape- + That we will prosecute, by good advice, + Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, + And see their blood or die with this reproach. + TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; + But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: + The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once, + She's with the lion deeply still in league, + And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, + And when he sleeps will she do what she list. + You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; + And come, I will go get a leaf of brass, + And with a gad of steel will write these words, + And lay it by. The angry northern wind + Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad, + And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you? + BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man + Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe + For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome. + MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft + For his ungrateful country done the like. + BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. + TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. + Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy + Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons + Presents that I intend to send them both. + Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not? + BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. + TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. + Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house. + Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; + Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on. + Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS + MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan + And not relent, or not compassion him? + Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, + That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart + Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield, + But yet so just that he will not revenge. + Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. The palace + +Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door, +YOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them + + CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; + He hath some message to deliver us. + AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. + BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, + I greet your honours from Andronicus- + [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both! + DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news? + BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, + For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you, + My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me + The goodliest weapons of his armoury + To gratify your honourable youth, + The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say; + And so I do, and with his gifts present + Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, + You may be armed and appointed well. + And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains. + Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant + DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about. + Let's see: + [Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, + Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.' + CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well; + I read it in the grammar long ago. + AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it. + [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! + Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, + And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines + That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. + But were our witty Empress well afoot, + She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. + But let her rest in her unrest awhile- + And now, young lords, was't not a happy star + Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, + Captives, to be advanced to this height? + It did me good before the palace gate + To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing. + DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord + Basely insinuate and send us gifts. + AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius? + Did you not use his daughter very friendly? + DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames + At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. + CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love. + AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. + CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more. + DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods + For our beloved mother in her pains. + AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over. + [Trumpets sound] + DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus? + CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son. + DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here? + + Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD + + NURSE. Good morrow, lords. + O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? + AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, + Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? + NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! + Now help, or woe betide thee evermore! + AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! + What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms? + NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye: + Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace! + She is delivered, lord; she is delivered. + AARON. To whom? + NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed. + AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her? + NURSE. A devil. + AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam; + A joyful issue. + NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue! + Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad + Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime; + The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, + And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. + AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue? + Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure. + DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done? + AARON. That which thou canst not undo. + CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother. + AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother. + DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her. + Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! + Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! + CHIRON. It shall not live. + AARON. It shall not die. + NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so. + AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I + Do execution on my flesh and blood. + DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point. + Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it. + AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. + [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws] + Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother! + Now, by the burning tapers of the sky + That shone so brightly when this boy was got, + He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point + That touches this my first-born son and heir. + I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, + With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, + Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, + Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. + What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! + Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! + Coal-black is better than another hue + In that it scorns to bear another hue; + For all the water in the ocean + Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, + Although she lave them hourly in the flood. + Tell the Empress from me I am of age + To keep mine own- excuse it how she can. + DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? + AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self, + The vigour and the picture of my youth. + This before all the world do I prefer; + This maugre all the world will I keep safe, + Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. + DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. + CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. + NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death. + CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy. + AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: + Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing + The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! + Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer. + Look how the black slave smiles upon the father, + As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.' + He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed + Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; + And from your womb where you imprisoned were + He is enfranchised and come to light. + Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, + Although my seal be stamped in his face. + NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress? + DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, + And we will all subscribe to thy advice. + Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. + AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult. + My son and I will have the wind of you: + Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety. + [They sit] + DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his? + AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league + I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, + The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, + The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. + But say, again, how many saw the child? + NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself; + And no one else but the delivered Empress. + AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself. + Two may keep counsel when the third's away: + Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her] + Weeke weeke! + So cries a pig prepared to the spit. + DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this? + AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy. + Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours- + A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no. + And now be it known to you my full intent: + Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman- + His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; + His child is like to her, fair as you are. + Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, + And tell them both the circumstance of all, + And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, + And be received for the Emperor's heir + And substituted in the place of mine, + To calm this tempest whirling in the court; + And let the Emperor dandle him for his own. + Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic, + [Pointing to the NURSE] + And you must needs bestow her funeral; + The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms. + This done, see that you take no longer days, + But send the midwife presently to me. + The midwife and the nurse well made away, + Then let the ladies tattle what they please. + CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air + With secrets. + DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora, + Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. + + Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE + + AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, + There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, + And secretly to greet the Empress' friends. + Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence; + For it is you that puts us to our shifts. + I'll make you feed on berries and on roots, + And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, + And cabin in a cave, and bring you up + To be a warrior and command a camp. + Exit with the CHILD + + + + +SCENE III. +Rome. A public place + +Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; +with him MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, +PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and CAIUS, with bows + + TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way. + Sir boy, let me see your archery; + Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight. + Terras Astrea reliquit, + Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled. + Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall + Go sound the ocean and cast your nets; + Happily you may catch her in the sea; + Yet there's as little justice as at land. + No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; + 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, + And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; + Then, when you come to Pluto's region, + I pray you deliver him this petition. + Tell him it is for justice and for aid, + And that it comes from old Andronicus, + Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. + Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable + What time I threw the people's suffrages + On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. + Go get you gone; and pray be careful all, + And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd. + This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence; + And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. + MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, + To see thy noble uncle thus distract? + PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns + By day and night t' attend him carefully, + And feed his humour kindly as we may + Till time beget some careful remedy. + MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. + Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war + Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, + And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. + TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters? + What, have you met with her? + PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, + If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall. + Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, + He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, + So that perforce you must needs stay a time. + TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. + I'll dive into the burning lake below + And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. + Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, + No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size; + But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, + Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; + And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, + We will solicit heaven, and move the gods + To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. + Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. + [He gives them the arrows] + 'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.' + 'Ad Martem' that's for myself. + Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.' + 'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine: + You were as good to shoot against the wind. + To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. + Of my word, I have written to effect; + There's not a god left unsolicited. + MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; + We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. + TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius! + Good boy, in Virgo's lap! Give it Pallas. + MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; + Your letter is with Jupiter by this. + TITUS. Ha! ha! + Publius, Publius, hast thou done? + See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. + MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, + The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock + That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court; + And who should find them but the Empress' villain? + She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose + But give them to his master for a present. + TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy! + + Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it + + News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. + Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters? + Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter? + CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down + again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week. + TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? + CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all + my life. + TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? + CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. + TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? + CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I + should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am + going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter + of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men. + MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your + oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you. + TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a + grace? + CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. + TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, + But give your pigeons to the Emperor; + By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. + Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges. + Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a + supplication? + CLOWN. Ay, sir. + TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to + him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; + then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll + be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. + CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. + TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. + Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; + For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant. + And when thou hast given it to the Emperor, + Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. + CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will. + TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Rome. Before the palace + +Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON; +LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS +shot at him + + SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen + An emperor in Rome thus overborne, + Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent + Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt? + My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, + However these disturbers of our peace + Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd + But even with law against the wilful sons + Of old Andronicus. And what an if + His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, + Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, + His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? + And now he writes to heaven for his redress. + See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury'; + This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'- + Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! + What's this but libelling against the Senate, + And blazoning our unjustice every where? + A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? + As who would say in Rome no justice were. + But if I live, his feigned ecstasies + Shall be no shelter to these outrages; + But he and his shall know that justice lives + In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep, + He'll so awake as he in fury shall + Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. + TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, + Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, + Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, + Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons + Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart; + And rather comfort his distressed plight + Than prosecute the meanest or the best + For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become + High-witted Tamora to gloze with all. + But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, + Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise, + Then is all safe, the anchor in the port. + + Enter CLOWN + + How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us? + CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial. + TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor. + CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have + brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here. + [SATURNINUS reads the letter] + SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently. + CLOWN. How much money must I have? + TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. + CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair + end. [Exit guarded] + SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! + Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? + I know from whence this same device proceeds. + May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons + That died by law for murder of our brother + Have by my means been butchered wrongfully? + Go drag the villain hither by the hair; + Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege. + For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman, + Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, + In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. + + Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS + + What news with thee, Aemilius? + AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause. + The Goths have gathered head; and with a power + Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, + They hither march amain, under conduct + Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; + Who threats in course of this revenge to do + As much as ever Coriolanus did. + SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? + These tidings nip me, and I hang the head + As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. + Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach. + 'Tis he the common people love so much; + Myself hath often heard them say- + When I have walked like a private man- + That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, + And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. + TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong? + SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, + And will revolt from me to succour him. + TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name! + Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? + The eagle suffers little birds to sing, + And is not careful what they mean thereby, + Knowing that with the shadow of his wings + He can at pleasure stint their melody; + Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome. + Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor, + I will enchant the old Andronicus + With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, + Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep, + When as the one is wounded with the bait, + The other rotted with delicious feed. + SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us. + TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; + For I can smooth and fill his aged ears + With golden promises, that, were his heart + Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, + Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. + [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador; + Say that the Emperor requests a parley + Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting + Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. + SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably; + And if he stand on hostage for his safety, + Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. + AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit + TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus, + And temper him with all the art I have, + To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. + And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again, + And bury all thy fear in my devices. + SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Plains near Rome + +Enter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours + + LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends, + I have received letters from great Rome + Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor + And how desirous of our sight they are. + Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, + Imperious and impatient of your wrongs; + And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, + Let him make treble satisfaction. + FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, + Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort, + Whose high exploits and honourable deeds + Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, + Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st, + Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, + Led by their master to the flow'red fields, + And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. + ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him. + LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. + But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? + + Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms + + SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd + To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; + And as I earnestly did fix mine eye + Upon the wasted building, suddenly + I heard a child cry underneath a wall. + I made unto the noise, when soon I heard + The crying babe controll'd with this discourse: + 'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam! + Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, + Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, + Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor; + But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, + They never do beget a coal-black calf. + Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe- + 'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, + Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe, + Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' + With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, + Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither + To use as you think needful of the man. + LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil + That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand; + This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye; + And here's the base fruit of her burning lust. + Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey + This growing image of thy fiend-like face? + Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word? + A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree, + And by his side his fruit of bastardy. + AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. + LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good. + First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl- + A sight to vex the father's soul withal. + Get me a ladder. + [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb] + AARON. Lucius, save the child, + And bear it from me to the Emperess. + If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things + That highly may advantage thee to hear; + If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, + I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!' + LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st, + Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. + AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius, + 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; + For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, + Acts of black night, abominable deeds, + Complots of mischief, treason, villainies, + Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd; + And this shall all be buried in my death, + Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. + LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live. + AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. + LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god; + That granted, how canst thou believe an oath? + AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not; + Yet, for I know thou art religious + And hast a thing within thee called conscience, + With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies + Which I have seen thee careful to observe, + Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know + An idiot holds his bauble for a god, + And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, + To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow + By that same god- what god soe'er it be + That thou adorest and hast in reverence- + To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up; + Or else I will discover nought to thee. + LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will. + AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress. + LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman! + AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity + To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. + 'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus; + They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, + And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest. + LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming? + AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas + Trim sport for them which had the doing of it. + LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself! + AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. + That codding spirit had they from their mother, + As sure a card as ever won the set; + That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, + As true a dog as ever fought at head. + Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. + I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole + Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay; + I wrote the letter that thy father found, + And hid the gold within that letter mention'd, + Confederate with the Queen and her two sons; + And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, + Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? + I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, + And, when I had it, drew myself apart + And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. + I pried me through the crevice of a wall, + When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; + Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily + That both mine eyes were rainy like to his; + And when I told the Empress of this sport, + She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, + And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. + GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush? + AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. + LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? + AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. + Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think, + Few come within the compass of my curse- + Wherein I did not some notorious ill; + As kill a man, or else devise his death; + Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; + Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; + Set deadly enmity between two friends; + Make poor men's cattle break their necks; + Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, + And bid the owners quench them with their tears. + Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, + And set them upright at their dear friends' door + Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, + And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, + Have with my knife carved in Roman letters + 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' + Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things + As willingly as one would kill a fly; + And nothing grieves me heartily indeed + But that I cannot do ten thousand more. + LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die + So sweet a death as hanging presently. + AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil, + To live and burn in everlasting fire, + So I might have your company in hell + But to torment you with my bitter tongue! + LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. + + Enter AEMILIUS + + GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome + Desires to be admitted to your presence. + LUCIUS. Let him come near. + Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome? + AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths, + The Roman Emperor greets you all by me; + And, for he understands you are in arms, + He craves a parley at your father's house, + Willing you to demand your hostages, + And they shall be immediately deliver'd. + FIRST GOTH. What says our general? + LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges + Unto my father and my uncle Marcus. + And we will come. March away. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Rome. Before TITUS' house + +Enter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised + + TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, + I will encounter with Andronicus, + And say I am Revenge, sent from below + To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. + Knock at his study, where they say he keeps + To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; + Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, + And work confusion on his enemies. + + They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above + + TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation? + Is it your trick to make me ope the door, + That so my sad decrees may fly away + And all my study be to no effect? + You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do + See here in bloody lines I have set down; + And what is written shall be executed. + TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. + TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk, + Wanting a hand to give it that accord? + Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more. + TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me. + TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough: + Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines; + Witness these trenches made by grief and care; + Witness the tiring day and heavy night; + Witness all sorrow that I know thee well + For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora. + Is not thy coming for my other hand? + TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora: + She is thy enemy and I thy friend. + I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom + To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind + By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. + Come down and welcome me to this world's light; + Confer with me of murder and of death; + There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, + No vast obscurity or misty vale, + Where bloody murder or detested rape + Can couch for fear but I will find them out; + And in their ears tell them my dreadful name- + Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. + TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me + To be a torment to mine enemies? + TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me. + TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee. + Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands; + Now give some surance that thou art Revenge- + Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; + And then I'll come and be thy waggoner + And whirl along with thee about the globes. + Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, + To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, + And find out murderers in their guilty caves; + And when thy car is loaden with their heads, + I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel + Trot, like a servile footman, all day long, + Even from Hyperion's rising in the east + Until his very downfall in the sea. + And day by day I'll do this heavy task, + So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. + TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me. + TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd? + TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so + 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. + TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are! + And you the Empress! But we worldly men + Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. + O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee; + And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, + I will embrace thee in it by and by. + TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy. + Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours, + Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, + For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; + And, being credulous in this mad thought, + I'll make him send for Lucius his son, + And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, + I'll find some cunning practice out of hand + To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, + Or, at the least, make them his enemies. + See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. + + Enter TITUS, below + + TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. + Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house. + Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. + How like the Empress and her sons you are! + Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor. + Could not all hell afford you such a devil? + For well I wot the Empress never wags + But in her company there is a Moor; + And, would you represent our queen aright, + It were convenient you had such a devil. + But welcome as you are. What shall we do? + TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus? + DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. + CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, + And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. + TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong, + And I will be revenged on them all. + TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, + And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, + Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. + Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap + To find another that is like to thee, + Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. + Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court + There is a queen, attended by a Moor; + Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion, + For up and down she doth resemble thee. + I pray thee, do on them some violent death; + They have been violent to me and mine. + TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. + But would it please thee, good Andronicus, + To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, + Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, + And bid him come and banquet at thy house; + When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, + I will bring in the Empress and her sons, + The Emperor himself, and all thy foes; + And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, + And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. + What says Andronicus to this device? + TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls. + + Enter MARCUS + + Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; + Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. + Bid him repair to me, and bring with him + Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; + Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. + Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too + Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. + This do thou for my love; and so let him, + As he regards his aged father's life. + MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit + TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business, + And take my ministers along with me. + TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, + Or else I'll call my brother back again, + And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. + TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide + with him, + Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor + How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? + Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, + And tarry with him till I turn again. + TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad, + And will o'er reach them in their own devices, + A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam. + DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here. + TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes + To lay a complot to betray thy foes. + TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. + Exit TAMORA + CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? + TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. + Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. + + Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE + + PUBLIUS. What is your will? + TITUS. Know you these two? + PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius. + TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv'd. + The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name; + And therefore bind them, gentle Publius- + Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. + Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, + And now I find it; therefore bind them sure, + And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit + [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS] + CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons. + PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded. + Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word. + Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast. + + Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS + with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin + + TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. + Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me; + But let them hear what fearful words I utter. + O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! + Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud; + This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. + You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault + Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, + My hand cut off and made a merry jest; + Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear + Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, + Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. + What would you say, if I should let you speak? + Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. + Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you. + This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, + Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold + The basin that receives your guilty blood. + You know your mother means to feast with me, + And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. + Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust, + And with your blood and it I'll make a paste; + And of the paste a coffin I will rear, + And make two pasties of your shameful heads; + And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, + Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. + This is the feast that I have bid her to, + And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; + For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, + And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd. + And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, + Receive the blood; and when that they are dead, + Let me go grind their bones to powder small, + And with this hateful liquor temper it; + And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. + Come, come, be every one officious + To make this banquet, which I wish may prove + More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. + [He cuts their throats] + So. + Now bring them in, for I will play the cook, + And see them ready against their mother comes. + Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies + + + + +SCENE III. +The court of TITUS' house + +Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, +and his CHILD in the arms of an attendant + + LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind + That I repair to Rome, I am content. + FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will. + LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, + This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; + Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him, + Till he be brought unto the Empress' face + For testimony of her foul proceedings. + And see the ambush of our friends be strong; + I fear the Emperor means no good to us. + AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, + And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth + The venomous malice of my swelling heart! + LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave! + Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. + Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within + The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand. + + Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and + TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others + + SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? + LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun? + MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle; + These quarrels must be quietly debated. + The feast is ready which the careful Titus + Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, + For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome. + Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places. + SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will. + [A table brought in. The company sit down] + + Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS + like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA + with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others + + TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen; + Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; + And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor, + 'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. + SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? + TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well + To entertain your Highness and your Empress. + TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. + TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were. + My lord the Emperor, resolve me this: + Was it well done of rash Virginius + To slay his daughter with his own right hand, + Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd? + SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus. + TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord. + SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame, + And by her presence still renew his sorrows. + TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; + A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant + For me, most wretched, to perform the like. + Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her] + And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die! + SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? + TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind. + I am as woeful as Virginius was, + And have a thousand times more cause than he + To do this outrage; and it now is done. + SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed. + TITUS. Will't please you eat? Will't please your Highness feed? + TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? + TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius. + They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue; + And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. + SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. + TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie, + Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, + Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. + 'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point. + [He stabs the EMPRESS] + SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed! + [He stabs TITUS] + LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? + There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. + [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, + MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony] + MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, + By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl + Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts? + O, let me teach you how to knit again + This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf, + These broken limbs again into one body; + Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, + And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to, + Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, + Do shameful execution on herself. + But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, + Grave witnesses of true experience, + Cannot induce you to attend my words, + [To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor, + When with his solemn tongue he did discourse + To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear + The story of that baleful burning night, + When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy. + Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, + Or who hath brought the fatal engine in + That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. + My heart is not compact of flint nor steel; + Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, + But floods of tears will drown my oratory + And break my utt'rance, even in the time + When it should move ye to attend me most, + And force you to commiseration. + Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale; + While I stand by and weep to hear him speak. + LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you + That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius + Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother; + And they it were that ravished our sister. + For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, + Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd + Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out + And sent her enemies unto the grave. + Lastly, myself unkindly banished, + The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, + To beg relief among Rome's enemies; + Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, + And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend. + I am the turned forth, be it known to you, + That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood + And from her bosom took the enemy's point, + Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. + Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I; + My scars can witness, dumb although they are, + That my report is just and full of truth. + But, soft! methinks I do digress too much, + Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me! + For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. + MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child. + [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms] + Of this was Tamora delivered, + The issue of an irreligious Moor, + Chief architect and plotter of these woes. + The villain is alive in Titus' house, + Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. + Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge + These wrongs unspeakable, past patience, + Or more than any living man could bear. + Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans? + Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein, + And, from the place where you behold us pleading, + The poor remainder of Andronici + Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves, + And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls, + And make a mutual closure of our house. + Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, + Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. + AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, + And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand, + Lucius our Emperor; for well I know + The common voice do cry it shall be so. + ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor! + MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, + And hither hale that misbelieving Moor + To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death, + As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some + attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend + ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! + LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so + To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe! + But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, + For nature puts me to a heavy task. + Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near + To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. + O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS] + These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, + The last true duties of thy noble son! + MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss + Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. + O, were the sum of these that I should pay + Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! + LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us + To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well; + Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, + Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; + Many a story hath he told to thee, + And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind + And talk of them when he was dead and gone. + MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips, + When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine! + O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss! + Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; + Do them that kindness, and take leave of them. + BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart + Would I were dead, so you did live again! + O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; + My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. + + Re-enter attendants with AARON + + A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes; + Give sentence on the execrable wretch + That hath been breeder of these dire events. + LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; + There let him stand and rave and cry for food. + If any one relieves or pities him, + For the offence he dies. This is our doom. + Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth. + AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb? + I am no baby, I, that with base prayers + I should repent the evils I have done; + Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did + Would I perform, if I might have my will. + If one good deed in all my life I did, + I do repent it from my very soul. + LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence, + And give him burial in his father's grave. + My father and Lavinia shall forthwith + Be closed in our household's monument. + As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, + No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed, + No mournful bell shall ring her burial; + But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey. + Her life was beastly and devoid of pity, + And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1602 + +THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + +by William Shakespeare + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + PRIAM, King of Troy + + His sons: + HECTOR + TROILUS + PARIS + DEIPHOBUS + HELENUS + + MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam + + Trojan commanders: + AENEAS + ANTENOR + + CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks + PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida + AGAMEMNON, the Greek general + MENELAUS, his brother + + Greek commanders: + ACHILLES + AJAX + ULYSSES + NESTOR + DIOMEDES + PATROCLUS + + THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek + ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida + SERVANT to Troilus + SERVANT to Paris + SERVANT to Diomedes + + HELEN, wife to Menelaus + ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector + CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess + CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas + + Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants + + SCENE: + Troy and the Greek camp before it + +PROLOGUE + TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + PROLOGUE + + In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece + The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd, + Have to the port of Athens sent their ships + Fraught with the ministers and instruments + Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore + Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay + Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made + To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures + The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, + With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel. + To Tenedos they come, + And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge + Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains + The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch + Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, + Dardan, and Tymbria, 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, Troyan 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. + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. SCENE 1. +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 Troyan that is master of his heart, + Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none! + PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended? + TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, + Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; + But I am weaker than a woman's tear, + Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, + Less valiant than the virgin in the night, + And skilless as unpractis'd infancy. + PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, + I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake + out of the wheat must 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 suff'rance than I do. + At Priam's royal table do I sit; + And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts- + So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence. + PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her + look, or any woman else. + TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart, + As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, + Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, + I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, + Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile. + But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness + Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. + PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's- well, + go to- there were no more comparison between the women. But, for + my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, + praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as + I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but- + TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus- + When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd, + Reply not in how many fathoms deep + They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad + In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'- + Pourest 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 it. 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 a Friday + as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a + blackamoor; 'tis all one to me. + TROILUS. Say I she is not fair? + PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay + behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her + the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no + more i' th' 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. Sound alarum + TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds! + Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, + When with your blood you daily paint her thus. + I cannot fight upon this argument; + It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. + But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me! + I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; + And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo + As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. + Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, + What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? + Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl; + Between our Ilium and where she resides + Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring 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 gor'd 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 + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 2. +Troy. A street + +Enter CRESSIDA and her man ALEXANDER + + CRESSIDA. Who were those went by? + ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen. + CRESSIDA. And whither go they? + ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower, + Whose height commands as subject all the vale, + To see the battle. Hector, whose patience + Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd. + He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; + And, like as there were husbandry in war, + Before the sun rose he was harness'd light, + And to the field goes he; where every flower + Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw + In Hector's wrath. + CRESSIDA. What was his cause of anger? + ALEXANDER. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks + A lord of Troyan blood, nephew to Hector; + They call him Ajax. + CRESSIDA. Good; and what of him? + ALEXANDER. They say he is a very man per se, + And stands alone. + CRESSIDA. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no + legs. + ALEXANDER. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their + particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the + bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded + humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced + with discretion. There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a + glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of + it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against the hair; he + hath the joints of 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 cop'd Hector in the battle and + struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since + kept Hector fasting and waking. + + Enter PANDARUS + + CRESSIDA. Who comes here? + ALEXANDER. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. + CRESSIDA. Hector's a gallant man. + ALEXANDER. As may be in the world, lady. + PANDARUS. What's that? What's that? + CRESSIDA. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. + PANDARUS. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?- Good + morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? + CRESSIDA. This morning, uncle. + PANDARUS. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm'd + and gone ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? + CRESSIDA. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. + PANDARUS. E'en so. Hector was stirring early. + CRESSIDA. That were we talking of, and of his anger. + PANDARUS. Was he angry? + CRESSIDA. So he says here. + PANDARUS. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about + him today, I can tell them that. And there's Troilus will not + come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell + them that too. + CRESSIDA. What, is he angry too? + PANDARUS. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. + CRESSIDA. O Jupiter! there's no comparison. + PANDARUS. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man + if you see him? + CRESSIDA. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. + PANDARUS. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. + CRESSIDA. Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector. + PANDARUS. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees. + CRESSIDA. 'Tis just to each of them: he is himself. + PANDARUS. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were! + CRESSIDA. So he is. + PANDARUS. Condition I had gone barefoot to India. + CRESSIDA. He is not Hector. + PANDARUS. Himself! no, he's not himself. Would 'a were himself! + Well, the gods are above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, + well! I would my heart were in her body! No, Hector is not a + better man than Troilus. + CRESSIDA. Excuse me. + PANDARUS. He is elder. + CRESSIDA. Pardon me, pardon me. + PANDARUS. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale + when th' other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this + year. + CRESSIDA. He shall not need it if he have his own. + 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 prais'd his complexion above Paris. + CRESSIDA. Why, Paris hath colour enough. + PANDARUS. So he has. + CRESSIDA. Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais'd him + above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour + enough, and the other higher, is too flaming praise for a good + complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended + Troilus for a copper nose. + PANDARUS. I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris. + CRESSIDA. Then she's a merry Greek indeed. + PANDARUS. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day + into the compass'd window-and you know he has not past three or + four hairs on his chin- + CRESSIDA. Indeed a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his + particulars therein to a total. + PANDARUS. Why, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound + lift as much as his brother Hector. + CRESSIDA. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter? + PANDARUS. But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and + puts me her white hand to his cloven chin- + CRESSIDA. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven? + PANDARUS. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes + him better than any man in all Phrygia. + CRESSIDA. O, he smiles valiantly! + PANDARUS. Does he not? + CRESSIDA. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn! + PANDARUS. Why, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves + Troilus- + CRESSIDA. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so. + PANDARUS. Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an + addle egg. + CRESSIDA. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle + head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell. + PANDARUS. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his + chin. Indeed, she has a marvell's white hand, I must needs + confess. + CRESSIDA. Without the rack. + PANDARUS. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. + CRESSIDA. Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer. + PANDARUS. But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh'd that + her eyes ran o'er. + CRESSIDA. With millstones. + PANDARUS. And Cassandra laugh'd. + CRESSIDA. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her + eyes. Did her eyes run o'er too? + PANDARUS. And Hector laugh'd. + CRESSIDA. At what was all this laughing? + PANDARUS. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' + chin. + CRESSIDA. An't had been a green hair I should have laugh'd too. + PANDARUS. They laugh'd not so much at the hair as at his pretty + answer. + CRESSIDA. What was his answer? + PANDARUS. Quoth she 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin, + and one of them is white.' + CRESSIDA. This is her question. + PANDARUS. That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and fifty + hairs,' quoth he 'and one white. That white hair is my father, + and all the rest are his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she 'which of + these hairs is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he, + 'pluck't out and give it him.' But there was such laughing! and + Helen so blush'd, and Paris so chaf'd; and all the rest so + laugh'd that it pass'd. + CRESSIDA. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. + PANDARUS. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't. + CRESSIDA. So I do. + PANDARUS. I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, and 'twere a + man born in April. + CRESSIDA. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle + against May. [Sound a retreat] + PANDARUS. Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up + here and see them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, + sweet niece Cressida. + CRESSIDA. At your pleasure. + PANDARUS. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see + most bravely. I'll tell you them all by their names as they pass + by; but mark Troilus above the rest. + + AENEAS passes + + CRESSIDA. Speak not so loud. + PANDARUS. That's Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He's one of the + flowers of Troy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see + anon. + + ANTENOR passes + + CRESSIDA. Who's that? + PANDARUS. That's Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and + he's a man good enough; he's one o' th' soundest judgments in + Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? + I'll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod + at me. + CRESSIDA. Will he give you the nod? + PANDARUS. You shall see. + CRESSIDA. If he do, the rich shall have more. + + HECTOR passes + + PANDARUS. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a + fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There's a brave man, niece. O brave + Hector! Look how he looks. There's a countenance! Is't not a + brave man? + CRESSIDA. O, a brave man! + PANDARUS. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good. Look you what + hacks are on his helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you + there. There's no jesting; there's laying on; take't off who + will, as they say. There be hacks. + CRESSIDA. Be those with swords? + PANDARUS. Swords! anything, he cares not; 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 + hack'd than Hector's; and how he looks, and how he goes! O + admirable youth! he never saw three and twenty. Go thy way, + Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were a grace or a daughter a + goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris + is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an + eye to boot. + CRESSIDA. Here comes more. + + Common soldiers pass + + PANDARUS. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! + porridge after meat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. + Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, + crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus than + Agamemnon and all Greece. + CRESSIDA. There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than + Troilus. + PANDARUS. Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel! + CRESSIDA. Well, well. + PANDARUS. Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any + eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good + shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, + liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man? + CRESSIDA. Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with no date in + the pie, for then the man's date is out. + PANDARUS. You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you + lie. + CRESSIDA. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend + my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to + defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these; and at all these + wards I lie at, at a thousand watches. + PANDARUS. Say one of your watches. + CRESSIDA. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the + chiefest of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, + I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell + past hiding, and then it's past watching + PANDARUS. You are such another! + + Enter TROILUS' BOY + + BOY. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. + PANDARUS. Where? + BOY. At your own house; there he unarms him. + PANDARUS. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy + I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. + CRESSIDA. Adieu, uncle. + PANDARUS. I will be with you, niece, by and by. + CRESSIDA. To bring, uncle. + PANDARUS. Ay, a token from Troilus. + 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 belov'd 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. Exit + + + + +ACT I. SCENE 3. +The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON'S tent + +Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, MENELAUS, and others + + AGAMEMNON. Princes, + What grief hath set these jaundies o'er your cheeks? + The ample proposition that hope makes + In all designs begun on earth below + Fails in the promis'd largeness; checks and disasters + Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd, + As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, + Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain + Tortive and errant from his course of growth. + Nor, princes, is it matter new to us + That we come short of our suppose so far + That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand; + Sith every action that hath gone before, + Whereof we have record, trial did draw + Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, + And that unbodied figure of the thought + That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, + Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works + And call them shames, which are, indeed, 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 affin'd and kin. + But in the wind and tempest of her frown + Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, + Puffing at all, winnows the light away; + And what hath mass or matter by itself + Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. + NESTOR. With due observance of thy godlike seat, + Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply + Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance + Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth, + How many shallow bauble boats dare sail + Upon her patient breast, making their way + With those of nobler bulk! + But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage + The gentle Thetis, and anon behold + The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, + Bounding between the two moist elements + Like Perseus' horse. Where's then the saucy boat, + Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now + Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled + Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so + Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide + In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness + The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze + Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind + Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, + And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage + As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathise, + And with an accent tun'd in self-same key + Retorts to chiding fortune. + ULYSSES. Agamemnon, + Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, + Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit + In whom the tempers and the minds of all + Should be shut up-hear what Ulysses speaks. + Besides the applause and approbation + The which, [To AGAMEMNON] most mighty, for thy place and sway, + [To NESTOR] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch'd-out life, + I give to both your speeches- which were such + As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece + Should hold up high in brass; and such again + As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, + Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree + On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears + To his experienc'd tongue-yet let it please both, + Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. + AGAMEMNON. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect + That matter needless, of importless burden, + Divide thy lips than we are confident, + When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, + We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. + ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, + And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, + But for these instances: + The specialty of rule hath been neglected; + And look how many Grecian tents do stand + Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. + When that the general is not like the hive, + To whom the foragers shall all repair, + What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, + Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. + The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, + Observe degree, priority, and place, + Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, + Office, and custom, in all line of order; + And therefore is the glorious planet Sol + In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd + Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye + Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, + And posts, like the commandment of a king, + Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets + In evil mixture to disorder wander, + What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, + What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, + Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, + Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, + The unity and married calm of states + Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak'd, + Which is the ladder of all high designs, + The enterprise is sick! How could communities, + Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, + Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, + The primogenity and due of birth, + Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, + But by degree, stand in authentic place? + Take but degree away, untune that string, + And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts + In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters + Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, + And make a sop of all this solid globe; + Strength should be lord of imbecility, + And the rude son should strike his father dead; + Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong- + Between whose endless jar justice resides- + Should lose their names, and so should justice too. + Then everything includes itself in power, + Power into will, will into appetite; + And appetite, an universal wolf, + So doubly seconded with will and power, + Must make perforce an universal prey, + And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, + This chaos, when degree is suffocate, + Follows the choking. + And this neglection of degree it is + That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose + It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd + By him one step below, he by the next, + That next by him beneath; so ever step, + Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick + Of his superior, grows to an envious fever + Of pale and bloodless emulation. + And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, + Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, + Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. + NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd + The fever whereof all our power is sick. + AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, + What is the remedy? + ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns + The sinew and the forehand of our host, + Having his ear full of his airy fame, + Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent + Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus + Upon a lazy bed the livelong day + Breaks scurril jests; + And with ridiculous and awkward action- + Which, slanderer, he imitation calls- + He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, + Thy topless deputation he puts on; + And like a strutting player whose conceit + Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich + To hear the wooden dialogue and sound + 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage- + Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming + He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks + 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar'd, + Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, + Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff + The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, + From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; + Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon 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 Vulcan and his wife; + Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent! + 'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus, + Arming to answer in a night alarm.' + And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age + Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit + And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, + Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport + Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus; + Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all + In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion + All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, + Severals and generals of grace exact, + Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, + Excitements to the field or speech for truce, + Success or loss, what is or is not, serves + As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. + NESTOR. And in the imitation of these twain- + Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns + With an imperial voice-many are infect. + Ajax is grown self-will'd and bears his head + In such a rein, in full as proud a place + As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; + Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war + Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, + A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, + To match us in comparisons with dirt, + To weaken and discredit our exposure, + How rank soever rounded in with danger. + ULYSSES. They tax our policy and call it cowardice, + Count wisdom as no member of the war, + Forestall prescience, and esteem no act + But that of hand. The still and mental parts + That do contrive how many hands shall strike + When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure + Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight- + Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: + They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet-war; + So that the ram that batters down the wall, + For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise, + They place before his hand that made the engine, + Or those that with the fineness of their souls + By reason guide his execution. + NESTOR. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse + Makes many Thetis' sons. [Tucket] + AGAMEMNON. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus. + MENELAUS. From Troy. + + Enter AENEAS + + AGAMEMNON. What would you fore our tent? + AENEAS. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? + AGAMEMNON. Even this. + AENEAS. May one that is a herald and a prince + Do a fair message to his kingly eyes? + AGAMEMNON. With surety stronger than Achilles' an + 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 Troyan 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, Troyan; lay thy finger on thy lips. + The worthiness of praise distains his worth, + If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth; + But what the repining enemy commends, + That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends. + AGAMEMNON. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas? + AENEAS. Ay, Greek, that is my name. + AGAMEMNON. What's your affair, I pray you? + AENEAS. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. + AGAMEMNON. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy. + AENEAS. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him; + I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, + To set his sense on the attentive bent, + And then to speak. + AGAMEMNON. Speak frankly as the wind; + It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour. + That thou shalt know, Troyan, he is awake, + He tells thee so himself. + AENEAS. Trumpet, blow loud, + Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; + And every Greek of mettle, let him know + What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. + [Sound trumpet] + We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy + A prince called Hector-Priam is his father- + Who in this dull and long-continued truce + Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet + And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords! + If there be one among the fair'st of Greece + That holds his honour higher than his ease, + That 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 Troyans and of Greeks, + Shall make it good or do his best to do it: + He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer, + Than ever Greek did couple in his arms; + And will to-morrow with his trumpet call + Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy + To rouse a Grecian that is true in love. + If any come, Hector shall honour him; + If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires, + The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth + The splinter of a lance. Even so much. + AGAMEMNON. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas. + If none of them have soul in such a kind, + We left them all at home. But we are soldiers; + And may that soldier a mere recreant prove + That means not, hath not, or is not in love. + If then one is, or hath, or means to be, + That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. + NESTOR. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man + When Hector's grandsire suck'd. He is old now; + But if there be not in our Grecian mould + 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 grandame, 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 forfend such scarcity of youth! + ULYSSES. Amen. + AGAMEMNON. Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand; + To our pavilion shall I lead you, first. + Achilles shall have word of this intent; + So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent. + Yourself shall feast with us before you go, + And find the welcome of a noble foe. + Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR + ULYSSES. Nestor! + NESTOR. What says Ulysses? + ULYSSES. I have a young conception in my brain; + Be you my time to bring it to some shape. + NESTOR. What is't? + ULYSSES. This 'tis: + Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride + That hath to this maturity blown up + In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd + Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil + To overbulk us all. + NESTOR. Well, and how? + ULYSSES. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, + However it is spread in general name, + Relates in purpose only to Achilles. + NESTOR. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance + Whose grossness little characters sum up; + And, in the publication, make no strain + But that Achilles, were his brain as barren + As banks of Libya-though, Apollo knows, + 'Tis dry enough-will with great speed of judgment, + Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose + Pointing on him. + ULYSSES. And wake him to the answer, think you? + NESTOR. Why, 'tis most meet. Who may you else oppose + That can from Hector bring those honours off, + If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat, + Yet in this trial much opinion dwells; + For here the Troyans taste our dear'st repute + With their fin'st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses, + Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd + In this vile action; for the success, + Although particular, shall give a scantling + Of good or bad unto the general; + And in such indexes, although small pricks + To their subsequent volumes, there is seen + The baby figure of the giant mas + Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd + He that meets Hector issues from our choice; + And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, + Makes merit her election, and doth boil, + As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd + Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, + What heart receives from hence a conquering part, + To steel a strong opinion to themselves? + Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, + In no less working than are swords and bows + Directive by the limbs. + ULYSSES. Give pardon to my speech. + Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. + Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares + And think perchance they'll sell; if not, the lustre + Of the better yet to show shall show the better, + By showing the worst first. Do not consent + That ever Hector and Achilles meet; + For both our honour and our shame in this + Are dogg'd with two strange followers. + NESTOR. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they? + ULYSSES. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, + Were he not proud, we all should wear with him; + But he already is too insolent; + And it were better parch in Afric sun + Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, + Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd, + Why, then we do our main opinion crush + In taint of our best man. No, make a lott'ry; + And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw + The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves + Give him allowance for the better man; + For that will physic the great Myrmidon, + Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall + His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. + If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, + We'll dress him up in voices; if he fail, + Yet go we under our opinion still + That we have better men. But, hit or miss, + Our project's life this shape of sense assumes- + Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. + NESTOR. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice; + And I will give a taste thereof forthwith + To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight. + Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone + Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE 1. +The Grecian camp + +Enter Ajax and THERSITES + + AJAX. Thersites! + THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally? + AJAX. Thersites! + THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run + then? Were not that a botchy core? + AJAX. Dog! + THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him; + I see none now. + AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then. + [Strikes him] + THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted + lord! + AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee + into handsomeness. + THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I + think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a + prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain + o' thy jade's tricks! + AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. + THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? + AJAX. The proclamation! + THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, 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 + Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him. + AJAX. Mistress Thersites! + THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him. + AJAX. Cobloaf! + THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a + sailor breaks a biscuit. + AJAX. You whoreson cur! [Strikes him] + THERSITES. Do, do. + AJAX. Thou stool for a witch! + THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more + brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You + scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, and thou + art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian + slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell + what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! + AJAX. You dog! + THERSITES. You scurvy lord! + AJAX. You cur! [Strikes him] + THERSITES. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do. + + Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS + + ACHILLES. Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do 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, so I do. + THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever + you take him to be, he is Ajax. + ACHILLES. I know that, fool. + THERSITES. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. + AJAX. Therefore I beat thee. + THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His + evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than + he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and + his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This + lord, Achilles, Ajax-who wears his wit in his belly and his guts + in his head-I'll tell you what I say of him. + ACHILLES. What? + THERSITES. I say this Ajax- [AJAX offers to strike him] + ACHILLES. Nay, good Ajax. + THERSITES. Has not so much wit- + ACHILLES. Nay, I must hold you. + THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he + comes to fight. + ACHILLES. Peace, fool. + THERSITES. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not- + he there; that he; look you there. + AJAX. O thou damned cur! I shall- + ACHILLES. Will you set your wit to a fool's? + THERSITES. No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it. + PATROCLUS. Good words, Thersites. + ACHILLES. What's the quarrel? + AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the + proclamation, and he rails upon me. + THERSITES. I serve thee not. + AJAX. Well, go to, go to. + THERSITES. I serve here voluntary. + ACHILLES. Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No + man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as + under an impress. + THERSITES. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your + sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch + an 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 hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more + to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave + the faction of fools. Exit + PATROCLUS. A good riddance. + ACHILLES. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host, + That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, + Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy, + 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 lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his + man. + AJAX. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 2. +Troy. PRIAM'S palace + +Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS + + PRIAM. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, + Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: + 'Deliver Helen, and all damage else- + As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, + Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd + In hot digestion of this cormorant war- + Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't? + HECTOR. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, + As far as toucheth my particular, + Yet, dread Priam, + There is no lady of more softer bowels, + More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, + More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?' + Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety, + Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd + The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches + To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go. + Since the first sword was drawn about this question, + Every tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes + Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours. + If we have lost so many tenths of ours + To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, + Had it our name, the value of one ten, + What merit's in that reason which denies + The yielding of her up? + TROILUS. Fie, fie, my brother! + Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, + So great as our dread father's, in a scale + Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum + The past-proportion of his infinite, + And buckle in a waist most fathomless + With spans and inches so diminutive + As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame! + HELENUS. No marvel though you bite so sharp 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 keeping. + TROILUS. What's aught but as 'tis valued? + HECTOR. But value dwells not in particular will: + It holds his estimate and dignity + As well wherein 'tis precious of itself + As in the prizer. 'Tis mad idolatry + To make the service greater than the god-I + And the will dotes that is attributive + To what infectiously itself affects, + Without some image of th' 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 with full consent benied his sails; + The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce, + And did him service. He touch'd the ports desir'd; + And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive + He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness + Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. + Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt. + Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl + Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, + And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. + If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went- + As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go'- + If you'll confess he brought home worthy prize- + As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, + And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now + The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, + And do a deed that never fortune did- + Beggar the estimation which you priz'd + Richer than sea and land? O theft most base, + That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep! + But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol'n + That in their country did them that disgrace + We fear to warrant in our native place! + CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans, cry. + PRIAM. What noise, what shriek is this? + TROILUS. 'Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice. + CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans. + HECTOR. It is Cassandra. + + Enter CASSANDRA, raving + + CASSANDRA. Cry, Troyans, 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, Troyans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears. + Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; + Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. + Cry, Troyans, cry, A Helen and a woe! + Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go. Exit + HECTOR. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains + Of divination in our sister work + Some touches of remorse, or is your blood + So madly hot that no discourse of reason, + Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, + Can qualify the same? + TROILUS. Why, brother Hector, + We may not think the justness of each act + Such and no other than event doth form it; + Nor once deject the courage of our minds + Because Cassandra's mad. Her brain-sick raptures + Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel + Which hath our several honours all engag'd + To make it gracious. For my private part, + I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons; + And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us + Such things as might offend the weakest spleen + To fight for and maintain. + PARIS. Else might the world convince of levity + As well my undertakings as your counsels; + But I attest the gods, your full consent + Gave wings to my propension, and cut of + All fears attending on so dire a project. + For what, alas, can these my single arms? + What propugnation is in one man's valour + To stand the push and enmity of those + This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, + Were I alone to pass the difficulties, + And had as ample power as I have will, + Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done + Nor faint in the pursuit. + PRIAM. Paris, you speak + Like one besotted on your sweet delights. + You have the honey still, but these the gall; + So to be valiant is no praise at all. + PARIS. Sir, I propose not merely to myself + The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; + But I would have the soil of her fair rape + Wip'd off in honourable keeping her. + What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, + Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, + Now to deliver her possession up + On terms of base compulsion! Can it be + That so degenerate a strain as this + Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? + There's not the meanest spirit on our party + Without a heart to dare or sword to draw + When Helen is defended; nor none so noble + Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd + Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say, + Well may we fight for her whom we know well + The world's large spaces cannot parallel. + HECTOR. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; + And on the cause and question now in hand + Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much + Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought + Unfit to hear moral philosophy. + The reasons you allege do more conduce + To the hot passion of distemp'red blood + Than to make up a free determination + 'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge + Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice + Of any true decision. Nature craves + All dues be rend'red to their owners. Now, + What nearer debt in all humanity + Than wife is to the husband? If this law + Of nature be corrupted through affection; + And that great minds, of partial indulgence + To their benumbed wills, resist the same; + There is a law in each well-order'd nation + To curb those raging appetites that are + Most disobedient and refractory. + If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king- + As it is known she is-these moral laws + Of nature and of nations speak aloud + To have her back return'd. Thus to persist + In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, + But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion + Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne'er the less, + My spritely brethren, I propend to you + In resolution to keep Helen still; + For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence + Upon our joint and several dignities. + TROILUS. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design. + Were it not glory that we more affected + Than the performance of our heaving spleens, + I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood + Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, + She is a theme of honour and renown, + A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, + Whose present courage may beat down our foes, + And fame in time to come canonize us; + For I presume brave Hector would not lose + So rich advantage of a promis'd glory + As smiles upon the forehead of this action + For the wide world's revenue. + HECTOR. I am yours, + You valiant offspring of great Priamus. + I have a roisting challenge sent amongst + The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks + Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits. + I was advertis'd their great general slept, + Whilst emulation in the army crept. + This, I presume, will wake him. Exeunt + + + + +ACT II. SCENE 3. +The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES + +Enter THERSITES, solus + + THERSITES. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy + fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I + rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that + I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me! 'Sfoot, I'll learn to + conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful + execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be + not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till + they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, + forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose + all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that + little little less-than-little wit from them that they have! + which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, + it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without + drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the + vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan + bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those + that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil Envy + say 'Amen.' What ho! my Lord Achilles! + + Enter PATROCLUS + + PATROCLUS. Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and + rail. + THERSITES. If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou + wouldst not have slipp'd out of my contemplation; but it is no + matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly + and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from + a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy + direction till thy death. Then if she that lays thee out says + thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she never + shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles? + PATROCLUS. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer? + THERSITES. Ay, the heavens hear me! + PATROCLUS. Amen. + + Enter ACHILLES + + ACHILLES. Who's there? + PATROCLUS. Thersites, my lord. + ACHILLES. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my + digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so + many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon? + THERSITES. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what's + Achilles? + PATROCLUS. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's + Thersites? + THERSITES. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art + thou? + PATROCLUS. Thou must tell that knowest. + ACHILLES. O, tell, tell, + THERSITES. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands + Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and + Patroclus is a fool. + PATROCLUS. You rascal! + THERSITES. Peace, fool! I have not done. + ACHILLES. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites. + THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a + fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. + ACHILLES. Derive this; come. + THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; + Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a + fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a fool positive. + PATROCLUS. Why am I a fool? + THERSITES. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou + art. Look you, who comes here? + ACHILLES. Come, Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me, + Thersites. Exit + THERSITES. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. + All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw + emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on + the subject, and war and lechery confound all! Exit + + Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, + AJAX, and CALCHAS + + AGAMEMNON. Where is Achilles? + PATROCLUS. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. + AGAMEMNON. Let it be known to him that we are here. + He shent our messengers; and we lay by + Our appertainings, visiting of him. + Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think + We dare not move the question of our place + Or know not what we are. + PATROCLUS. I shall say so to him. Exit + ULYSSES. We saw him at the opening of his tent. + He is not sick. + AJAX. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it + melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis + pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my lord. + [Takes AGAMEMNON aside] + NESTOR. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? + ULYSSES. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. + NESTOR.Who, Thersites? + ULYSSES. He. + NESTOR. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument + ULYSSES. No; you see he is his argument that has his argument- + Achilles. + NESTOR. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their + faction. But it was a strong composure a fool could disunite! + ULYSSES. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. + + Re-enter PATROCLUS + + Here comes Patroclus. + NESTOR. No Achilles with him. + ULYSSES. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs + are legs for necessity, not for flexure. + PATROCLUS. Achilles bids me say he is much sorry + If any thing more than your sport and pleasure + Did move your greatness and this noble state + To call upon him; he hopes it is no other + But for your health and your digestion sake, + An after-dinner's breath. + AGAMEMNON. Hear you, Patroclus. + We are too well acquainted with these answers; + But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, + Cannot outfly our apprehensions. + Much attribute he hath, and much the reason + Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues, + Not virtuously on his own part beheld, + Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss; + Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, + Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him + We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin + If you do say we think him over-proud + And under-honest, in self-assumption greater + Than in the note of 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 ad + That if he overhold his price so much + We'll none of him, but let him, like an engine + Not portable, lie under this report: + Bring action hither; this cannot go to war. + A stirring dwarf we do allowance give + Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so. + PATROCLUS. I shall, and bring his answer presently. Exit + AGAMEMNON. In second voice we'll not be satisfied; + We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. + Exit ULYSSES + AJAX. What is he more than another? + AGAMEMNON. No more than what he thinks he is. + AJAX. Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better + man than I am? + AGAMEMNON. No question. + AJAX. Will you subscribe his thought and say he is? + AGAMEMNON. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, + no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. + AJAX. Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not + what pride is. + AGAMEMNON. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the + fairer. He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, + his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself + but in the deed devours the deed in the praise. + + Re-enter ULYSSES + + AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend'ring of toads. + NESTOR. [Aside] And yet he loves himself: is't not strange? + ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field 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. Imagin'd worth + Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse + That 'twixt his mental and his active parts + Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, + And batters down himself. What should I say? + He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it + Cry 'No recovery.' + AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him. + Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent. + 'Tis said he holds you well; and will be led + At your request a little from himself. + ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so! + We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes + When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord + That bastes his arrogance with his own seam + And never suffers matter of the world + Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve + And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp'd + Of that we hold an idol more than he? + No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord + Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd, + Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, + As amply titled as Achilles is, + By going to Achilles. + That were to enlard his fat-already pride, + And add more coals to Cancer when he burns + With entertaining great Hyperion. + This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid, + And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.' + NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him. + DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his silence drinks up this applause! + AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the + face. + AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go. + AJAX. An 'a be proud with me I'll pheeze his pride. + Let me go to him. + ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. + AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow! + NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself! + AJAX. Can he not be sociable? + ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness. + AJAX. I'll let his humours blood. + AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the + patient. + AJAX. An all men were a my mind- + ULYSSES. [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion. + AJAX. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat's words first. + Shall pride carry it? + NESTOR. [Aside] An 'twould, you'd carry half. + ULYSSES. [Aside] 'A would have ten shares. + AJAX. I will knead him, I'll make him supple. + NESTOR. [Aside] He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises; + pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. + ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. + NESTOR. Our noble general, do not do so. + DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. + ULYSSES. Why 'tis this naming of him does him harm. + Here is a man-but 'tis before his face; + I will be silent. + NESTOR. Wherefore should you so? + He is not emulous, as Achilles is. + ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. + AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus! + Would he were a Troyan! + NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax now- + ULYSSES. If he were proud. + DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise. + ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne. + DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected. + ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure + Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck; + Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature + Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition; + But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fight- + Let Mars divide eternity in twain + And give him half; and, for thy vigour, + Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield + To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, + Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines + Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor, + Instructed by the antiquary times- + He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; + But pardon, father Nestor, were your days + As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd, + You should not have the eminence of him, + But be as Ajax. + AJAX. Shall I call you father? + NESTOR. Ay, my good son. + DIOMEDES. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. + ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles + Keeps thicket. Please it our great general + To call together all his state of war; + Fresh kings are come to Troy. 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE 1. +Troy. PRIAM'S palace + +Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT + + PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young + Lord Paris? + SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. + PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean? + SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. + PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise + him. + SERVANT. The lord be praised! + PANDARUS. You know me, do you not? + SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially. + PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus. + SERVANT. I hope I shall know your honour better. + PANDARUS. I do desire it. + SERVANT. You are in the state of grace. + PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. + What music is this? + SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts. + PANDARUS. Know you the musicians? + SERVANT. Wholly, sir. + PANDARUS. Who play they to? + SERVANT. To the hearers, sir. + PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend? + SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. + PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend. + SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir? + PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am to courtly, + and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play? + SERVANT. That's to't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of + Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, + the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul- + PANDARUS. Who, my cousin, Cressida? + SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her + attributes? + PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady + Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I + will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business + seethes. + SERVANT. Sodden business! There's a stew'd phrase indeed! + + Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended + + PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! + Fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them- especially + to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your fair pillow. + HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. + PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, + here is good broken music. + PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it + whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your + performance. + HELEN. He is full of harmony. + PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no. + HELEN. O, sir- + PANDARUS. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. + PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits. + PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you + vouchsafe me a word? + HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We'll hear you sing, + certainly- + PANDARUS. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, + thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your + brother Troilus- + HELEN. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord- + PANDARUS. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most + affectionately to you- + HELEN. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our + melancholy upon your head! + PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith. + HELEN. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence. + PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, + in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. -And, my + lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper, + you will make his excuse. + HELEN. My Lord Pandarus! + PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen? + PARIS. What exploit's in hand? Where sups he to-night? + HELEN. Nay, but, my lord- + PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with + you. + HELEN. You must not know where he sups. + PARIS. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. + PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer + is sick. + PARIS. Well, I'll make's excuse. + PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? + No, your poor disposer's sick. + PARIS. I spy. + PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument. + Now, sweet queen. + HELEN. Why, this is kindly done. + PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet + queen. + HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris. + PANDARUS. He! No, she'll none of him; they two are twain. + HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. + PANDARUS. Come, come. I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a + song now. + HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a + fine forehead. + PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may. + HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, + Cupid, Cupid! + PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i' faith. + PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. + PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings] + + Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more! + For, oh, love's bow + Shoots buck and doe; + The shaft confounds + Not that it wounds, + But tickles still the sore. + These lovers cry, O ho, they die! + Yet that which seems the wound to kill + Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he! + So dying love lives still. + O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha! + O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho! + + HELEN. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. + PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, + and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot + deeds, and hot deeds is love. + PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, + and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of + vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field today? + PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry + of Troy. I would fain have arm'd 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 spend + 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. Sound a retreat + PARIS. They're come from the field. Let us to Priam's hall + To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you + To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles, + With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, + Shall more obey than to the edge of steel + Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more + Than all the island kings-disarm great Hector. + HELEN. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris; + Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty + Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, + Yea, overshines ourself. + PARIS. Sweet, above thought I love thee. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 2. +Troy. PANDARUS' orchard + +Enter PANDARUS and TROILUS' BOY, meeting + + PANDARUS. How now! Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's? + BOY. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither. + + Enter TROILUS + + PANDARUS. O, here he comes. How now, how now! + TROILUS. Sirrah, walk off. Exit Boy + PANDARUS. Have you seen my cousin? + TROILUS. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door + Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks + Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, + And give me swift transportance to these fields + Where I may wallow in the lily beds + Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandar, + From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, + And fly with me to Cressid! + PANDARUS. Walk here i' th' orchard, I'll bring her straight. + Exit + TROILUS. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. + Th' imaginary relish is so sweet + That it enchants my sense; what will it be + When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed + Love's thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me; + Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine, + Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, + For the capacity of my ruder powers. + I fear it much; and I do fear besides + That I shall lose distinction in my joys; + As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps + The enemy flying. + + Re-enter PANDARUS + + PANDARUS. She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be + witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as + if she were fray'd with a sprite. I'll fetch her. It is the + prettiest villain; she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en + sparrow. Exit + TROILUS. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom. + My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse, + And all my powers do their bestowing lose, + Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring + The eye of majesty. + + Re-enter PANDARUS With CRESSIDA + + PANDARUS. Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby.-Here she + is now; swear the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.- + What, are you gone again? You must be watch'd ere you be made + tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw + backward, we'll put you i' th' fills.-Why do you not speak to + her?-Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture. + Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight! An 'twere + dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress + How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is + sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The + falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' th' river. Go to, go + to. + TROILUS. You have bereft me of all words, lady. + PANDARUS. Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she'll bereave + you o' th' deeds too, if she call your activity in question. + What, billing again? Here's 'In witness whereof the parties + interchangeably.' Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire. + Exit + CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord? + TROILUS. O Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus! + CRESSIDA. Wish'd, my lord! The gods grant-O my lord! + TROILUS. What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? + What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our + love? + CRESSIDA. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. + TROILUS. Fears make devils of 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, cat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our + mistress to devise imposition enough than for us to undergo any + difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that + the will is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire + is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. + CRESSIDA. They say all lovers swear more performance than they are + able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing + more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the + tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions and the act + of hares, are they not monsters? + TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are + tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit + crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in + present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being + born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: + Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst shall + be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest not + truer than Troilus. + CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord? + + Re-enter PANDARUS + + PANDARUS. What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet? + CRESSIDA. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you. + PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll + give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it. + TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm + faith. + PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though + they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won; + they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are + thrown. + CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart. + Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day + For many weary months. + TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? + CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord, + With the first glance that ever-pardon me. + If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. + I love you now; but till now not so much + But I might master it. In faith, I lie; + My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown + Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools! + Why have I blabb'd? Who shall be true to us, + When we are so unsecret to ourselves? + But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; + And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, + Or that we women had men's privilege + Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue, + For in this rapture I shall surely speak + The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, + Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws + My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth. + TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. + PANDARUS. Pretty, i' faith. + CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; + 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. + I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done? + For this time will I take my leave, my lord. + TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid! + PANDARUS. Leave! 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 lamp and flames of love; + To keep her constancy in plight and youth, + Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind + That doth renew swifter than blood decays! + Or that persuasion could but thus convince me + That my integrity and truth to you + Might be affronted with the match and weight + Of such a winnowed purity in love. + How were I then uplifted! but, alas, + I am as true as truth's simplicity, + And simpler than the infancy of truth. + CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you. + TROILUS. O virtuous fight, + When right with right wars who shall be most right! + True swains in love shall in the world to come + Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes, + Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, + Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration- + As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, + As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, + As iron to adamant, as earth to th' centre- + Yet, after all comparisons of truth, + As truth's authentic author to be cited, + 'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse + And sanctify the numbers. + CRESSIDA. Prophet may you be! + If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, + When time is old and hath forgot itself, + When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, + And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, + And mighty states characterless are grated + To dusty nothing-yet let memory + From false to false, among false maids in love, + Upbraid my falsehood when th' have said 'As false + As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, + As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf, + Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'- + Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, + 'As false as Cressid.' + PANDARUS. Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I'll be the + witness. Here I hold your hand; here my cousin's. If ever you + prove false one to another, since I have taken such pains to + bring you together, let all pitiful goers- between be call'd to + the world's end after my name-call them all Pandars; let all + constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all + brokers between Pandars. Say 'Amen.' + TROILUS. Amen. + CRESSIDA. Amen. + PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber + and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your + pretty encounters, press it to death. Away! + And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, + Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear! Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE 3. +The Greek camp + +Flourish. Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS, +and CALCHAS + + CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done, + Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud + To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind + That, through the sight I bear in things to come, + I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, + Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself + From certain and possess'd conveniences + To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all + That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, + Made tame and most familiar to my nature; + And here, to do you service, am become + As new into the world, strange, unacquainted- + I do beseech you, as in way of taste, + To give me now a little benefit + Out of those many regist'red in promise, + Which you say live to come in my behalf. + AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Troyan? Make demand. + CALCHAS. You have a Troyan prisoner call'd Antenor, + Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. + Oft have you-often have you thanks therefore- + Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, + Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor, + I know, is such a wrest in their affairs + That their negotiations all must slack + Wanting his manage; and they will almost + Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, + In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes, + And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence + Shall quite strike off all service I have done + In most accepted pain. + AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him, + And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have + What he requests of us. Good Diomed, + Furnish you fairly for this interchange; + Withal, bring word if Hector will 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 + + ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent + + ULYSSES. Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent. + Please it our general pass strangely by him, + As if he were forgot; and, Princes all, + Lay negligent and loose regard upon him. + I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me + Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him? + If so, I have derision med'cinable + To use between your strangeness and his pride, + Which his own will shall have desire to drink. + It may do good. Pride hath no other glass + To show itself but pride; for supple knees + Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees. + AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on + A form of strangeness as we pass along. + So do each lord; and either greet him not, + Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more + Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. + ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me? + You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. + AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us? + NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general? + ACHILLES. No. + NESTOR. Nothing, my lord. + AGAMEMNON. The better. + Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR + ACHILLES. Good day, good day. + MENELAUS. How do you? How do you? Exit + ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me? + AJAX. How now, Patroclus? + ACHILLES. Good morrow, Ajax. + AJAX. Ha? + ACHILLES. Good morrow. + AJAX. Ay, and good next day too. Exit + ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles? + PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend, + To send their smiles before them to Achilles, + To come as humbly as they us'd to creep + To holy altars. + ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late? + 'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, + Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd is, + He shall as soon read in the eyes of others + As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, + Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; + And not a man for being simply man + Hath any honour, but honour for those honours + That are without him, as place, riches, and favour, + Prizes of accident, as oft as merit; + Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, + The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, + Doth one pluck down another, and together + Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me: + Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy + At ample point all that I did possess + Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out + Something not worth in me such rich beholding + As they have often given. Here is Ulysses. + I'll interrupt his reading. + How now, Ulysses! + ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son! + ACHILLES. What are you reading? + ULYSSES. A strange fellow here + Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted, + How much in having, or without or in- + Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, + Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; + As when his virtues shining upon others + Heat them, and they retort that heat again + To the first giver. + ACHILLES. This is not strange, Ulysses. + The beauty that is borne here in the face + The bearer knows not, but commends itself + To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself- + That most pure spirit of sense-behold itself, + Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed + Salutes each other with each other's form; + For speculation turns not to itself + Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there + Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. + ULYSSES. I do not strain at the position- + It is familiar-but at the author's drift; + Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves + That no man is the lord of anything, + Though in and of him there be much consisting, + Till he communicate his parts to others; + Nor doth he of himself know them for aught + Till he behold them formed in th' applause + Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate + The voice again; or, like a gate of steel + Fronting the sun, receives and renders back + His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; + And apprehended here immediately + Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! + A very horse that has he knows not what! + Nature, what things there are + Most abject in regard and dear in use! + What things again most dear in the esteem + And poor in worth! Now shall we see 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 shrinking. + ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me + As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me + Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot? + ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, + Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, + A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes. + Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd + As fast as they are made, forgot as soon + As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, + Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang + Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail + In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way; + For honour travels in a strait so narrow - + Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path, + For emulation hath a thousand sons + That one by one pursue; if you give way, + Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, + Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by + And leave you hindmost; + Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, + Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, + O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present, + Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; + For Time is like a fashionable host, + That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand; + And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, + Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles, + And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek + Remuneration for the thing it was; + For beauty, wit, + High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, + Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all + To envious and calumniating Time. + One touch of nature makes the whole world kin- + That all with one consent praise new-born 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 stirs not. The cry went once on thee, + And still it might, and yet it may again, + If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive + And case thy reputation in thy tent, + Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late + Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, + And drave great Mars to faction. + ACHILLES. Of this my privacy + I have strong reasons. + ULYSSES. But 'gainst your privacy + The reasons are more potent and heroical. + 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love + With one of Priam's daughters. + ACHILLES. Ha! known! + ULYSSES. Is that a wonder? + The providence that's in a watchful state + Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; + Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps; + Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, + Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. + There is a mystery-with whom relation + Durst never meddle-in the soul of state, + Which hath an operation more divine + Than breath or pen can give expressure to. + All the commerce that you have had with Troy + As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord; + And better would it fit Achilles much + To throw down Hector than Polyxena. + But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, + When fame shall in our island sound her trump, + And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing + 'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; + But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.' + Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak. + The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. Exit + PATROCLUS. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you. + A woman impudent and mannish grown + Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man + In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; + They think my little stomach to the war + And your great love to me restrains you thus. + Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid + Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, + And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, + Be shook to airy air. + ACHILLES. Shall Ajax fight with Hector? + PATROCLUS. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him. + ACHILLES. I see my reputation is at stake; + My fame is shrewdly gor'd. + PATROCLUS. O, then, beware: + Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves; + Omission to do what is necessary + Seals a commission to a blank of danger; + And danger, like an ague, subtly taints + Even then when they sit idly in the sun. + ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus. + I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him + T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat, + To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing, + An appetite that I am sick withal, + To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; + To talk with him, and to behold his visage, + Even to my full of view. + + Enter THERSITES + + A labour sav'd! + THERSITES. A wonder! + ACHILLES. What? + THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself. + ACHILLES. How so? + THERSITES. He must fight singly 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, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a + stand; ruminaies 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 for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat, + he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good + morrow, Ajax'; and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you + of this man that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land + fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may + wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin. + ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. + THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not + answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's + arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands + to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. + ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant + Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my + tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the + magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd + Captain General of the Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do + this. + PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax! + THERSITES. Hum! + PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy Achilles- + THERSITES. Ha! + PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his + tent- + THERSITES. Hum! + PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon. + THERSITES. Agamemnon! + PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord. + THERSITES. Ha! + PATROCLUS. What you say to't? + THERSITES. God buy you, with all my heart. + PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir. + THERSITES. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it + will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he + has me. + PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir. + THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart. + ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? + THERSITES. No, but he's out a tune thus. What music will be in him + when Hector has knock'd out his brains I know not; but, I am sure, + none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings + on. + ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. + THERSITES. Let me carry 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. +Troy. A street + +Enter, at one side, AENEAS, and servant with a torch; at another, +PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES the Grecian, and others, with torches + + PARIS. See, ho! Who is that there? + DEIPHOBUS. It is the Lord Aeneas. + AENEAS. Is the Prince there in person? + Had I so good occasion to lie long + As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business + Should rob my bed-mate of my company. + DIOMEDES. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas. + PARIS. A valiant Greek, Aeneas -take his hand: + Witness the process of your speech, wherein + You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, + Did haunt you in the field. + AENEAS. Health to you, valiant sir, + During all question of the gentle truce; + But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance + As heart can think or courage execute. + DIOMEDES. The one and other Diomed embraces. + Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health! + But when contention and occasion meet, + By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life + With all my force, pursuit, and policy. + AENEAS. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly + With his face backward. In humane gentleness, + Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life, + Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear + No man alive can love in such a sort + The thing he means to kill, more excellently. + DIOMEDES. We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live, + If to my sword his fate be not the glory, + A thousand complete courses of the sun! + But in mine emulous honour let him die + With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow! + AENEAS. We know each other well. + DIOMEDES.We do; and long to know each other worse. + PARIS. This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting + The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. + What business, lord, so early? + AENEAS. I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not. + PARIS. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek + To Calchas' house, and there to render him, + For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. + Let's have your company; or, if you please, + Haste there before us. I constantly believe- + Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge- + My brother Troilus lodges there 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 deserves fair Helen best, + Myself or Menelaus? + DIOMEDES. Both alike: + He merits well to have her that doth seek her, + Not making any scruple of her soilure, + With such a hell of pain and world of charge; + And you as well to keep her that defend her, + Not palating the taste of her dishonour, + With such a costly loss of wealth and friends. + He like a puling cuckold would drink up + The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; + You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins + Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors. + Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; + But he as he, the heavier for a whore. + PARIS. You are too bitter to your country-woman. + DIOMEDES. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris: + For every false drop in her bawdy veins + A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple + Of her contaminated carrion weight + A Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak, + She hath not given so many good words breath + As for her Greeks and Troyans suff'red death. + PARIS. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, + Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; + But we in silence hold this virtue well: + We'll not commend what we intend to sell. + Here lies our way. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 2. +Troy. The court of PANDARUS' house + +Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA + + TROILUS. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. + CRESSIDA. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down; + He shall unbolt the gates. + TROILUS. Trouble him not; + To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes, + And give as soft attachment to thy senses + As infants' empty of all thought! + CRESSIDA. Good morrow, then. + TROILUS. I prithee now, to bed. + CRESSIDA. Are you aweary of me? + TROILUS. O Cressida! but that the busy day, + Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, + And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, + I would not from thee. + CRESSIDA. Night hath been too brief. + TROILUS. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays + As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love + With wings more momentary-swift than thought. + You will catch cold, and curse me. + CRESSIDA. Prithee tarry. + You men will never tarry. + O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, + And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up. + PANDARUS. [Within] What's all the doors open here? + TROILUS. It is your uncle. + + Enter PANDARUS + + CRESSIDA. A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking. + I shall have such a life! + PANDARUS. How now, how now! How go maidenheads? + Here, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid? + CRESSIDA. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. + You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. + PANDARUS. To do what? to do what? Let her say what. + What have I brought you to do? + CRESSIDA. Come, come, beshrew your heart! You'll ne'er be good, + Nor suffer others. + PANDARUS. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a 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' th' head! + [One knocks] + Who's that at door? Good uncle, go and see. + My lord, come you again into my chamber. + You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. + TROILUS. Ha! ha! + CRESSIDA. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing. + [Knock] + How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: + I would not for half Troy have you seen here. + Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA + PANDARUS. Who's there? What's the matter? Will you beat down the + door? How now? What's the matter? + + Enter AENEAS + AENEAS. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. + PANDARUS. Who's there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth, + I knew you not. What news with you so early? + AENEAS. Is not Prince Troilus here? + PANDARUS. Here! What should he do here? + AENEAS. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. + It doth import him much to speak with me. + PANDARUS. Is he here, say you? It's more than I know, I'll be + sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here? + AENEAS. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are + ware; you'll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you + know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go. + + Re-enter TROILUS + + TROILUS. How now! What's the matter? + AENEAS. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, + My matter is so rash. There is at hand + Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, + The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor + Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith, + Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, + We must give up to Diomedes' hand + The Lady Cressida. + TROILUS. Is it so concluded? + AENEAS. By Priam, and the general state of Troy. + They are at hand and ready to effect it. + TROILUS. How my achievements mock me! + I will go meet them; and, my lord Aeneas, + We met by chance; you did not find me here. + AENEAS. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar + Have not more gift in taciturnity. + Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS + PANDARUS. Is't possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take + Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I + would they had broke's neck. + + Re-enter CRESSIDA + + CRESSIDA. How now! What's the matter? Who was here? + PANDARUS. Ah, ah! + CRESSIDA. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's my lord? Gone? Tell + me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? + PANDARUS. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above! + CRESSIDA. O the gods! What's the matter? + PANDARUS. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er been born! + I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague + upon Antenor! + CRESSIDA. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, + what's the matter? + PANDARUS. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art + chang'd for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from + Troilus. 'Twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear + it. + CRESSIDA. O you immortal gods! I will not go. + PANDARUS. Thou must. + CRESSIDA. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; + I know no touch of consanguinity, + No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me + As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine, + Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, + If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, + Do to this body what extremes you can, + But the strong base and building of my love + Is as the very centre of the earth, + Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep- + PANDARUS. Do, do. + CRESSIDA. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, + Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, + With sounding 'Troilus.' I will not go from Troy. + Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 3. +Troy. A street before PANDARUS' house + +Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES + + PARIS. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd + For her delivery to this valiant Greek + Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, + Tell you the lady what she is to do + And haste her to the purpose. + TROILUS. Walk into her house. + I'll bring her to the Grecian presently; + And to his hand when I deliver her, + Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus + A priest, there off'ring to it his own heart. Exit + PARIS. I know what 'tis to love, + And would, as I shall pity, I could help! + Please you walk in, my lords. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 4. +Troy. PANDARUS' house + +Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA + + PANDARUS. Be moderate, be moderate. + CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation? + The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, + And violenteth in a sense as strong + As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? + If I could temporize with my affections + Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, + The like allayment could I give my grief. + My love admits no qualifying dross; + No more my grief, in such a precious loss. + + Enter TROILUS + + PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks! + CRESSIDA. 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; 'tis too plain a case. + CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy? + TROILUS. A hateful truth. + CRESSIDA. What, and from Troilus too? + TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus. + CRESSIDA. Is't possible? + TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance + Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by + All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips + Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents + Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows + Even in the birth of our own labouring breath. + We two, that with so many thousand sighs + Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves + With the rude brevity and discharge of one. + Injurious time now with a robber's haste + Crams his rich 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 loose adieu, + And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, + Distasted with the salt of broken tears. + AENEAS. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready? + TROILUS. Hark! you are call'd. Some say the Genius 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 th' root? Exit + CRESSIDA. I must then to the Grecians? + TROILUS. No remedy. + CRESSIDA. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! + When shall we see again? + TROILUS. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart- + CRESSIDA. I true! how now! What wicked deem is this? + TROILUS. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, + For it is parting from us. + I speak not 'Be thou true' as fearing thee, + For I will throw my glove to Death himself + That there's no maculation in thy heart; + But 'Be thou true' say I to fashion in + My sequent protestation: be thou true, + And I will see thee. + CRESSIDA. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers + As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true. + TROILUS. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. + CRESSIDA. And you this glove. When shall I see you? + TROILUS. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels + To give thee nightly visitation. + But yet be true. + CRESSIDA. O heavens! 'Be true' again! + TROILUS. Hear why I speak it, love. + The Grecian youths are full of quality; + They're loving, well compos'd with gifts of nature, + And flowing o'er with arts and exercise. + How novelties 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. + + Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS, and DIOMEDES + + Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit + Is 'plain and true'; there's all the reach of it. + Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady + Which for Antenor we deliver you; + At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand, + And by the way possess thee what she is. + Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, + If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, + Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe + As Priam is in Ilion. + DIOMEDES. Fair Lady Cressid, + So please you, save the thanks this prince expects. + The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, + Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed + You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. + TROILUS. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously + To shame the zeal of my petition to the + In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, + She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises + As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. + I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; + For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, + Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, + I'll cut thy throat. + DIOMEDES. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus. + Let me be privileg'd by my place and message + To be a speaker free: when I am hence + I'll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, + I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth + She shall be priz'd. But that you say 'Be't so,' + I speak it in my spirit and honour, 'No.' + TROILUS. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed, + This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. + Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, + To our own selves bend we our needful talk. + Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES + [Sound trumpet] + PARIS. Hark! Hector's trumpet. + AENEAS. How have we spent this morning! + The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, + That swore to ride before him to the field. + PARIS. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come to field with him. + DEIPHOBUS. Let us make ready straight. + AENEAS. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity + Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. + The glory of our Troy doth this day lie + On his fair worth and single chivalry. Exeunt + + + + +ACT IV. SCENE 5. +The Grecian camp. Lists set out + +Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, +NESTOR, and others + + AGAMEMNON. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, + Anticipating time with starting courage. + Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, + Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air + May pierce the head of the great combatant, + And hale him hither. + AJAX. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. + Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; + Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek + Out-swell the colic of puff Aquilon'd. + Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: + Thou blowest for Hector. [Trumpet sounds] + ULYSSES. No trumpet answers. + ACHILLES. 'Tis but early days. + + Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA + + 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. + AGAMEMNON. Is this the lady Cressid? + DIOMEDES. Even she. + AGAMEMNON. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. + NESTOR. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. + ULYSSES. Yet is the kindness but particular; + 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. + NESTOR. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. + So much for Nestor. + ACHILLES. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady. + Achilles bids you welcome. + MENELAUS. I had good argument for kissing once. + PATROCLUS. But that's no argument for kissing now; + For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment, + And parted thus you and your argument. + ULYSSES. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns! + For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. + PATROCLUS. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine- + [Kisses her again] + Patroclus kisses you. + MENELAUS. O, this is trim! + PATROCLUS. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. + MENELAUS. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave. + CRESSIDA. In kissing, do you render or receive? + PATROCLUS. Both take and give. + CRESSIDA. I'll make my match to live, + The kiss you take is better than you give; + Therefore no kiss. + MENELAUS. I'll give you boot; I'll give you three for one. + CRESSIDA. You are an odd man; give even or give none. + MENELAUS. An odd man, lady? Every man is odd. + CRESSIDA. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true + That you are odd, and he is even with you. + MENELAUS. You fillip me o' th' head. + CRESSIDA. No, I'll be sworn. + ULYSSES. It were no match, your nail against his horn. + May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? + CRESSIDA. You may. + ULYSSES. I do desire it. + CRESSIDA. Why, beg then. + ULYSSES. Why then, for Venus' sake give me a kiss + When Helen is a maid again, and his. + CRESSIDA. I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due. + ULYSSES. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. + DIOMEDES. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to your father. + Exit with CRESSIDA + NESTOR. A woman of quick sense. + ULYSSES. Fie, fie upon her! + There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, + Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out + At every joint and motive of her body. + O these encounters so glib of tongue + That give a coasting 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 Troyans' trumpet. + + Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, PARIS, HELENUS, + and other Trojans, with attendants + + AGAMEMNON. Yonder comes the troop. + AENEAS. Hail, all the 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 they 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 oppos'd. + AENEAS. If not Achilles, sir, + What is your name? + ACHILLES. If not Achilles, nothing. + AENEAS. Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this: + In the extremity of great and little + Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; + The one almost as infinite as all, + The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, + And that which looks like pride is courtesy. + This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood; + In love whereof half Hector stays at home; + Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek + This blended knight, half Troyan 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 ]Eneas + Consent upon the order of their fight, + So be it; either to the uttermost, + Or else a breath. The combatants being kin + Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. + [AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists] + ULYSSES. They are oppos'd already. + AGAMEMNON. What Troyan is that same that looks so heavy? + ULYSSES. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; + Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; + Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue; + Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd; + His heart and hand both open and both free; + For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows, + Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, + Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath; + Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; + For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes + To tender objects, but he in heat of action + Is more vindicative than jealous love. + They call him Troilus, and on him erect + A second hope as fairly built as Hector. + Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth + Even to his inches, and, with private soul, + Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. + [Alarum. HECTOR and AJAX fight] + AGAMEMNON. They are in action. + NESTOR. Now, Ajax, hold thine own! + TROILUS. Hector, thou sleep'st; + Awake thee. + AGAMEMNON. His blows are well dispos'd. There, Ajax! + [Trumpets cease] + DIOMEDES. You must no more. + AENEAS. Princes, enough, so please you. + AJAX. I am not warm yet; let us fight again. + DIOMEDES. As Hector pleases. + HECTOR. Why, then will I no more. + Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, + A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; + The obligation of our blood forbids + A gory emulation 'twixt us twain: + Were thy commixtion Greek and Troyan so + That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all, + And this is Troyan; the sinews of this leg + All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood + Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister + Bounds in my father's'; by Jove multipotent, + Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member + Wherein my sword had not impressure made + Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay + That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, + My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword + Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax. + By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; + Hector would have them fall upon him thus. + Cousin, all honour to thee! + AJAX. I thank thee, Hector. + Thou art too gentle and too free a man. + I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence + A great addition earned in thy death. + HECTOR. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, + On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes + Cries 'This is he' could promise to himself + A thought of added honour torn from Hector. + AENEAS. There is expectance here from both the sides + What further you will do. + HECTOR. We'll answer it: + The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell. + AJAX. If I might in entreaties find success, + As seld I have the chance, I would desire + My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. + DIOMEDES. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish; and great Achilles + Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. + HECTOR. Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me, + And signify this loving interview + To the expecters of our Troyan part; + Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin; + I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. + + AGAMEMNON and the rest of the Greeks come forward + + AJAX. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. + HECTOR. The worthiest of them tell me name by name; + But for Achilles, my own searching eyes + Shall find him by his large and portly size. + AGAMEMNON.Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one + That would be rid of such an enemy. + But that's no welcome. Understand more clear, + What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks + And formless ruin of oblivion; + But in this extant moment, faith and troth, + Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, + Bids thee with most divine integrity, + From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. + HECTOR. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. + AGAMEMNON. [To Troilus] My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. + MENELAUS. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting. + You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. + HECTOR. Who must we answer? + AENEAS. The noble Menelaus. + HECTOR. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks! + Mock not that I affect the untraded oath; + Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove. + She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. + MENELAUS. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme. + HECTOR. O, pardon; I offend. + NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Troyan, seen thee oft, + Labouring for destiny, make cruel way + Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, + As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, + Despising many forfeits and subduements, + When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air, + Not letting it decline on the declined; + That I have said to some my standers-by + 'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!' + And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, + When that a ring of Greeks have 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 like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee; + And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. + AENEAS. 'Tis the old Nestor. + HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, + That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time. + Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. + NESTOR. I would my arms could match thee in contention + As they contend with thee in courtesy. + HECTOR. I would they could. + NESTOR. Ha! + By this white beard, I'd fight with thee 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 Troyan 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 perus'd thee, Hector, + And quoted joint by joint. + HECTOR. Is this Achilles? + ACHILLES. I am Achilles. + HECTOR. Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee. + ACHILLES. Behold thy fill. + HECTOR. Nay, I have done already. + ACHILLES. Thou art too brief. I will the second time, + As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. + HECTOR. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er; + But there's more in me than thou understand'st. + Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? + ACHILLES. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body + Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there? + That I may give the local wound a name, + And make distinct the very breach whereout + Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens. + HECTOR. It would discredit the blest gods, proud man, + To answer such a question. Stand again. + Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly + As to prenominate in nice conjecture + Where thou wilt hit me dead? + ACHILLES. I tell thee yea. + HECTOR. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, + I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; + For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; + But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, + I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er. + You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. + His insolence draws folly from my lips; + But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, + Or may I never- + AJAX. Do not chafe thee, cousin; + And you, Achilles, let these threats alone + Till accident or purpose bring you to't. + You may have every day enough of Hector, + If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, + Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. + HECTOR. I pray you let us see you in the field; + We have had pelting wars since you refus'd + The Grecians' cause. + ACHILLES. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? + 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 tambourines, let the trumpets blow, + That this great soldier may his welcome know. + Exeunt all but TROILUS and ULYSSES + TROILUS. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, + In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? + ULYSSES. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus. + There Diomed doth feast with him 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 I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, + After we part from Agamemnon's tent, + To bring me thither? + ULYSSES. You shall command me, sir. + As gentle tell me of what honour was + This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there + That wails her absence? + TROILUS. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars + A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? + She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth; + But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE 1. +The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES + +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 needs these tricks? + THERSITES. Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou + art said to be Achilles' male varlet. + PATROCLUS. Male varlet, you rogue! What's that? + THERSITES. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of + the south, the guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel + in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten + livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, + limekilns i' th' palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- + simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous + discoveries! + PATROCLUS. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou + to curse thus? + THERSITES. Do I curse thee? + PATROCLUS. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson + indistinguishable cur, no. + THERSITES. No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial + skein of sleid silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, + thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is + pest'red with such water-flies-diminutives of nature! + PATROCLUS. Out, gall! + THERSITES. Finch egg! + ACHILLES. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite + From my great purpose in 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! Exit with PATROCLUS + THERSITES. With too much blood and too little brain these two may + run mad; but, if with too much brain and to little blood they do, + I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow + enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain + as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his + brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of + cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, 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 put-tock, or a herring without a roe, I would + not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. + Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care + not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! + sprites and fires! + + Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, + NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights + + AGAMEMNON. We go wrong, we go wrong. + AJAX. No, yonder 'tis; + There, where we see the lights. + HECTOR. I trouble you. + AJAX. No, not a whit. + + Re-enter ACHILLES + + ULYSSES. Here comes himself to guide you. + ACHILLES. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. + AGAMEMNON. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night; + Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. + HECTOR. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' general. + MENELAUS. Good night, my lord. + HECTOR. Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus. + THERSITES. Sweet draught! 'Sweet' quoth 'a? + Sweet sink, sweet sewer! + ACHILLES. Good night and welcome, both at once, to those + That go or tarry. + AGAMEMNON. Good night. + Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS + ACHILLES. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, + Keep Hector company an hour or two. + DIOMEDES. I cannot, lord; I have important business, + The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector. + HECTOR. Give me your hand. + ULYSSES. [Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he goes to + Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company. + TROILUS. Sweet sir, you honour me. + HECTOR. And so, good night. + Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following + ACHILLES. Come, come, enter my tent. + Exeunt all but THERSITES + THERSITES. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust + knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a + serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like + Brabbler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretell + it: it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun + borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather + leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a + Troyan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll after. + Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets! Exit + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 2. +The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS' tent + +Enter DIOMEDES + + DIOMEDES. What, are you up here, ho? Speak. + CALCHAS. [Within] Who calls? + DIOMEDES. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter? + CALCHAS. [Within] She comes to you. + + Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance; after them + THERSITES + + ULYSSES. Stand where the torch may not discover us. + + Enter CRESSIDA + + TROILUS. Cressid comes forth to him. + DIOMEDES. How now, my charge! + CRESSIDA. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you. +[Whispers] + TROILUS. Yea, so familiar! + ULYSSES. She will sing any man at first sight. + THERSITES. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; + she's noted. + DIOMEDES. Will you remember? + CRESSIDA. Remember? Yes. + DIOMEDES. Nay, but do, then; + And let your mind be coupled with your words. + TROILUS. What shall she remember? + ULYSSES. List! + CRESSIDA. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. + THERSITES. Roguery! + DIOMEDES. Nay, then- + CRESSIDA. I'll tell you what- + DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn- + CRESSIDA. In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do? + THERSITES. A juggling trick, to be secretly open. + DIOMEDES. What did you swear you would bestow on me? + CRESSIDA. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath; + Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek. + DIOMEDES. Good night. + TROILUS. Hold, patience! + ULYSSES. How now, Troyan! + CRESSIDA. Diomed! + DIOMEDES. No, no, good night; I'll be your fool no more. + TROILUS. Thy better must. + CRESSIDA. Hark! a word in your ear. + TROILUS. O plague and madness! + ULYSSES. You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray, + Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself + To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous; + The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. + TROILUS. Behold, I pray you. + ULYSSES. Nay, good my lord, go off; + You flow to great distraction; come, my lord. + TROILUS. I prithee stay. + ULYSSES. You have not patience; come. + TROILUS. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments, + I will not speak a word. + DIOMEDES. And so, good night. + CRESSIDA. Nay, but you part in anger. + TROILUS. Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth! + ULYSSES. How now, my lord? + TROILUS. By Jove, I will be patient. + CRESSIDA. Guardian! Why, Greek! + DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! adieu! you palter. + CRESSIDA. In faith, I do not. Come hither once again. + ULYSSES. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? + You will break out. + TROILUS. She strokes his cheek. + ULYSSES. Come, come. + TROILUS. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: + There is between my will and all offences + A guard of patience. Stay a little while. + THERSITES. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potato + finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry! + DIOMEDES. But will you, then? + CRESSIDA. In faith, I will, lo; never trust me else. + DIOMEDES. Give me some token for the surety of it. + CRESSIDA. I'll fetch you one. Exit + ULYSSES. You have sworn patience. + TROILUS. Fear me not, my lord; + I will not be myself, nor have cognition + Of what I feel. I am all patience. + + Re-enter CRESSIDA + + THERSITES. Now the pledge; now, now, now! + CRESSIDA. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. + TROILUS. O beauty! where is thy faith? + ULYSSES. My lord! + TROILUS. I will be patient; outwardly I will. + CRESSIDA. You look upon that sleeve; behold it well. + He lov'd me-O false wench!-Give't me again. + DIOMEDES. Whose was't? + CRESSIDA. It is no matter, now I ha'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 on his bed + Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove, + And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, + As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me; + He that takes that doth take my heart withal. + DIOMEDES. I had your heart before; this follows it. + TROILUS. I did swear patience. + CRESSIDA. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not; + I'll give you something else. + DIOMEDES. I will have this. Whose was it? + CRESSIDA. It is no matter. + DIOMEDES. Come, tell me whose it was. + CRESSIDA. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you will. + But, now you have it, take it. + DIOMEDES. Whose was it? + CRESSIDA. By all Diana's waiting women yond, + And by herself, I will not tell you whose. + DIOMEDES. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, + And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. + TROILUS. Wert thou the devil and wor'st it on thy horn, + It should be challeng'd. + CRESSIDA. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not; + I will not keep my word. + DIOMEDES. Why, then farewell; + Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. + CRESSIDA. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word + But it straight starts you. + DIOMEDES. I do not like this fooling. + THERSITES. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you + Pleases me best. + DIOMEDES. What, shall I come? The hour- + CRESSIDA. Ay, come-O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu'd. + DIOMEDES. Farewell till then. + CRESSIDA. Good night. I prithee come. Exit DIOMEDES + Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee; + But with my heart the other eye doth see. + Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, + The error of our eye directs our mind. + What error leads must err; O, then conclude, + Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. Exit + THERSITES. A proof of strength she could not publish more, + Unless she said 'My mind is now turn'd whore.' + ULYSSES. All's done, my lord. + TROILUS. It is. + ULYSSES. Why stay we, then? + TROILUS. To make a recordation to my soul + Of every syllable that here was spoke. + But if I tell how these two did coact, + Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? + Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, + An esperance so obstinately strong, + That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears; + As if those organs had deceptious functions + Created only to calumniate. + Was Cressid here? + ULYSSES. I cannot conjure, Troyan. + TROILUS. She was not, sure. + ULYSSES. Most sure she was. + TROILUS. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. + ULYSSES. Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now. + TROILUS. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood. + Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage + To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, + For depravation, to square the general sex + By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid. + ULYSSES. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers? + TROILUS. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. + THERSITES. Will 'a swagger himself out on's own eyes? + TROILUS. This she? No; this is Diomed's Cressida. + If beauty have a soul, this is not she; + If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, + If sanctimony be the god's delight, + If there be rule in unity itself, + This was not she. O madness of discourse, + That cause sets up with and against itself! + Bifold 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, dissolv'd, and loos'd; + And with another knot, five-finger-tied, + The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, + The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics + Of her o'er-eaten faith, are 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 + Inflam'd with Venus. Never did young man fancy + With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. + Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love, + So much by weight hate I her Diomed. + That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm; + Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill + My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout + Which shipmen do the hurricano call, + Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, + Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear + In his descent than shall my prompted sword + Falling on Diomed. + THERSITES. He'll tickle it for his concupy. + TROILUS. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! + Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, + And they'll seem glorious. + ULYSSES. O, contain yourself; + Your passion draws ears hither. + + Enter AENEAS + + AENEAS. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord. + Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; + Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. + TROILUS. Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu. + Fairwell, revolted fair!-and, Diomed, + Stand fast and wear a castle on thy head. + ULYSSES. I'll bring you to the gates. + TROILUS. Accept distracted thanks. + + Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS. and ULYSSES + + THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like + a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me + anything for the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not + do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, + lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A + burning devil take them! Exit + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 3. +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 dreamt + Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night + Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. + CASSANDRA. O, 'tis true! + HECTOR. Ho! bid my trumpet sound. + CASSANDRA. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother! + HECTOR. Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear. + CASSANDRA. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; + They are polluted off'rings, more abhorr'd + Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. + ANDROMACHE. O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy + To hurt by being just. It is as lawful, + For we would give much, to use violent thefts + And rob in the behalf of charity. + CASSANDRA. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; + But vows to every purpose must not hold. + Unarm, sweet Hector. + HECTOR. Hold you still, I say. + Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate. + Life every man holds dear; but the dear man + Holds honour far more precious dear than life. + + Enter TROILUS + + How now, young man! Mean'st thou to fight 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' th' vein of chivalry. + Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, + And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. + Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, + I'll stand 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 th' love of all the gods, + Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother; + And when we have our armours buckled on, + The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, + Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth! + HECTOR. Fie, savage, fie! + TROILUS. Hector, then 'tis wars. + HECTOR. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. + TROILUS. Who should withhold me? + Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars + Beck'ning with fiery truncheon my retire; + Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, + Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; + Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, + Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, + But by my ruin. + + Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM + + CASSANDRA. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; + He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, + Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, + Fall all together. + PRIAM. Come, Hector, come, go back. + Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions; + Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself + Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt + To tell thee that this day is ominous. + Therefore, come back. + HECTOR. Aeneas is a-field; + And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, + Even in the faith of valour, to appear + This morning to them. + PRIAM. Ay, but thou shalt not go. + HECTOR. I must not break my faith. + You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, + Let me not shame respect; but give me leave + To take that course by your consent and voice + Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. + CASSANDRA. O Priam, yield not to him! + ANDROMACHE. Do not, dear father. + HECTOR. Andromache, I am offended with you. + Upon the love you bear me, get you in. + Exit ANDROMACHE + TROILUS. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl + Makes all these bodements. + CASSANDRA. O, farewell, dear Hector! + Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale. + Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents. + Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out; + How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth; + Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, + Like witless antics, one another meet, + And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector! + TROILUS. Away, away! + CASSANDRA. Farewell!-yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave. + Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. Exit + HECTOR. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim. + Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight, + Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night. + PRIAM. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee! + Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums + TROILUS. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe, + I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve. + + Enter PANDARUS + + PANDARUS. Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear? + TROILUS. What now? + PANDARUS. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl. + TROILUS. Let me read. + PANDARUS. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so troubles + me, and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, + what another, that I shall leave you one o' th's days; and I have + a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that + unless a man were curs'd I cannot tell what to think on't. What + says she there? + TROILUS. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; + Th' effect doth operate another way. + [Tearing the letter] + Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. + My love with words and errors still she feeds, + But edifies another with her deeds. Exeunt severally + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 4. +The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp + +Enter THERSITES. Excursions + + THERSITES. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look + on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same + scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his + helm. I would fain see them meet, that that same young Troyan ass + that loves the whore there might send that Greekish whoremasterly + villain with the sleeve back to the dissembling luxurious drab of + a sleeve-less errand. A th' 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 prov'd worth a + blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, + against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur, + Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day; + whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy + grows into an ill opinion. + + Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following + + Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other. + TROILUS. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx + I would swim after. + DIOMEDES. Thou dost miscall retire. + I do not fly; but advantageous care + Withdrew me from the odds of multitude. + Have at thee. + THERSITES. Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore, + Troyan-now the sleeve, now the sleeve! + Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES fighting + + Enter HECTOR + + HECTOR. What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match? + Art thou of blood and honour? + THERSITES. No, no-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very + filthy rogue. + HECTOR. I do believe thee. Live. Exit + THERSITES. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague + break thy neck for frighting me! What's become of the wenching + rogues? I think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at + that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek + them. Exit + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 5. +Another part of the plain + +Enter DIOMEDES and A SERVANT + + DIOMEDES. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; + Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid. + Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; + Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Troyan, + And am her knight by proof. + SERVANT. I go, my lord. Exit + + Enter AGAMEMNON + + AGAMEMNON. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus + Hath beat down enon; bastard Margarelon + Hath Doreus prisoner, + And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, + Upon the pashed corses of the kings + Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain; + Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt; + Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes + Sore hurt and bruis'd. The dreadful Sagittary + Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed, + To reinforcement, or we perish all. + + Enter NESTOR + + NESTOR. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles, + And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. + There is a thousand Hectors in the field; + Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, + And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot, + And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls + Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, + And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, + Fall down before him like the mower's swath. + Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes; + Dexterity so obeying appetite + That what he will he does, and does so much + That proof is call'd impossibility. + + Enter ULYSSES + + ULYSSES. O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great + Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. + Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, + Together with his mangled Myrmidons, + That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to + him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend + And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it, + Roaring for Troilus; who hath done 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. Exit + Enter ACHILLES + + ACHILLES. Where is this Hector? + Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; + Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. + Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 6. +Another part of the plain + +Enter AJAX + + AJAX. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head. + + Enter DIOMEDES + + DIOMEDES. Troilus, I say! Where's Troilus? + AJAX. What wouldst thou? + DIOMEDES. I would correct him. + AJAX. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office + Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus! + + Enter TROILUS + + TROILUS. O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor, + And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse. + DIOMEDES. Ha! art thou there? + AJAX. I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed. + DIOMEDES. He is my prize. I will not look upon. + TROILUS. Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you + 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 Troyan. + 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. + + Re-enter TROILUS + + How now, my brother! + TROILUS. Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be? + No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, + He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too, + Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say: + I reck not though thou end my life to-day. Exit + + Enter one in armour + + HECTOR. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark. + No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well; + I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all + But I'll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide? + Why then, fly on; I'll hunt thee for thy hide. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 7. +Another part of the plain + +Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons + + ACHILLES. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; + Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel; + Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; + And when I have the bloody Hector found, + Empale him with your weapons round about; + In fellest manner execute your arms. + Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye. + It is decreed Hector the great must die. Exeunt + + Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then THERSITES + + THERSITES. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! + now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-horn'd Spartan! 'loo, + Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. Ware horns, ho! + Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS + + Enter MARGARELON + + MARGARELON. Turn, slave, and fight. + THERSITES. What art thou? + MARGARELON. A bastard son of Priam's. + THERSITES. I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard + begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in + everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and + wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most + ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts + judgment. Farewell, bastard. + Exit + MARGARELON. The devil take thee, coward! Exit + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 8. +Another part of the plain + +Enter HECTOR + + HECTOR. Most putrified core so fair without, + Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. + Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: + Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death! + [Disarms] + + Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons + + ACHILLES. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; + How ugly night comes breathing at his heels; + Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, + To close the day up, Hector's life is done. + HECTOR. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek. + ACHILLES. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. + [HECTOR falls] + So, Ilion, fall thou next! Come, Troy, sink down; + Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. + On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain + 'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' + [A retreat sounded] + Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part. + MYRMIDON. The Troyan trumpets sound the like, my lord. + ACHILLES. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth + And, stickler-like, the armies separates. + My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, + Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed. + [Sheathes his sword] + Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; + Along the field I will the Troyan trail. Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 9. +Another part of the plain + +Sound retreat. Shout. Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, +and the rest, marching + + AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this? + NESTOR. Peace, drums! + SOLDIERS. [Within] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles! + DIOMEDES. The bruit is Hector's slain, and by Achilles. + AJAX. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; + Great Hector was as good a man as he. + AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent + To pray Achilles see us at our tent. + If in his death the gods have us befriended; + Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. + Exeunt + + + + +ACT V. SCENE 10. +Another part of the plain + +Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS + + AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. + Never go home; here starve we out the night. + + Enter TROILUS + + TROILUS. Hector is slain. + ALL. Hector! The gods forbid! + TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail, + In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. + Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed. + Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. + I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy, + And linger not our sure destructions on. + AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. + TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so. + I do not speak of flight, of fear of death, + But dare all imminence that gods and men + Address their dangers in. Hector is gone. + Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? + Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd + Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.' + There is a word will Priam turn to stone; + Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, + Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, + Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; + Hector is dead; there is no more to say. + Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, + Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, + Let Titan rise as early as he dare, + I'll through and through you. And, thou great-siz'd coward, + No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; + I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, + That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. + Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go; + Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. + + Enter PANDARUS + + PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you! + TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame + Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name! + Exeunt all but PANDARUS + PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! thus + is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are + you set a work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be + so lov'd, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What + instance for it? Let me see- + + Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing + Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; + And being once subdu'd in armed trail, + Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. + + Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted + cloths. As many as be here of 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 bequeath you my diseases. Exit + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1602 + + +TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + ORSINO, Duke of Illyria + SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola + ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian + A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola + VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke + CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke + SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia + SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK + MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia + FABIAN, servant to Olivia + FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia + + OLIVIA, a rich countess + VIOLA, sister of Sebastian + MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman + + Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending + + DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, + Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, + The appetite may sicken and so die. + That strain again! It had a dying fall; + O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound + That breathes upon a bank of violets, + Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more; + 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. + O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! + That, notwithstanding thy capacity + Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, + Of what validity and pitch 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. What, Curio? + CURIO. The hart. + DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. + O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, + Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence! + That instant was I turn'd into a hart, + And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, + E'er since pursue me. + + 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. 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 flow'rs: + Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The sea-coast + +Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS + + VIOLA. What country, friends, is this? + CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady. + VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? + My brother he is in Elysium. + Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors? + CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were 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 practice- + To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea; + Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, + I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves + So long as I could see. + VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold. + Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, + Whereto thy speech serves for authority, + The like of him. Know'st thou this country? + CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born + Not three hours' travel from this very place. + VIOLA. Who governs here? + CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name. + VIOLA. What is his name? + CAPTAIN. Orsino. + VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him. + He was a bachelor then. + CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late; + For but a month ago I went from hence, + And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know, + What great ones do the less will prattle of- + That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. + VIOLA. What's she? + CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count + That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her + In the protection of his son, her brother, + Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, + They say, she hath abjur'd the company + And sight of men. + VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady, + And might not be delivered to the world, + Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, + What my estate is! + CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass, + Because she will admit no kind of suit- + No, not the Duke's. + VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; + And though that nature with a beauteous wall + Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee + I will believe thou hast a mind that suits + With this thy fair and outward character. + I 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 shalt present me as an eunuch to him; + It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing + And speak to him in many sorts of music, + That will allow me very worth his service. + What else may hap to time I will commit; + Only shape thou silence to my wit. + CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be; + When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. + VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +OLIVIA'S house + +Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA + + SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her + brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life. + MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; + your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. + SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted. + MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits + of order. + SIR TOBY. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These + clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; + 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. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? + MARIA. Ay, he. + SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. + MARIA. What's that to th' purpose? + SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. + MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a + very fool and a prodigal. + SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys, + and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, + and hath all the good gifts of nature. + MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a + fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a + coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought + among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. + SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that + say so of him. Who are they? + MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. + SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as + long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria. + He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece + till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench! + Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. + + Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK + + AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch! + SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew! + AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew. + MARIA. And you too, sir. + SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. + AGUECHEEK. What's that? + SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid. + AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. + MARIA. My name is Mary, sir. + AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost- + SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her, + woo her, assail her. + AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. + Is that the meaning of 'accost'? + MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen. + SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never + draw sword again! + AGUECHEEK. 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 th' hand. + AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. + MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to + th' buttry-bar and let it drink. + AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor? + MARIA. It's dry, sir. + AGUECHEEK. 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. + AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them? + MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let + go your hand, I am barren. Exit MARIA + SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see + thee so put down? + AGUECHEEK. 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 great eater of beef, and I + believe that does harm to my wit. + SIR TOBY. No question. + AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home + to-morrow, Sir Toby. + SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight? + AGUECHEEK. 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. Oh, had I but followed the arts! + SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. + AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair? + SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. + AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? + SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to + see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off. + AGUECHEEK. 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. She'll none o' th' 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. + AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest + mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes + altogether. + SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? + AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the + degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. + SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? + AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper. + SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't. + AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as + any man in Illyria. + SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these + gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like + Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a + galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a + jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What + dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by + the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the + star of a galliard. + AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in + flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels? + SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? + AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart. + SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha, + higher! Ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire + + VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, + you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three + days, and already you are no stranger. + VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call + in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, + in his favours? + VALENTINE. No, believe me. + + Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS + + VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. + DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho? + VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. + DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, + Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd + To thee the book even of my secret soul. + Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; + Be not denied access, stand at her doors, + And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow + Till thou have audience. + VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, + If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow + As it is spoke, she never will admit me. + DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, + Rather than make unprofited return. + VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? + DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love, + Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith! + It shall become thee well to act my woes: + She will attend it better in thy youth + Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. + VIOLA. I think not so, my lord. + DUKE. Dear lad, believe it, + For they shall yet belie thy happy years + That say thou art a man: Diana's lip + Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe + Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, + And all is semblative a woman's part. + I know thy constellation is right apt + For this affair. Some four or five attend him- + All, if you will, for I myself am best + When least in company. Prosper well in this, + And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord + To call his fortunes thine. + VIOLA. I'll do my best + To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife! + Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. + + + + +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 hang'd 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 hang'd for being so long absent; or to be + turn'd 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 resolv'd on two points. + MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, + your gaskins fall. + CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby + would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh + as any in Illyria. + MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make + your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit + + Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO + + 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.' God bless + thee, lady! + OLIVIA. Take the fool away. + CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. + OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you + grow dishonest. + CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend; + for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the + dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer + dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything + that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but + patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd 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. Dexteriously, good madonna. + OLIVIA. Make your proof. + CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna. + Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. + OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your + proof. + CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? + OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death. + CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. + OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. + CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul + being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. + OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend? + MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. + Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. + CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better + increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; + but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool. + OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio? + MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren + rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool + that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of + his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, + he is gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at + these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies. + OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a + distemper'd 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 allow'd fool, though he + do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though + he do nothing but reprove. + CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st 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 + + OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin? + SIR TOBY. A gentleman. + OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman? + SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] 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. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate. + OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he? + SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me + faith, say I. Well, it's all one. Exit + OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool? + CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above + heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns + him. + OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; + for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; 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 codling when 'tis + almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and + man. He is very well-favour'd, 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 + + 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 penn'd, 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 allow'd 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 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. + OLIVIA. Tell me your mind. + VIOLA. I am a messenger. + OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the + courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. + VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no + taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as + full of peace as matter. + OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? + VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my + entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as + maidenhead- to your cars, 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. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I + was this present. Is't not well done? + VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all. + OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. + VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white + Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. + Lady, you are the 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 labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips + indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one + neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? + VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud; + But, if you were the devil, you are fair. + My lord and master loves you- O, such love + Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd + The nonpareil of beauty! + OLIVIA. How does he love me? + VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears, + With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. + OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him. + Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, + Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; + In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, + And in dimension and the shape of nature + A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him. + He might have took his answer long ago. + VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame, + With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life, + In your denial I would find no sense; + I would not understand it. + OLIVIA. Why, what would you? + VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, + And call upon my soul within the house; + Write loyal cantons of contemned love + And sing them loud even in the dead of night; + Halloo your name to the reverberate hals, + And make the babbling gossip of the air + Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest + Between the elements of air and earth + But you should pity me! + OLIVIA. You might do much. + What is your parentage? + VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: + I am a gentleman. + OLIVIA. Get you to your lord. + I cannot love him; let him send no more- + Unless perchance you come to me again + To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well. + I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. + VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; + My master, not myself, lacks recompense. + Love make his heart of flint that you shall love; + And let your fervour, like my master's, be + Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit + OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?' + 'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: + I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; + Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, + Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft! + Unless the master were the man. How now! + Even so quickly may one catch the plague? + Methinks I feel this youth's perfections + With an invisible and subtle stealth + To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. + What ho, Malvolio! + + 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +The sea-coast + +Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN + + ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with + you? + SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the + malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I + shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It + were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. + ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound. + SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere + extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of + modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to + keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express + myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, + which I call'd 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 pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir, alter'd that; + for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was + my sister drown'd. + 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 mind that envy could not but call + fair. She is drown'd 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 recover'd-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 cnemies in Orsino's court, + Else would I very shortly see thee there. + But come what may, I do adore thee so + That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +A street + +Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors + + MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia? + VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd 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 return'd. If it be worth stooping for, there it + lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. + Exit + VIOLA. I left no ring with her; what means this lady? + Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! + She made good view of me; indeed, so much + That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, + For she did speak in starts distractedly. + She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion + Invites me in this churlish messenger. + None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her none. + I am the man. If it be so- as 'tis- + Poor lady, she were better love a dream. + Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness + Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. + How easy is it for the proper-false + In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! + Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! + For such as we are made of, such we be. + How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly, + And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; + And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. + What will become of this? As I am man, + My state is desperate for my master's love; + As I am woman- now alas the day!- + What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! + O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; + It is too hard a knot for me t' untie! Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +OLIVIA'S house + +Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW + + SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to + be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st- + AGUECHEEK. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late + is to be up late. + SIR TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd can. To be + up after midnight and to go to bed then is early; so that to go + to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives + consist of the four elements? + AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of + eating and drinking. + SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. + Marian, I say! a stoup of wine. + + Enter CLOWN + + AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith. + CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we + three'? + SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. + AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had + rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a + breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very + gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, + of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very + good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it? + CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no + whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no + bottle-ale houses. + AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is + done. Now, a song. + SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song. + AGUECHEEK. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a- +CLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? + SIR TOBY. A love-song, a love-song. + AGUECHEEK. 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. + + AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith! + SIR TOBY. 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. + + AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. + SIR TOBY. A contagious breath. + AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. + SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall + we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in + a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do + that? + AGUECHEEK. 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. + AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.' + CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd + in't to call thee knave, knight. + AGUECHEEK. '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. + AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung] + + Enter MARIA + + MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not + call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of + doors, never trust me. + SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a + Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings] + Three merry men be we. + Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, + lady. [Sings] + There dwelt a man in Babylon, + Lady, lady. + CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. + AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I + too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. + SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December- + MARIA. For the love o' God, peace! + + Enter MALVOLIO + + MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no + wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this + time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that + ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or + remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor + time, in you? + SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! + MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell + you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing + allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your + misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would + please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you + farewell. + SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. + MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby. + CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done. + MALVOLIO. Is't even so? + SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls down] + CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie. + MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you. + SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go? + CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do? + SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not? + CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not. + SIR TOBY. [Rising] 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' th' mouth + too. + SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. + A stoup of wine, Maria! + MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything + more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil + rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. + Exit + MARIA. Go shake your ears. + AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry, + to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him + and make a fool of him. + SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll + deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. + MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of + the Count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. + For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull + him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not + think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can + do it. + SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. + MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. + AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. + SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear + knight? + AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good + enough. + MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a + time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and + utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so + cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds + of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in + him will my revenge find notable cause to work. + SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do? + MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; + wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the + manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and + complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I + can write very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we + can hardly make distinction of our hands. + SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device. + AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too. + SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that + they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. + MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. + AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass. + MARIA. Ass, I doubt not. + AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable! + MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with + him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where + he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For + this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. + Exit + SIR TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea. + AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench. + SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. + What o' that? + AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too. + SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more + money. + AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. + SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end, + call me Cut. + AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will. + SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go + to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS + + DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. + Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, + That old and antique song we heard last night; + Methought it did relieve my passion much, + More than light airs and recollected terms + Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. + Come, but one verse. + CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing + it. + DUKE. Who was it? + CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's + father took much delight in. He is about the house. + DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. + Exit CURIO. [Music plays] + Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, + In the sweet pangs of it remember me; + For such as I am all true lovers are, + Unstaid and skittish in all motions else + Save in the constant image of the creature + That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune? + VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat + Where Love is thron'd. + DUKE. 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. What kind of woman is't? + VIOLA. Of your complexion. + DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith? + VIOLA. About your years, my lord. + DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take + An elder than herself; so wears she to him, + So sways she level in her husband's heart. + For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, + Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, + More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, + Than women's are. + VIOLA. I think it well, my lord. + DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, + Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; + For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r + 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. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. + Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain; + The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, + And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, + Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, + And dallies with the innocence of love, + Like the old age. + CLOWN. Are you ready, sir? + DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music] + + FESTE'S SONG + + Come away, come away, death; + And in sad cypress let me be laid; + Fly away, fly away, breath, + I am slain by a fair cruel maid. + My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, + O, prepare it! + My part of death no one so true + Did share it. + + Not a flower, not a flower sweet, + On my black coffin let there be strown; + Not a friend, not a friend greet + My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown; + A thousand thousand to save, + Lay me, O, where + Sad true lover never find my grave, + To weep there! + + DUKE. There's for thy pains. + CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. + DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. + CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. + DUKE. Give me now leave to leave thee. + CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy + doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I + would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business + might be everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it + that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. + Exit CLOWN + DUKE. Let all the rest give place. + Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS + Once more, Cesario, + Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. + Tell her my love, more noble than the world, + Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; + The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, + Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune; + But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems + That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul. + VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir? + DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd. + VIOLA. Sooth, but you must. + Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, + Hath for your love as great a pang of heart + As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her; + You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd? + DUKE. There is no woman's sides + Can bide the beating of so strong a passion + As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart + So big to hold so much; they lack retention. + Alas, their love may be 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. 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 lov'd a man, + As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, + I should your lordship. + DUKE. And what's her history? + VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, + But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, + Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought; + And with a green and yellow melancholy + She sat like Patience on a monument, + Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? + We men may say more, swear more, but indeed + Our shows are more than will; for still we prove + Much in our vows, but little in our love. + DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? + VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house, + And all the brothers too- and yet I know not. + Sir, shall I to this lady? + DUKE. Ay, that's the theme. + To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say + My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +OLIVIA'S garden + +Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN + + SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. + FABIAN. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be + boil'd to death with melancholy. + SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally + sheep-biter come by some notable shame? + FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour + with my lady about a bear-baiting here. + SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool + him black and blue- shall we not, Sir Andrew? + AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives. + + Enter MARIA + + SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain. + How now, my metal of India! + MARIA. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down + this walk. He has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to + his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of + mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot + of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [As the men hide she drops + a letter] Lie thou there; 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. Here's an overweening rogue! + FABIAN. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; + how he jets under his advanc'd plumes! + AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue- + SIR TOBY. Peace, I say. + MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio! + SIR TOBY. Ah, rogue! + AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him. + SIR TOBY. Peace, peace! + MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married + the yeoman of the wardrobe. + AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel! + FABIAN. O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows + him. + MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my + state- + SIR TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye! + MALVOLIO. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown, + having come from a day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleeping- + SIR TOBY. Fire and brimstone! + FABIAN. O, peace, peace! + MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure + travel of regard, telling them I know my place as I would they + should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby- + SIR TOBY. Bolts and shackles! + FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now. + MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for + him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play + with my- some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me- + SIR TOBY. Shall this fellow live? + FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. + MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile + with an austere regard of control- + SIR TOBY. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? + MALVOLIO. Saying 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your + niece give me this prerogative of speech'- + SIR TOBY. What, what? + MALVOLIO. 'You must amend your drunkenness'- + SIR TOBY. Out, scab! + FABIAN. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. + MALVOLIO. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a + foolish knight'- + AGUECHEEK. That's me, I warrant you. + MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.' + AGUECHEEK. 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. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading + aloud to him! + MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very + C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It + is, in contempt of question, her hand. + AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that? + MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good + wishes.' Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the + impressure her Lucrece with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady. + To whom should this be? + FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all. + MALVOLIO. [Reads] + + Jove knows I love, + But who? + Lips, do not move; + No man must know.' + + 'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd! + 'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio? + SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock! + MALVOLIO. [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. 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 dress'd him! + SIR TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it! + MALVOLIO. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I + serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal + capacity; there is no obstruction in this. And the end- what + should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that + resemble something in me. Softly! M. O. A. I.- + SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent. + FABIAN. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank + as a fox. + MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name. + FABIAN. Did not I say he would work it out? + The cur is excellent at faults. + MALVOLIO. M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that + suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. + FABIAN. And O shall end, I hope. + SIR TOBY. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!' + MALVOLIO. And then I comes behind. + FABIAN. Ay, 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 + wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember, Go to, + thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee + a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch + Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with + thee, + THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.' + + Daylight and champain 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-garter'd; 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-garter'd, even with the swiftness of + putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a + postscript. + + [Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou + entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles + become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my + sweet, I prithee.' + + Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou + wilt have me. Exit + FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of + thousands to be paid from the Sophy. + SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device. + AGUECHEEK. So could I too. + SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. + + Enter MARIA + + AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither. + FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. + SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? + AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either? + SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy + bond-slave? + AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either? + SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the + image of it leaves him he must run mad. + MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? + SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife. + AIARIA. 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-garter'd, a + fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now + be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a + melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable + contempt. If you will see it, follow me. + SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! + AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +OLIVIA'S garden + +Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor + + VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music! + Dost thou live by thy tabor? + CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church. + VIOLA. Art thou a churchman? + CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live + at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. + VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar + dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor + stand by the church. + CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a + chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be + turn'd 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 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 disgrac'd them. + VIOLA. Thy reason, man? + CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words + are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them. + VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing. + CLOWN. Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience, + sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, + I would it would make you invisible. + VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? + CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep + no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands + as pilchers are to herrings- the husband's the bigger. I am + indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. + VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. + CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun- it + shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be + as oft with your master as with my mistress: 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. [Giving a coin] + CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send the 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 begg'd. + [Giving another coin] + 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 overworn. + Exit CLOWN + VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; + And to do that well craves a kind of wit. + He must observe their mood on whom he jests, + The quality of persons, and the time; + And, like the haggard, check at every feather + That comes before his eye. This is a practice + As full of labour as a wise man's art; + For folly that he wisely shows is fit; + But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. + + Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW + + SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman! + VIOLA. And you, sir. + AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. + VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. + AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. + SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you + should enter, if your trade be to her. + VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my + voyage. + SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. + VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what + you mean by bidding me taste my legs. + SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. + VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are + prevented. + + Enter OLIVIA and MARIA + + Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you! + AGUECHEEK. That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well! + VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant + and vouchsafed car. + AGUECHEEK. '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 all but OLIVIA and VIOLA] Give me your hand, sir. + VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service. + OLIVIA. What is your name? + VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess. + OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world + Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment. + Y'are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. + VIOLA. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: + Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. + OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts, + Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me! + VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts + On his behalf. + OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you: + I bade you never speak again of him; + But, would you undertake another suit, + I had rather hear you to solicit that + Than music from the spheres. + VIOLA. Dear lady- + OLIVIA. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, + After the last enchantment you did here, + A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse + Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. + Under your hard construction must I sit, + To force that on you in a shameful cunning + Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? + Have you not set mine honour at the stake, + And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts + That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving + Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom, + Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. + VIOLA. I Pity YOU. + OLIVIA. That's a degree to love. + VIOLA. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof + That very oft we pity enemies. + OLIVIA. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again. + O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! + If one should be a prey, how much the better + To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes] + The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. + Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you; + And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, + Your wife is like to reap a proper man. + There lies your way, due west. + VIOLA. Then westward-ho! + Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! + You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? + OLIVIA. Stay. + I prithee tell me what thou think'st of me. + VIOLA. That you do think you are not what you are. + OLIVIA. If I think so, I think the same of you. + VIOLA. Then think you right: I am not what I am. + OLIVIA. I would you were as I would have you be! + VIOLA. Would it be better, madam, than I am? + I wish it might, for now I am your fool. + OLIVIA. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful + In the contempt and anger of his lip! + A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon + Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon. + Cesario, by the roses of the spring, + By maidhood, honour, truth, and 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 is better. + VIOLA. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, + I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, + And that no woman has; nor never none + Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. + And so adieu, good madam; never more + Will I my master's tears to you deplore. + OLIVIA. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move + That heart which now abhors to like his love. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +OLIVIA'S house + +Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN + + AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. + SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. + FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. + AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's + servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th' + orchard. + SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that. + AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now. + FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. + AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? + FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment + and reason. + SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a + sailor. + FABIAN. She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to + exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in + your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should then have + accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the + mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was + look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of + this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd + into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an + icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some + laudable attempt either of valour or policy. + AGUECHEEK. 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. 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. + AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? + SIR TOBY. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is + no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. + Taunt him with the license 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. + AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you? + SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. + Exit SIR ANDREW + FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. + SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong, + or so. + FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not + deliver't? + SIR TOBY. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth + to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them + together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you find so much + blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the + rest of th' anatomy. + FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great + presage of cruelty. + + Enter MARIA + + SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. + MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into + stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very + renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by + believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of + grossness. He's in yellow stockings. + SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd? + MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' + church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey every + point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does smile + his face into more lines than is in the new map with the + augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as + 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady + will strike him; if she do, he'll smile and take't for a great + favour. + SIR TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +A street + +Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO + + SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you; + But since you make your pleasure of your pains, + I will no further chide you. + ANTONIO. I could not stay behind you: my desire, + More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; + And not all love to see you- though so much + As might have drawn one to a longer voyage- + But jealousy what might befall your travel, + Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, + Unguided and unfriended, often prove + Rough and unhospitable. My willing love, + The rather by these arguments of fear, + Set forth in your pursuit. + SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio, + I can no other answer make but thanks, + And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns + Are shuffl'd 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'd pardon me. + I do not without danger walk these streets: + Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys + I did some service; of such note, indeed, + That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. + SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people. + ANTONIO.Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature; + Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel + Might well have given us bloody argument. + It might have since been 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 th' Elephant. + SEBASTIAN. I do remember. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +OLIVIA'S garden + +Enter OLIVIA and MARIA + + OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come. + How shall I feast him? What bestow of him? + For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd. + I speak too loud. + Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil, + And suits well for a servant with my fortunes. + Where is Malvolio? + MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. + He is sure possess'd, 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. Smil'st thou? + I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. + MALVOLIO. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some + obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that? + If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true + sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.' + OLIVIA. Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee? + MALVOLIO. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. + It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. + I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. + OLIVIA. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? + MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee. + OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand + so oft? + MARIA. How do you, Malvolio? + MALVOLIO. At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws! + MARIA. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? + MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid of greatness.' 'Twas well writ. + OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio? + AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'- + OLIVIA. Ha? + MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'- + OLIVIA. What say'st thou? + MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.' + OLIVIA. Heaven restore thee! + MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'- + OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow stockings?' + MALVOLIO. 'And wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.' + OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?' + MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';- + OLIVIA. Am I made? + MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.' + OLIVIA. Why, this is very midsummer madness. + + Enter SERVANT + + SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is + return'd; 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 look'd 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 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 lim'd her; but it is + Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away + now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not 'Malvolio' nor + after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together, + that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, + no incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing + that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my + hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be + thanked. + + Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN + + SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the + devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd + him, yet I'll speak to him. + FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir? + SIR TOBY. How is't with you, man? + MALVOLIO. Go off; I discard you. Let me enjoy my private; go off. + MARIA. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell + you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. + MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so? + SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently with him. + Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man, + defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind. + MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say? + MARIA. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at + heart! Pray God he be not bewitched. + FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman. + MARIA. Marry, and it shall be done 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. 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 us'd. + SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock! + How dost thou, chuck? + MALVOLIO. Sir! + SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity + to play at cherrypit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier! + MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray. + MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx! + MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness. + MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things; I + am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter. + Exit + SIR TOBY. Is't possible? + FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as + an improbable fiction. + SIR TOBY. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, + man. + MARIA. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint. + FABIAN. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. + MARIA. The house will be the quieter. + SIR TOBY. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece + is already in the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for + our pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of + breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will + bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of + madmen. But see, but see. + + Enter SIR ANDREW + + FABIAN. More matter for a May morning. + AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar + and pepper in't. + FABIAN. Is't so saucy? + AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read. + SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art + but a scurvy fellow.' + FABIAN. Good and valiant. + SIR TOBY. [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. [Reads] 'Thou com'st 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. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be + thy chance to kill me'- + FABIAN. Good. + SIR TOBY. 'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.' + FABIAN. Still you keep o' th' windy side of the law. Good! + SIR TOBY. [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. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the + orchard, like a bum-baily; so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; + and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft + that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd + off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would + have earn'd him. Away. + AGUECHEEK. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit + SIR TOBY. Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of + the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and + breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms + no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, + will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a + clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of + mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the + gentleman- as 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. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a + challenge. + Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA + OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, + And laid mine honour too unchary 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 haviour that your passion bears + Goes on my master's griefs. + OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture. + Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you. + And I beseech you come again to-morrow. + What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, + That honour sav'd may upon asking give? + VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my master. + OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that + Which I have given to you? + VIOLA. I will acquit you. + OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well; + A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. Exit + + Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN + + SIR TOBY. Gentleman, God save thee. + VIOLA. And you, sir. + SIR TOBY. That defence thou hast, betake thee tot. Of what nature + the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy + intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends + thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy + preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. + VIOLA. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me; + my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence + done to any man. + SIR TOBY. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore, if you + hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your + opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can + furnish man withal. + VIOLA. I pray you, sir, what is he? + SIR TOBY. He is knight, dubb'd with unhatch'd rapier and on carpet + consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and + bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement at this moment + is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of + death and sepulchre. Hob-nob is his word- give't or take't. + VIOLA. I will return again into the house and desire some conduct + of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men + that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valour; + belike this is a man of that quirk. + SIR TOBY. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very + competent injury; therefore, get you on and give him his desire. + Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with + me which with as much safety you might answer him; therefore on, + or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's + certain, or forswear to wear iron about you. + VIOLA. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do me this + courteous office as to know of the knight what my offence to him + is: it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. + SIR TOBY. I Will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman + till my return. Exit SIR TOBY + VIOLA. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? + FABIAN. I know the knight is incens'd 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 would + rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who knows + so much of my mettle. Exeunt + + Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW + + SIR TOBY. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a + firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he + gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is + inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet + hit the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the + Sophy. + AGUECHEEK. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. + SIR TOBY. Ay, but he will not now be pacified; Fabian can scarce + hold him yonder. + AGUECHEEK. Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so + cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I'd have + challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him + my horse, grey Capilet. + SIR TOBY. I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't; + this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, + I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. + + 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. [To SIR TOBY] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants + and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. + SIR TOBY. [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. 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 promis'd me, as he is a gentleman and + a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't. + AGUECHEEK. Pray God he keep his oath! [They draw] + + Enter ANTONIO + + VIOLA. I do assure you 'tis against my will. + ANTONIO. Put up your sword. If this young gentleman + Have done offence, I take the fault on me: + If you offend him, I for him defy you. + SIR TOBY. You, sir! Why, what are you? + ANTONIO. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more + Than you have heard him brag to you he will. + SIR TOBY. 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. [To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon. + VIOLA. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. + AGUECHEEK. Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis'd 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 amaz'd; + But be of comfort. + SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, away. + ANTONIO. I must entreat of you some of that money. + VIOLA. What money, sir? + For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, + And part being prompted by your present trouble, + Out of my lean and low ability + I'll lend you something. My having is not much; + I'll make division of my present with you; + Hold, there's half my coffer. + ANTONIO. Will you deny me now? + Is't possible that my deserts to you + Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, + Lest that it make me so unsound a man + As to upbraid you with those kindnesses + That I have done for you. + VIOLA. I know of none, + Nor know I you by voice or any feature. + I hate ingratitude more in a man + Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, + Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption + Inhabits our frail blood. + ANTONIO. O heavens themselves! + SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, I pray you go. + ANTONIO. Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here + I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death, + Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, + And to his image, which methought did promise + Most venerable worth, did I devotion. + FIRST OFFICER. What's that to us? The time goes by; away. + ANTONIO. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god! + Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. + In nature there's no blemish but the mind: + None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind. + Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil + Are empty trunks, o'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. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper + o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. + VIOLA. He nam'd Sebastian. I my brother know + Yet living in my glass; even such and so + In favour was my brother; and he went + Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, + For him I imitate. O, if it prove, + Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Exit + SIR TOBY. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a + hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in + necessity and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. + FABIAN. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. + AGUECHEEK. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him. + SIR TOBY. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. + AGUECHEEK. And I do not- Exit + FABIAN. Come, let's see the event. + SIR TOBY. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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, and FABIAN + + AGUECHEEK. Now, sir, have I met you again? + [Striking SEBASTIAN] There's for you. + SEBASTIAN. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there. + Are all the people mad? + SIR TOBY. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house. + [Holding SEBASTIAN] + CLOWN. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of + your coats for two-pence. Exit + SIR TOBY. Come on, sir; hold. + AGUECHEEK. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with + him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any + law in Illyria; though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for + that. + SEBASTIAN. Let go thy hand. + SIR TOBY. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, + put up your iron; you are well flesh'd. Come on. + SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? + If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. [Draws] + SIR TOBY. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this + malapert blood from you. [Draws] + + Enter OLIVIA + + OLIVIA. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold. + SIR TOBY. Madam! + OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, + Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, + Where manners ne'er were preach'd! Out of my sight! + Be not offended, dear Cesario- + Rudesby, be gone! + Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN + I prithee, gentle friend, + Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway + In this uncivil and unjust extent + Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, + And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks + This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby + Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go; + Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me! + He started one poor heart of mine in thee. + SEBASTIAN. What relish is in this? How runs the stream? + Or I am mad, or else this is a dream. + Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; + If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep! + OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me! + SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will. + OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be! Exeunt + + + + +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 and MARIA + + SIR TOBY. Jove bless thee, Master Parson. + CLOWN. Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old hermit of Prague, that + never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to niece of King + Gorboduc 'That that is is'; so I, being Master Parson, am Master + Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is? + SIR TOBY. To him, Sir Topas. + CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison! + SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. + MALVOLIO. [Within] Who calls there? + CLOWN. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the + lunatic. + MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady. + CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou this man! + Talkest thou nothing but of ladies? + SIR TOBY. Well said, Master Parson. + MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do + not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness. + CLOWN. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest + terms, for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil + himself with courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark? + MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas. + CLOWN. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the + clerestories toward the south north are as lustrous as ebony; and + yet complainest thou of obstruction? + MALVOLIO. I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark. + CLOWN. Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but + ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in + their fog. + MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though + ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was never man + thus abus'd. 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 think'st thou of his opinion? + MALVOLIO. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his + opinion. + CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt + hold th' opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and + fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy + grandam. Fare thee well. + MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas! + SIR TOBY. My most exquisite Sir Topas! + CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters. + MARIA. Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown: he + sees thee not. + SIR TOBY. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou + find'st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may + be conveniently deliver'd, 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. + Exit with MARIA + CLOWN. [Sings] Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, + Tell me how thy lady does. + MALVOLIO. Fool! + CLOWN. [Sings] My lady is unkind, perdy. + MALVOLIO. Fool! + CLOWN. [Sings] Alas, why is she so? + MALVOLIO. Fool I say! + CLOWN. [Sings] She loves another- Who calls, ha? + MALVOLIO. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, + help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a + gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't. + CLOWN. Master Malvolio? + MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool. + CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? + MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd; + 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. + [Speaking as SIR TOPAS] 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 buy you, good Sir Topas.- Marry, 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 prithe be + gone. + CLOWN. [Singing] + I am gone, sir, + And anon, sir, + I'll be with you again, + In a trice, + Like to the old Vice, + Your need to sustain; + + Who with dagger of lath, + In his rage and his wrath, + Cries, Ah, ha! to the devil, + Like a mad lad, + Pare thy nails, dad. + Adieu, goodman devil. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +OLIVIA'S garden + +Enter SEBASTIAN + + SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; + This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; + And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, + Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? + I could not find him at the Elephant; + Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, + That he did range the town to seek me out. + His counsel now might do me golden service; + For though my soul disputes well with my sense + That this may be some error, but no madness, + Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune + So far exceed all instance, all discourse, + That I am ready to distrust mine eyes + And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me + To any other trust but that I am mad, + Or else the lady's mad; yet if 'twere so, + She could not sway her house, command her followers, + Take and give back affairs and their dispatch + With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, + As I perceive she does. There's something in't + That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. + + Enter OLIVIA and 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 fun 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Before OLIVIA's house + +Enter CLOWN and FABIAN + + FABIAN. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. + CLOWN. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request. + FABIAN. Anything. + CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter. + FABIAN. This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog + again. + + Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and LORDS + + DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? + CLOWN. Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings. + DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow? + CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my + friends. + DUKE. Just the contrary: the better for thy friends. + CLOWN. No, sir, the worse. + DUKE. How can that be? + CLOWN. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my + foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I + profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused; + so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make + your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and + the better for my foes. + DUKE. Why, this is excellent. + CLOWN. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my + friends. + DUKE. Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's gold. + CLOWN. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could + make it another. + DUKE. O, you give me ill counsel. + CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let + your flesh and blood obey it. + DUKE. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer. + There's another. + CLOWN. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying + is 'The third pays for all.' The triplex, sir, is a good tripping + measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind- + one, two, three. + DUKE. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw; if you + will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring + her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. + CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, + sir; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having + is the sin of covetousness. But, as you say, sir, let your bounty + take a nap; I will awake it anon. Exit + + Enter ANTONIO and OFFICERS + + VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. + DUKE. That face of his I do remember well; + Yet when I saw it last it was besmear'd + As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war. + A baubling vessel was he captain of, + For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, + With which such scathful grapple did he make + With the most noble bottom of our fleet + That very envy and the tongue of los + Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter? + FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio + That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy; + And this is he that did the Tiger board + When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. + Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, + In private brabble did we apprehend him. + VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; + But in conclusion put strange speech upon me. + I know not what 'twas but distraction. + DUKE. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief! + What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies + Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, + Hast made thine enemies? + ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir, + Be pleas'd 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 enrag'd and foamy mouth + Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. + His life I gave him, and did thereto ad + My love without retention or restraint, + All his in dedication; for his sake, + Did I expose myself, pure for his love, + Into the danger of this adverse town; + Drew to defend him when he was beset; + Where being apprehended, his false cunning, + Not meaning to partake with me in danger, + Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, + And grew a twenty years removed thing + While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, + Which I had recommended to his use + Not half an hour before. + VIOLA. How can this be? + DUKE. When came he to this town? + ANTONIO. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, + No int'rim, not a minute's vacancy, + Both day and night did we keep company. + + Enter OLIVIA and ATTENDANTS + + DUKE. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth. + But for thee, fellow- fellow, thy words are madness. + Three months this youth hath tended upon me- + But more of that anon. Take him aside. + OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have, + Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? + Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. + VIOLA. Madam? + DUKE. Gracious Olivia- + OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord- + VIOLA. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me. + OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, + It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear + As howling after music. + DUKE. Still so cruel? + OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord. + DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, + To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars + My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd out + That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? + OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. + DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, + Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, + Kill what I love?- a savage jealousy + That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: + Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, + And that I partly know the instrument + That screws me from my true place in your favour, + Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; + But this your minion, whom I know you love, + And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, + Him will I tear out of that cruel eye + Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. + Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: + I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love + To spite a raven's heart within a dove. + VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, + To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. + OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario? + VIOLA. After him I love + More than I love these eyes, more than my life, + More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. + If I do feign, you witnesses above + Punish my life for tainting of my love! + OLIVIA. Ay me, detested! How am I beguil'd! + VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong? + OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? + Call forth the holy father. Exit an ATTENDANT + DUKE. Come, away! + OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. + DUKE. Husband? + OLIVIA. Ay, husband; can he that deny? + DUKE. Her husband, sirrah? + VIOLA. No, my lord, not I. + OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear + That makes thee strangle thy propriety. + Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; + Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art + As great as that thou fear'st. + + Enter PRIEST + + O, welcome, father! + Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, + Here to unfold- though lately we intended + To keep in darkness what occasion now + Reveals before 'tis ripe- what thou dost know + Hath newly 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, + Strength'ned 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. 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 has too much fear. + + Enter SIR ANDREW + + AGUECHEEK. For the love of God, a surgeon! + Send one presently to Sir Toby. + OLIVIA. What's the matter? + AGUECHEEK. 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? + AGUECHEEK. The Count's gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a + coward, but he's the very devil incardinate. + DUKE. My gentleman, Cesario? + AGUECHEEK. Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for + nothing; and that that did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby. + VIOLA. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you. + You drew your sword upon me without cause; + But I bespake you fair and hurt you not. + + Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN + + AGUECHEEK. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think + you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting; + you shall hear more; but if he had not been in drink, he would + have tickl'd you othergates than he did. + DUKE. How now, gentleman? How is't with you? + SIR TOBY. That's all one; has hurt me, and there's th' end on't. + Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot? + CLOWN. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at + eight i' th' morning. + SIR TOBY. Then he's a rogue and a passy measures pavin. I hate a + drunken rogue. + OLIVIA. Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them? + AGUECHEEK. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dress'd + together. + SIR TOBY. Will you help- an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave, a + thin fac'd knave, a gull? + OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. + Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW + + Enter SEBASTIAN + + SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; + But, had it been the brother of my blood, + I must have done no less with wit and safety. + You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that + I do perceive it hath offended you. + Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows + We made each other but so late ago. + DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! + A natural perspective, that is and is not. + SEBASTIAN. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! + How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me + Since I have lost thee! + ANTONIO. Sebastian are you? + SEBASTIAN. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? + ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself? + An apple cleft in two is not more twin + Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? + OLIVIA. Most wonderful! + SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; + Nor can there be that deity in my nature + Of here and everywhere. I had a sister + Whom the blind waves and surges have 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 numb'red thirteen years. + SEBASTIAN. O, that record is lively in my soul! + He finished indeed his mortal act + That day that made my sister thirteen years. + VIOLA. If nothing lets to make us happy both + But this my masculine usurp'd attire, + Do not embrace me till each circumstance + Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump + That I am Viola; which to confirm, + I'll bring you to a captain in this town, + Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help + I was preserv'd to serve this noble Count. + All the occurrence of my fortune since + Hath been between this lady and this lord. + SEBASTIAN. [To OLIVIA] So Comes it, lady, you have been mistook; + But nature to her bias drew in that. + You would have been contracted to a maid; + Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd; + You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. + DUKE. Be not amaz'd; 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 all those swearings keep as true in soul + As doth that orbed continent the fire + That severs day from night. + DUKE. Give me thy hand; + And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. + VIOLA. The captain that did bring me first on shore + Hath my maid's garments. He, upon some action, + Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, + A gentleman and follower of my lady's. + OLIVIA. He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither; + And yet, alas, now I remember me, + They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. + + 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 stave'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 + deliver'd. + OLIVIA. Open't, and read it. + CLOWN. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the + madman. [Reads madly ] 'By the Lord, madam-' + OLIVIA. How now! Art thou mad? + CLOWN. No, madam, I do but read madness. An your ladyship will have + it as it ought to be, you must allow vox. + OLIVIA. Prithee read i' thy right wits. + CLOWN. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read + thus; therefore perpend, my Princess, and give ear. + OLIVIA. [To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah. + FABIAN. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world + shall know it. Though you have put me into darkness and given + your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my + senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that + induced me to the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not + but to do myself much right or you much shame. Think of me as you + please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of + my injury. + THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO' + + OLIVIA. Did he write this? + CLOWN. Ay, Madam. + DUKE. 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 th' alliance on't, so please you, + Here at my house, and at my proper cost. + DUKE. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer. + [To VIOLA] Your master quits you; and, for your service done + him, + So much against the mettle of your sex, + So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, + And since you call'd me master for so long, + Here is my hand; you shall from this time be + You master's mistress. + OLIVIA. A sister! You are she. + + Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO + + DUKE. Is this the madman? + OLIVIA. Ay, my lord, this same. + How now, Malvolio! + MALVOLIO. Madam, you have done me wrong, + Notorious wrong. + OLIVIA. Have I, Malvolio? No. + MALVOLIO. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter. + You must not now deny it is your hand; + Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase; + Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention; + You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, + And tell me, in the modesty of honour, + Why you have given me such clear lights of favour, + Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you, + To put on yellow stockings, and to frown + Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; + And, acting this in an obedient hope, + Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, + Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, + And made the most notorious geck and gul + 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 cam'st in smiling, + And in such forms which here were presuppos'd + Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content; + This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee, + But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, + Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge + Of thine own cause. + FABIAN. Good madam, hear me speak, + And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come + Taint the condition of this present hour, + Which I have wond'red at. In hope it shall not, + Most freely I confess myself and Toby + Set this device against Malvolio here, + Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts + We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ + The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance, + In recompense whereof he hath married her. + How with a sportful malice it was follow'd + May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, + If that the injuries be justly weigh'd + That have on both sides pass'd. + OLIVIA. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd 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 gagg'd'? And thus + the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. + MALVOLIO. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. + Exit + OLIVIA. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. + DUKE. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace; + He hath not told us of the captain yet. + When that is known, and golden time convents, + A solemn combination shall be made + Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, + We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; + For so you shall be while you are a man; + But when in other habits you are seen, + Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. + Exeunt all but the 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, the wind and the rain, + 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, + For the rain it raineth every day. + + But when I came, alas! to wive, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + By swaggering could I never thrive, + For the rain it raineth every day. + + But when I came unto my beds, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + With toss-pots still had drunken heads, + For the rain it raineth every day. + + A great while ago the world begun, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + But that's all one, our play is done, + And we'll strive to please you every day. + Exit + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +1595 + +THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia + VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen + PROTEUS, " " " " " + ANTONIO, father to Proteus + THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine + EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape + SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine + LAUNCE, the like to Proteus + PANTHINO, servant to Antonio + HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan + OUTLAWS, with Valentine + + JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus + SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine + LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia + + SERVANTS + MUSICIANS + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Verona. An open place + +Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS + + VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: + Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. + Were't not affection chains thy tender days + To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, + I rather would entreat thy company + To see the wonders of the world abroad, + Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, + Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. + But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, + Even as I would, when I to love begin. + PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! + Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest + Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel. + Wish me partaker in thy happiness + When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, + If ever danger do environ thee, + Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, + For I will be thy headsman, Valentine. + VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success? + PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee. + VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love: + How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. + PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love; + For he was more than over shoes in love. + VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, + And yet you never swum the Hellespont. + PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots. + VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. + PROTEUS. What? + VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, + Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth + With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; + If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; + If lost, why then a grievous labour won; + However, but a folly bought with wit, + Or else a wit by folly vanquished. + PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. + VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. + PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. + VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you; + And he that is so yoked by a fool, + Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. + PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud + The eating canker dwells, so eating love + Inhabits in the finest wits of all. + VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud + Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, + Even so by love the young and tender wit + Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, + Losing his verdure even in the prime, + And all the fair effects of future hopes. + But wherefore waste I time to counsel the + That art a votary to fond desire? + Once more adieu. My father at the road + Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. + PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. + VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. + To Milan let me hear from thee by letters + Of thy success in love, and what news else + Betideth here in absence of thy friend; + And I likewise will visit thee with mine. + PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! + VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell! + Exit VALENTINE + PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love; + He leaves his friends to dignify them more: + I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. + Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me, + Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, + War with good counsel, set the world at nought; + Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. + + Enter SPEED + + SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master? + PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. + SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, + And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. + PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, + An if the shepherd be awhile away. + SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and + I a sheep? + PROTEUS. I do. + SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. + PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. + SPEED. This proves me still a sheep. + PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd. + SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. + PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another. + SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the + shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; + therefore, I am no sheep. + PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for + food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; + thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a + sheep. + SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.' + PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia? + SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd + mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing + for my labour. + PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. + SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. + PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you. + SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your + letter. + PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold. + SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over, + 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. + PROTEUS. But what said she? + SPEED. [Nodding] Ay. + PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.' + SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she + did nod; and I say 'Ay.' + PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.' + SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for + your pains. + PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. + SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. + PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? + SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the + word 'noddy' for my pains. + PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. + SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. + PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she? + SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both + at once delivered. + PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she? + SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. + PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? + SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so + much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to + me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in + telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as + hard as steel. + PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing? + SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify + your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital + whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir, + I'll commend you to my master. + PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, + Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, + Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED + I must go send some better messenger. + I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, + Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Verona. The garden Of JULIA'S house + +Enter JULIA and LUCETTA + + JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, + Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love? + LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully. + JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen + That every day with parle encounter me, + In thy opinion which is worthiest love? + LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind + According to my shallow simple skill. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? + LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine; + But, were I you, he never should be mine. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? + LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? + LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us! + JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name? + LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame + That I, unworthy body as I am, + Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. + JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? + LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best. + JULIA. Your reason? + LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason: + I think him so, because I think him so. + JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? + LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. + JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. + LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. + JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small. + LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. + JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love. + LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love. + JULIA. I would I knew his mind. + LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam. + JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom? + LUCETTA. That the contents will show. + JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee? + LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. + He would have given it you; but I, being in the way, + Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. + JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! + Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? + To whisper and conspire against my youth? + Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, + And you an officer fit for the place. + There, take the paper; see it be return'd; + Or else return no more into my sight. + LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. + JULIA. Will ye be gone? + LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit + JULIA. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. + It were a shame to call her back again, + And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. + What fool is she, that knows I am a maid + And would not force the letter to my view! + Since maids, in modesty, say 'No' to that + Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.' + Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love, + That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, + And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! + How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, + When willingly I would have had her here! + How angerly I taught my brow to frown, + When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! + My penance is to call Lucetta back + And ask remission for my folly past. + What ho! Lucetta! + + Re-enter LUCETTA + + LUCETTA. What would your ladyship? + JULIA. Is't near dinner time? + LUCETTA. I would it were, + That you might kill your stomach on your meat + And not upon your maid. + JULIA. What is't that you took up so gingerly? + LUCETTA. Nothing. + JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then? + LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall. + JULIA. And is that paper nothing? + LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me. + JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. + LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, + Unless it have a false interpreter. + JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. + LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. + Give me a note; your ladyship can set. + JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible. + Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' Love.' + LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune. + JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then. + LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. + JULIA. And why not you? + LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high. + JULIA. Let's see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter] + How now, minion! + LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out. + And yet methinks I do not like this tune. + JULIA. You do not! + LUCETTA. No, madam; 'tis too sharp. + JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy. + LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat + And mar the concord with too harsh a descant; + There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. + JULIA. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. + LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. + JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. + Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter] + Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie. + You would be fing'ring them, to anger me. + LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd + To be so ang'red with another letter. Exit + JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang'red with the same! + O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! + Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey + And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! + I'll kiss each several paper for amends. + Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia, + As in revenge of thy ingratitude, + I throw thy name against the bruising stones, + Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. + And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' + Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed, + Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd; + And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. + But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down. + Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away + Till I have found each letter in the letter- + Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear + Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, + And throw it thence into the raging sea. + Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ: + 'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, + To the sweet Julia.' That I'll tear away; + And yet I will not, sith so prettily + He couples it to his complaining names. + Thus will I fold them one upon another; + Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. + + Re-enter LUCETTA + + LUCETTA. Madam, + Dinner is ready, and your father stays. + JULIA. Well, let us go. + LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? + JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up. + LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down; + Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. + JULIA. I see you have a month's mind to them. + LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; + I see things too, although you judge I wink. + JULIA. Come, come; will't please you go? Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Verona. ANTONIO'S house + +Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO + + ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that + Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? + PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. + ANTONIO. Why, what of him? + PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship + Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, + While other men, of slender reputation, + Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: + Some to the wars, to try their fortune there; + Some to discover islands far away; + Some to the studious universities. + For any, or for all these exercises, + He said that Proteus, your son, was meet; + And did request me to importune you + To let him spend his time no more at home, + Which would be great impeachment to his age, + In having known no travel in his youth. + ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that + Whereon this month I have been hammering. + I have consider'd well his loss of time, + And how he cannot be a perfect man, + Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: + Experience is by industry achiev'd, + And perfected by the swift course of time. + Then tell me whither were I best to send him. + PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant + How his companion, youthful Valentine, + Attends the Emperor in his royal court. + ANTONIO. I know it well. + PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: + There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, + Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, + And be in eye of every exercise + Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. + ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd; + And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, + The execution of it shall make known: + Even with the speediest expedition + I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court. + PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso + With other gentlemen of good esteem + Are journeying to salute the Emperor, + And to commend their service to his will. + ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go. + + Enter PROTEUS + + And- in good time!- now will we break with him. + PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! + Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; + Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. + O that our fathers would applaud our loves, + To seal our happiness with their consents! + O heavenly Julia! + ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there? + PROTEUS. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two + Of commendations sent from Valentine, + Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. + ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. + PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes + How happily he lives, how well-belov'd + And daily graced by the Emperor; + Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. + ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish? + PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship's will, + And not depending on his friendly wish. + ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish. + Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; + For what I will, I will, and there an end. + I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time + With Valentinus in the Emperor's court; + What maintenance he from his friends receives, + Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. + To-morrow be in readiness to go- + Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. + PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; + Please you, deliberate a day or two. + ANTONIO. Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee. + No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. + Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd + To hasten on his expedition. + Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO + PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, + And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. + I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, + Lest he should take exceptions to my love; + And with the vantage of mine own excuse + Hath he excepted most against my love. + O, how this spring of love resembleth + The uncertain glory of an April day, + Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, + And by an by a cloud takes all away! + + Re-enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; + He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. + PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto; + And yet a thousand times it answers 'No.' Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter VALENTINE and SPEED + + SPEED. Sir, your glove. + VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on. + SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one. + VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine; + Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! + Ah, Silvia! Silvia! + SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia! + VALENTINE. How now, sirrah? + SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir. + VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her? + SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. + VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward. + SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. + VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? + SPEED. She that your worship loves? + VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love? + SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like + Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a + love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that + had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his + A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; + to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears + robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were + wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to + walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently + after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money. + And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that, when I look + on you, I can hardly think you my master. + VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me? + SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye. + VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot. + SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were so + simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies + that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the + water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a + physician to comment on your malady. + VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? + SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? + VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean. + SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not. + VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st + her not? + SPEED. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? + VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd. + SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough. + VALENTINE. What dost thou know? + SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour'd. + VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour + infinite. + SPEED. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all + count. + VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count? + SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts + of her beauty. + VALENTINE. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. + SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform'd. + VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform'd? + SPEED. Ever since you lov'd her. + VALENTINE. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still + I see her beautiful. + SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her. + VALENTINE. Why? + SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own + eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir + Proteus for going ungarter'd! + VALENTINE. What should I see then? + SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he, + being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being + in love, cannot see to put on your hose. + VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you + could not see to wipe my shoes. + SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you + swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you + for yours. + VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. + SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. + VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one + she loves. + SPEED. And have you? + VALENTINE. I have. + SPEED. Are they not lamely writ? + VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. + + Enter SILVIA + + Peace! here she comes. + SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! + Now will he interpret to her. + VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. + SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev'n! + Here's a million of manners. + SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. + SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him. + VALENTINE. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter + Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; + Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, + But for my duty to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. + VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; + For, being ignorant to whom it goes, + I writ at random, very doubtfully. + SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? + VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, + Please you command, a thousand times as much; + And yet- + SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; + And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not. + And yet take this again- and yet I thank you- + Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. + SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another' yet.' + VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it? + SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ; + But, since unwillingly, take them again. + Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter] + VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you. + SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; + But I will none of them; they are for you: + I would have had them writ more movingly. + VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. + SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over; + And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. + VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then? + SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. + And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA + SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, + As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! + My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, + He being her pupil, to become her tutor. + O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better, + That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? + VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself? + SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. + VALENTINE. To do what? + SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia? + VALENTINE. To whom? + SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure. + VALENTINE. What figure? + SPEED. By a letter, I should say. + VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me. + SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? + Why, do you not perceive the jest? + VALENTINE. No, believe me. + SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her + earnest? + VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word. + SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter. + VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend. + SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. + VALENTINE. I would it were no worse. + SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well. + 'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, + Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; + Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, + Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.' + All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, + sir? 'Tis dinner time. + VALENTINE. I have din'd. + SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on + the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would + fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Verona. JULIA'S house + +Enter PROTEUS and JULIA + + PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia. + JULIA. I must, where is no remedy. + PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return. + JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. + Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. + [Giving a ring] + PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. + JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. + PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy; + And when that hour o'erslips me in the day + Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, + The next ensuing hour some foul mischance + Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! + My father stays my coming; answer not; + The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears: + That tide will stay me longer than I should. + Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA + What, gone without a word? + Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; + For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. + + Enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. + PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come. + Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Verona. A street + +Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog + + LAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the + kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my + proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir + Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the + sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father + wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her + hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this + cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble + stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have + wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, + look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you + the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe is + my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so + neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This + shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A + vengeance on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, + for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; + this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, + and I am the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. + Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not + the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; + well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could + speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her- why there 'tis; + here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; + mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a + tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my + tears. + + Enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp'd, and + thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? Why weep'st + thou, man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any + longer. + LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the + unkindest tied that ever any man tied. + PANTHINO. What's the unkindest tide? + LAUNCE. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog. + PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing + the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy + master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in + losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth? + LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. + PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue? + LAUNCE. In thy tale. + PANTHINO. In thy tail! + LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the + service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able + to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive + the boat with my sighs. + PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. + LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. + PANTHINO. Will thou go? + LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED + + SILVIA. Servant! + VALENTINE. Mistress? + SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. + VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it's for love. + SPEED. Not of you. + VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then. + SPEED. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Exit + SILVIA. Servant, you are sad. + VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so. + THURIO. Seem you that you are not? + VALENTINE. Haply I do. + THURIO. So do counterfeits. + VALENTINE. So do you. + THURIO. What seem I that I am not? + VALENTINE. Wise. + THURIO. What instance of the contrary? + VALENTINE. Your folly. + THURIO. And how quote you my folly? + VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin. + THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet. + VALENTINE. Well, then, I'll double your folly. + THURIO. How? + SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour? + VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. + THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your + air. + VALENTINE. You have said, sir. + THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. + VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. + SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. + VALENTINE. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. + SILVIA. Who is that, servant? + VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio + borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he + borrows kindly in your company. + THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your + wit bankrupt. + VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, + and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it + appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words. + + Enter DUKE + + SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. + DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. + Sir Valentine, your father is in good health. + What say you to a letter from your friends + Of much good news? + VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful + To any happy messenger from thence. + DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman + To be of worth and worthy estimation, + And not without desert so well reputed. + DUKE. Hath he not a son? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves + The honour and regard of such a father. + DUKE. You know him well? + VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy + We have convers'd and spent our hours together; + And though myself have been an idle truant, + Omitting the sweet benefit of time + To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, + Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, + Made use and fair advantage of his days: + His years but young, but his experience old; + His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe; + And, in a word, for far behind his worth + Comes all the praises that I now bestow, + He is complete in feature and in mind, + With all good grace to grace a gentleman. + DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, + He is as worthy for an empress' love + As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. + Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me + With commendation from great potentates, + And here he means to spend his time awhile. + I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. + VALENTINE. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. + DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth- + Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; + For Valentine, I need not cite him to it. + I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE + VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship + Had come along with me but that his mistresss + Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. + SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them + Upon some other pawn for fealty. + VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. + SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind, + How could he see his way to seek out you? + VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. + THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. + VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; + Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO + + Enter PROTEUS + + SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. + VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you + Confirm his welcome with some special favour. + SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, + If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. + VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him + To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. + SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. + PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant + To have a look of such a worthy mistress. + VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability; + Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. + PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. + SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed. + Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. + PROTEUS. I'll die on him that says so but yourself. + SILVIA. That you are welcome? + PROTEUS. That you are worthless. + + Re-enter THURIO + + THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. + SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, + Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome. + I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; + When you have done we look to hear from you. + PROTEUS. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. + Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO + VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? + PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. + VALENTINE. And how do yours? + PROTEUS. I left them all in health. + VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? + PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you; + I know you joy not in a love-discourse. + VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now; + I have done penance for contemning Love, + Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me + With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, + With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; + For, in revenge of my contempt of love, + Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes + And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. + O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord, + And hath so humbled me as I confess + There is no woe to his correction, + Nor to his service no such joy on earth. + Now no discourse, except it be of love; + Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, + Upon the very naked name of love. + PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. + Was this the idol that you worship so? + VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? + PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon. + VALENTINE. Call her divine. + PROTEUS. I will not flatter her. + VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises! + PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, + And I must minister the like to you. + VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, + Yet let her be a principality, + Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. + PROTEUS. Except my mistress. + VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any; + Except thou wilt except against my love. + PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? + VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too: + She shall be dignified with this high honour- + To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth + Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss + And, of so great a favour growing proud, + Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow'r + And make rough winter everlastingly. + PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? + VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing + To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; + She is alone. + PROTEUS. Then let her alone. + VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own; + And I as rich in having such a jewel + As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, + The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. + Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, + Because thou seest me dote upon my love. + My foolish rival, that her father likes + Only for his possessions are so huge, + Is gone with her along; and I must after, + For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. + PROTEUS. But she loves you? + VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage-hour, + With all the cunning manner of our flight, + Determin'd of- how I must climb her window, + The ladder made of cords, and all the means + Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. + Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, + In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. + PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth; + I must unto the road to disembark + Some necessaries that I needs must use; + And then I'll presently attend you. + VALENTINE. Will you make haste? + PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE + Even as one heat another heat expels + Or as one nail by strength drives out another, + So the remembrance of my former love + Is by a newer object quite forgotten. + Is it my mind, or Valentinus' praise, + Her true perfection, or my false transgression, + That makes me reasonless to reason thus? + She is fair; and so is Julia that I love- + That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; + Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire + Bears no impression of the thing it was. + Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, + And that I love him not as I was wont. + O! but I love his lady too too much, + And that's the reason I love him so little. + How shall I dote on her with more advice + That thus without advice begin to love her! + 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, + And that hath dazzled my reason's light; + But when I look on her perfections, + There is no reason but I shall be blind. + If I can check my erring love, I will; + If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. Exit + + + + +SCENE V. +Milan. A street + +Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally + + SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua. + LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I + reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, + nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and + the hostess say 'Welcome!' + SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you + presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have + five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with + Madam Julia? + LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very + fairly in jest. + SPEED. But shall she marry him? + LAUNCE. No. + SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her? + LAUNCE. No, neither. + SPEED. What, are they broken? + LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish. + SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them? + LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well + with her. + SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. + LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff + understands me. + SPEED. What thou say'st? + LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my + staff understands me. + SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed. + LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. + SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match? + LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will; + if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. + SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will. + LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a + parable. + SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou + that my master is become a notable lover? + LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise. + SPEED. Than how? + LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. + SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. + LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. + SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover. + LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love. + If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an + Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. + SPEED. Why? + LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to + the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? + SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VI. +Milan. The DUKE's palace + +Enter PROTEUS + + PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; + To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; + To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; + And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath + Provokes me to this threefold perjury: + Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. + O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, + Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! + At first I did adore a twinkling star, + But now I worship a celestial sun. + Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; + And he wants wit that wants resolved will + To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. + Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad + Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd + With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths! + I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; + But there I leave to love where I should love. + Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose; + If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; + If I lose them, thus find I by their loss: + For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. + I to myself am dearer than a friend; + For love is still most precious in itself; + And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!- + Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. + I will forget that Julia is alive, + Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; + And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, + Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. + I cannot now prove constant to myself + Without some treachery us'd to Valentine. + This night he meaneth with a corded ladder + To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window, + Myself in counsel, his competitor. + Now presently I'll give her father notice + Of their disguising and pretended flight, + Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, + For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; + But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross + By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. + Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, + As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit + + + + +SCENE VII. +Verona. JULIA'S house + +Enter JULIA and LUCETTA + + JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; + And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee, + Who art the table wherein all my thoughts + Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, + To lesson me and tell me some good mean + How, with my honour, I may undertake + A journey to my loving Proteus. + LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! + JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary + To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; + Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, + And when the flight is made to one so dear, + Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. + LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return. + JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food? + Pity the dearth that I have pined in + By longing for that food so long a time. + Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. + Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow + As seek to quench the fire of love with words. + LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, + But qualify the fire's extreme rage, + Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. + JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. + The current that with gentle murmur glides, + Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; + But when his fair course is not hindered, + He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, + Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge + He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; + And so by many winding nooks he strays, + With willing sport, to the wild ocean. + Then let me go, and hinder not my course. + I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, + And make a pastime of each weary step, + Till the last step have brought me to my love; + And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil, + A blessed soul doth in Elysium. + LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along? + JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent + The loose encounters of lascivious men; + Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds + As may beseem some well-reputed page. + LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. + JULIA. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings + With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots- + To be fantastic may become a youth + Of greater time than I shall show to be. + LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? + JULIA. That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord, + What compass will you wear your farthingale.' + Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. + LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. + JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd. + LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, + Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. + JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have + What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. + But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me + For undertaking so unstaid a journey? + I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd. + LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. + JULIA. Nay, that I will not. + LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go. + If Proteus like your journey when you come, + No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone. + I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. + JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: + A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, + And instances of infinite of love, + Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. + LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men. + JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect! + But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; + His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, + His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, + His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, + His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. + LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him. + JULIA. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong + To bear a hard opinion of his truth; + Only deserve my love by loving him. + And presently go with me to my chamber, + To take a note of what I stand in need of + To furnish me upon my longing journey. + All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, + My goods, my lands, my reputation; + Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. + Come, answer not, but to it presently; + I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS + + DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; + We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO + Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? + PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover + The law of friendship bids me to conceal; + But, when I call to mind your gracious favours + Done to me, undeserving as I am, + My duty pricks me on to utter that + Which else no worldly good should draw from me. + Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, + This night intends to steal away your daughter; + Myself am one made privy to the plot. + I know you have determin'd to bestow her + On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; + And should she thus be stol'n away from you, + It would be much vexation to your age. + Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose + To cross my friend in his intended drift + Than, by concealing it, heap on your head + A pack of sorrows which would press you down, + Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. + DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, + Which to requite, command me while I live. + This love of theirs myself have often seen, + Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep, + And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid + Sir Valentine her company and my court; + But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err + And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, + A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, + I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find + That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. + And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, + Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, + I nightly lodge her in an upper tow'r, + The key whereof myself have ever kept; + And thence she cannot be convey'd away. + PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean + How he her chamber window will ascend + And with a corded ladder fetch her down; + For which the youthful lover now is gone, + And this way comes he with it presently; + Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. + But, good my lord, do it so cunningly + That my discovery be not aimed at; + For love of you, not hate unto my friend, + Hath made me publisher of this pretence. + DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know + That I had any light from thee of this. + PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit + + Enter VALENTINE + + DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? + VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger + That stays to bear my letters to my friends, + And I am going to deliver them. + DUKE. Be they of much import? + VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify + My health and happy being at your court. + DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; + I am to break with thee of some affairs + That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. + 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought + To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. + VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match + Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman + Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities + Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. + Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? + DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, + Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; + Neither regarding that she is my child + Nor fearing me as if I were her father; + And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, + Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; + And, where I thought the remnant of mine age + Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, + I now am full resolv'd to take a wife + And turn her out to who will take her in. + Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'r; + For me and my possessions she esteems not. + VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this? + DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here, + Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, + And nought esteems my aged eloquence. + Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor- + For long agone I have forgot to court; + Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd- + How and which way I may bestow myself + To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. + VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words: + Dumb jewels often in their silent kind + More than quick words do move a woman's mind. + DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. + VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. + Send her another; never give her o'er, + For scorn at first makes after-love the more. + If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, + But rather to beget more love in you; + If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone, + For why, the fools are mad if left alone. + Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; + For 'Get you gone' she doth not mean 'Away!' + Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; + Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. + That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, + If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. + DUKE. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends + Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; + And kept severely from resort of men, + That no man hath access by day to her. + VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night. + DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe, + That no man hath recourse to her by night. + VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window? + DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, + And built so shelving that one cannot climb it + Without apparent hazard of his life. + VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, + To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, + Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r, + So bold Leander would adventure it. + DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, + Advise me where I may have such a ladder. + VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that. + DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child, + That longs for everything that he can come by. + VALENTINE. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. + DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; + How shall I best convey the ladder thither? + VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it + Under a cloak that is of any length. + DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord. + DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak. + I'll get me one of such another length. + VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. + DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? + I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. + What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'! + And here an engine fit for my proceeding! + I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads] + 'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly, + And slaves they are to me, that send them flying. + O, could their master come and go as lightly, + Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying! + My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them, + While I, their king, that thither them importune, + Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them, + Because myself do want my servants' fortune. + I curse myself, for they are sent by me, + That they should harbour where their lord should be.' + What's here? + 'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.' + 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. + Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops' son- + Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, + And with thy daring folly burn the world? + Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee? + Go, base intruder, over-weening slave, + Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; + And think my patience, more than thy desert, + Is privilege for thy departure hence. + Thank me for this more than for all the favours + Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. + But if thou linger in my territories + Longer than swiftest expedition + Will give thee time to leave our royal court, + By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love + I ever bore my daughter or thyself. + Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse, + But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit + VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment? + To die is to be banish'd from myself, + And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her + Is self from self, a deadly banishment. + What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? + What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? + Unless it be to think that she is by, + And feed upon the shadow of perfection. + Except I be by Silvia in the night, + There is no music in the nightingale; + Unless I look on Silvia in the day, + There is no day for me to look upon. + She is my essence, and I leave to be + If I be not by her fair influence + Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. + I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: + Tarry I here, I but attend on death; + But fly I hence, I fly away from life. + + Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE + + PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out. + LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho! + PROTEUS. What seest thou? + LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a + Valentine. + PROTEUS. Valentine? + VALENTINE. No. + PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit? + VALENTINE. Neither. + PROTEUS. What then? + VALENTINE. Nothing. + LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? + PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike? + LAUNCE. Nothing. + PROTEUS. Villain, forbear. + LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray you- + PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. + VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news, + So much of bad already hath possess'd them. + PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, + For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. + VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead? + PROTEUS. No, Valentine. + VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. + Hath she forsworn me? + PROTEUS. No, Valentine. + VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. + What is your news? + LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. + PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that's the news!- + From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. + VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already, + And now excess of it will make me surfeit. + Doth Silvia know that I am banished? + PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom- + Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force- + A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; + Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; + With them, upon her knees, her humble self, + Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them + As if but now they waxed pale for woe. + But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, + Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, + Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire- + But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. + Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, + When she for thy repeal was suppliant, + That to close prison he commanded her, + With many bitter threats of biding there. + VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st + Have some malignant power upon my life: + If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear, + As ending anthem of my endless dolour. + PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, + And study help for that which thou lament'st. + Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. + Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love; + Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. + Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, + And manage it against despairing thoughts. + Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence, + Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd + Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. + The time now serves not to expostulate. + Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; + And, ere I part with thee, confer at large + Of all that may concern thy love affairs. + As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, + Regard thy danger, and along with me. + VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, + Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. + PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. + VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! + Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS + LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think + my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but + one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am + in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor + who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not + tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for + she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's + maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a + water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the + cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis: She + can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse + cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a + jade. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid + with clean hands. + + Enter SPEED + + SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership? + LAUNCE. With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea. + SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news, + then, in your paper? + LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st. + SPEED. Why, man? how black? + LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink. + SPEED. Let me read them. + LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. + SPEED. Thou liest; I can. + LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee? + SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather. + LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother. + This proves that thou canst not read. + SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. + LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy + speed. + SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.' + LAUNCE. Ay, that she can. + SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.' + LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you + brew good ale. + SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.' + LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?' + SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.' + LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can + knit him a stock. + SPEED. 'Item: She can wash and scour.' + LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and + scour'd. + SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.' + LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for + her living. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.' + LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'bastard virtues'; that indeed + know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. + SPEED. 'Here follow her vices.' + LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues. + SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her + breath.' + LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. + Read on. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.' + LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath. + SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' + LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. + SPEED. 'Item: She is slow in words.' + LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow + in words is a woman's only virtue. I pray thee, out with't; and + place it for her chief virtue. + SPEED. 'Item: She is proud.' + LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en + from her. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' + LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. + SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.' + LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. + SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.' + LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will; + for good things should be praised. + SPEED. 'Item: She is too liberal.' + LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow + of; of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now of + another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults + than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' + LAUNCE. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine, + twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit'- + LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I'll prove it: the cover of + the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; + the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the + greater hides the less. What's next? + SPEED. 'And more faults than hairs'- + LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out! + SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.' + LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have + her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible- + SPEED. What then? + LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee + at the Northgate. + SPEED. For me? + LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man + than thee. + SPEED. And must I go to him? + LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that + going will scarce serve the turn. + SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! + Exit + LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly + slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to + rejoice in the boy's correction. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE and THURIO + + DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you + Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. + THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, + Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, + That I am desperate of obtaining her. + DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure + Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat + Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. + A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, + And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. + + Enter PROTEUS + + How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman, + According to our proclamation, gone? + PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. + DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. + PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. + DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. + Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee- + For thou hast shown some sign of good desert- + Makes me the better to confer with thee. + PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace + Let me not live to look upon your Grace. + DUKE. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect + The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. + PROTEUS. I do, my lord. + DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant + How she opposes her against my will. + PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. + DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. + What might we do to make the girl forget + The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? + PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine + With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent- + Three things that women highly hold in hate. + DUKE. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. + PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it; + Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken + By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. + DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him. + PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do: + 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, + Especially against his very friend. + DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him, + Your slander never can endamage him; + Therefore the office is indifferent, + Being entreated to it by your friend. + PROTEUS. You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it + By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, + She shall not long continue love to him. + But say this weed her love from Valentine, + It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. + THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, + Lest it should ravel and be good to none, + You must provide to bottom it on me; + Which must be done by praising me as much + As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. + DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, + Because we know, on Valentine's report, + You are already Love's firm votary + And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. + Upon this warrant shall you have access + Where you with Silvia may confer at large- + For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, + And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you- + Where you may temper her by your persuasion + To hate young Valentine and love my friend. + PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect. + But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; + You must lay lime to tangle her desires + By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes + Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. + DUKE. Ay, + Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. + PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty + You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; + Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears + Moist it again, and frame some feeling line + That may discover such integrity; + For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, + Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, + Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans + Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. + After your dire-lamenting elegies, + Visit by night your lady's chamber window + With some sweet consort; to their instruments + Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence + Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. + This, or else nothing, will inherit her. + DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. + THURIO. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice; + Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, + Let us into the city presently + To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. + I have a sonnet that will serve the turn + To give the onset to thy good advice. + DUKE. About it, gentlemen! + PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper, + And afterward determine our proceedings. + DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt + + + + +ACT_4|SC_1 +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The frontiers of Mantua. A forest + +Enter certain OUTLAWS + + FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. + SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. + + Enter VALENTINE and SPEED + + THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye; + If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. + SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains + That all the travellers do fear so much. + VALENTINE. My friends- + FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. + SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him. + THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man. + VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose; + A man I am cross'd with adversity; + My riches are these poor habiliments, + Of which if you should here disfurnish me, + You take the sum and substance that I have. + SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you? + VALENTINE. To Verona. + FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you? + VALENTINE. From Milan. + THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there? + VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, + If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. + FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence? + VALENTINE. I was. + SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence? + VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse: + I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; + But yet I slew him manfully in fight, + Without false vantage or base treachery. + FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. + But were you banish'd for so small a fault? + VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. + SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues? + VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy, + Or else I often had been miserable. + THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, + This fellow were a king for our wild faction! + FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. + SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. + VALENTINE. Peace, villain! + SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? + VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune. + THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, + Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth + Thrust from the company of awful men; + Myself was from Verona banished + For practising to steal away a lady, + An heir, and near allied unto the Duke. + SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman + Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. + FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these. + But to the purpose- for we cite our faults + That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; + And, partly, seeing you are beautified + With goodly shape, and by your own report + A linguist, and a man of such perfection + As we do in our quality much want- + SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, + Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. + Are you content to be our general- + To make a virtue of necessity, + And live as we do in this wilderness? + THIRD OUTLAW. What say'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort? + Say 'ay' and be the captain of us all. + We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, + Love thee as our commander and our king. + FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest. + SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. + VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you, + Provided that you do no outrages + On silly women or poor passengers. + THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices. + Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews, + And show thee all the treasure we have got; + Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window + +Enter PROTEUS + + PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine, + And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. + Under the colour of commending him + I have access my own love to prefer; + But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, + To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. + When I protest true loyalty to her, + She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; + When to her beauty I commend my vows, + She bids me think how I have been forsworn + In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd; + And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, + The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, + Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love + The more it grows and fawneth on her still. + + Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS + + But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, + And give some evening music to her ear. + THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us? + PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love + Will creep in service where it cannot go. + THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. + PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. + THURIO. Who? Silvia? + PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake. + THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, + Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. + + Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes + + HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, + why is it? + JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. + HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you shall + hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for. + JULIA. But shall I hear him speak? + HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays] + JULIA. That will be music. + HOST. Hark, hark! + JULIA. Is he among these? + HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em. + + SONG + Who is Silvia? What is she, + That all our swains commend her? + Holy, fair, and wise is she; + The heaven such grace did lend her, + That she might admired be. + + Is she kind as she is fair? + For beauty lives with kindness. + Love doth to her eyes repair, + To help him of his blindness; + And, being help'd, inhabits there. + + Then to Silvia let us sing + That Silvia is excelling; + She excels each mortal thing + Upon the dull earth dwelling. + 'To her let us garlands bring. + + HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before? + How do you, man? The music likes you not. + JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not. + HOST. Why, my pretty youth? + JULIA. He plays false, father. + HOST. How, out of tune on the strings? + JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very + heart-strings. + HOST. You have a quick ear. + JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. + HOST. I perceive you delight not in music. + JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so. + HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music! + JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite. + HOST. You would have them always play but one thing? + JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing. + But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, + Often resort unto this gentlewoman? + HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov'd her out of + all nick. + JULIA. Where is Launce? + HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master's + command, he must carry for a present to his lady. + JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts. + PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead + That you shall say my cunning drift excels. + THURIO. Where meet we? + PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well. + THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS + + Enter SILVIA above, at her window + + PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. + Who is that that spake? + PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, + You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. + SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it. + PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. + SILVIA. What's your will? + PROTEUS. That I may compass yours. + SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this, + That presently you hie you home to bed. + Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man, + Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, + To be seduced by thy flattery + That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? + Return, return, and make thy love amends. + For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, + I am so far from granting thy request + That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, + And by and by intend to chide myself + Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. + PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; + But she is dead. + JULIA. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it; + For I am sure she is not buried. + SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, + Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, + I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd + To wrong him with thy importunacy? + PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. + SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave + Assure thyself my love is buried. + PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. + SILVIA. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; + Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. + JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that. + PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, + Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, + The picture that is hanging in your chamber; + To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; + For, since the substance of your perfect self + Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; + And to your shadow will I make true love. + JULIA. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it + And make it but a shadow, as I am. + SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; + But since your falsehood shall become you well + To worship shadows and adore false shapes, + Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it; + And so, good rest. + PROTEUS. As wretches have o'ernight + That wait for execution in the morn. + Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA + JULIA. Host, will you go? + HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. + JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? + HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. + JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night + That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Under SILVIA'S window + +Enter EGLAMOUR + + EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia + Entreated me to call and know her mind; + There's some great matter she'd employ me in. + Madam, madam! + + Enter SILVIA above, at her window + + SILVIA. Who calls? + EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend; + One that attends your ladyship's command. + SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow! + EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself! + According to your ladyship's impose, + I am thus early come to know what service + It is your pleasure to command me in. + SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman- + Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not- + Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. + Thou art not ignorant what dear good will + I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; + Nor how my father would enforce me marry + Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. + Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say + No grief did ever come so near thy heart + As when thy lady and thy true love died, + Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. + Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, + To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode; + And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, + I do desire thy worthy company, + Upon whose faith and honour I repose. + Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, + But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, + And on the justice of my flying hence + To keep me from a most unholy match, + Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues. + I do desire thee, even from a heart + As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, + To bear me company and go with me; + If not, to hide what I have said to thee, + That I may venture to depart alone. + EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances; + Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, + I give consent to go along with you, + Recking as little what betideth me + As much I wish all good befortune you. + When will you go? + SILVIA. This evening coming. + EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you? + SILVIA. At Friar Patrick's cell, + Where I intend holy confession. + EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. + SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Under SILVIA'S Window + +Enter LAUNCE with his dog + + LAUNCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, + it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav'd + from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and + sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say + precisely 'Thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him + as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no + sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher + and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur + cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should + say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it + were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to + take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been + hang'd for't; sure as I live, he had suffer'd for't. You shall + judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four + gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; he had not been + there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the chamber smelt + him. 'Out with the dog' says one; 'What cur is that?' says + another; 'Whip him out' says the third; 'Hang him up' says the + Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it + was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. + 'Friend,' quoth I 'you mean to whip the dog.' 'Ay, marry do I' + quoth he. 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; "twas I did the + thing you wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of + the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, + I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stock for puddings he hath + stol'n, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the + pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had suffer'd + for't. Thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick + you serv'd me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid + thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave + up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? + Didst thou ever see me do such a trick? + + Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy's clothes + + PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, + And will employ thee in some service presently. + JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can. + PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson + peasant! + Where have you been these two days loitering? + LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. + PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel? + LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish + thanks is good enough for such a present. + PROTEUS. But she receiv'd my dog? + LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back + again. + PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me? + LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol'n from me by the + hangman's boys in the market-place; and then I offer'd her mine + own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift + the greater. + PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again, + Or ne'er return again into my sight. + Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE + A slave that still an end turns me to shame! + Sebastian, I have entertained thee + Partly that I have need of such a youth + That can with some discretion do my business, + For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, + But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, + Which, if my augury deceive me not, + Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth; + Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. + Go presently, and take this ring with thee, + Deliver it to Madam Silvia- + She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. + JULIA. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token. + She is dead, belike? + PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives. + JULIA. Alas! + PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry 'Alas'? + JULIA. I cannot choose + But pity her. + PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? + JULIA. Because methinks that she lov'd you as well + As you do love your lady Silvia. + She dreams on him that has forgot her love: + You dote on her that cares not for your love. + 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; + And thinking on it makes me cry 'Alas!' + PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal + This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady + I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. + Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, + Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS + JULIA. How many women would do such a message? + Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain'd + A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. + Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him + That with his very heart despiseth me? + Because he loves her, he despiseth me; + Because I love him, I must pity him. + This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, + To bind him to remember my good will; + And now am I, unhappy messenger, + To plead for that which I would not obtain, + To carry that which I would have refus'd, + To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. + I am my master's true confirmed love, + But cannot be true servant to my master + Unless I prove false traitor to myself. + Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly + As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. + + Enter SILVIA, attended + + Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean + To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. + SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she? + JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience + To hear me speak the message I am sent on. + SILVIA. From whom? + JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. + SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture? + JULIA. Ay, madam. + SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there. + Go, give your master this. Tell him from me, + One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, + Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. + JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter. + Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd + Deliver'd you a paper that I should not. + This is the letter to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again. + JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. + SILVIA. There, hold! + I will not look upon your master's lines. + I know they are stuff'd with protestations, + And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break + As easily as I do tear his paper. + JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. + SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me; + For I have heard him say a thousand times + His Julia gave it him at his departure. + Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, + Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. + JULIA. She thanks you. + SILVIA. What say'st thou? + JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. + Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much. + SILVIA. Dost thou know her? + JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself. + To think upon her woes, I do protest + That I have wept a hundred several times. + SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. + JULIA. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. + SILVIA. Is she not passing fair? + JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. + When she did think my master lov'd her well, + She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; + But since she did neglect her looking-glass + And threw her sun-expelling mask away, + The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks + And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, + That now she is become as black as I. + SILVIA. How tall was she? + JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost, + When all our pageants of delight were play'd, + Our youth got me to play the woman's part, + And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown; + Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, + As if the garment had been made for me; + Therefore I know she is about my height. + And at that time I made her weep a good, + For I did play a lamentable part. + Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning + For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; + Which I so lively acted with my tears + That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, + Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead + If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. + SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. + Alas, poor lady, desolate and left! + I weep myself, to think upon thy words. + Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this + For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. + Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS + JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. + A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! + I hope my master's suit will be but cold, + Since she respects my mistress' love so much. + Alas, how love can trifle with itself! + Here is her picture; let me see. I think, + If I had such a tire, this face of mine + Were full as lovely as is this of hers; + And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, + Unless I flatter with myself too much. + Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow; + If that be all the difference in his love, + I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. + Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine; + Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. + What should it be that he respects in her + But I can make respective in myself, + If this fond Love were not a blinded god? + Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, + For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, + Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd! + And were there sense in his idolatry + My substance should be statue in thy stead. + I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, + That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, + I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, + To make my master out of love with thee. Exit + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Milan. An abbey + +Enter EGLAMOUR + + EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky, + And now it is about the very hour + That Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me. + She will not fail, for lovers break not hours + Unless it be to come before their time, + So much they spur their expedition. + + Enter SILVIA + + See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening! + SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour, + Out at the postern by the abbey wall; + I fear I am attended by some spies. + EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off; + If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN + + THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? + PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was; + And yet she takes exceptions at your person. + THURIO. What, that my leg is too long? + PROTEUS. No; that it is too little. + THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. + JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. + THURIO. What says she to my face? + PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one. + THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black. + PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is: + Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. + JULIA. [Aside] 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; + For I had rather wink than look on them. + THURIO. How likes she my discourse? + PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war. + THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace? + JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. + THURIO. What says she to my valour? + PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. + JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. + THURIO. What says she to my birth? + PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd. + JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool. + THURIO. Considers she my possessions? + PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them. + THURIO. Wherefore? + JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them. + PROTEUS. That they are out by lease. + JULIA. Here comes the Duke. + + Enter DUKE + + DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio! + Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late? + THURIO. Not I. + PROTEUS. Nor I. + DUKE. Saw you my daughter? + PROTEUS. Neither. + DUKE. Why then, + She's fled unto that peasant Valentine; + And Eglamour is in her company. + 'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both + As he in penance wander'd through the forest; + Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she, + But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it; + Besides, she did intend confession + At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not. + These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence; + Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, + But mount you presently, and meet with me + Upon the rising of the mountain foot + That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled. + Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit + THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl + That flies her fortune when it follows her. + I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour + Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit + PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love + Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit + JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love + Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +The frontiers of Mantua. The forest + +Enter OUTLAWS with SILVA + + FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come. + Be patient; we must bring you to our captain. + SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one + Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. + SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away. + FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her? + SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us, + But Moyses and Valerius follow him. + Go thou with her to the west end of the wood; + There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled. + The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. + FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave; + Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, + And will not use a woman lawlessly. + SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +Another part of the forest + +Enter VALENTINE + + VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man! + This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, + I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. + Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, + And to the nightingale's complaining notes + Tune my distresses and record my woes. + O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, + Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, + Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall + And leave no memory of what it was! + Repair me with thy presence, Silvia: + Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain. + What halloing and what stir is this to-day? + These are my mates, that make their wills their law, + Have some unhappy passenger in chase. + They love me well; yet I have much to do + To keep them from uncivil outrages. + Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here? + [Steps aside] + + Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian + + PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you, + Though you respect not aught your servant doth, + To hazard life, and rescue you from him + That would have forc'd your honour and your love. + Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; + A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, + And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. + VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear! + Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. + SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am! + PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; + But by my coming I have made you happy. + SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. + JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence. + SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, + I would have been a breakfast to the beast + Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. + O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, + Whose life's as tender to me as my soul! + And full as much, for more there cannot be, + I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus. + Therefore be gone; solicit me no more. + PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, + Would I not undergo for one calm look? + O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, + When women cannot love where they're belov'd! + SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd! + Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, + For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith + Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths + Descended into perjury, to love me. + Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, + And that's far worse than none; better have none + Than plural faith, which is too much by one. + Thou counterfeit to thy true friend! + PROTEUS. In love, + Who respects friend? + SILVIA. All men but Proteus. + PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words + Can no way change you to a milder form, + I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, + And love you 'gainst the nature of love- force ye. + SILVIA. O heaven! + PROTEUS. I'll force thee yield to my desire. + VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch; + Thou friend of an ill fashion! + PROTEUS. Valentine! + VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love- + For such is a friend now; treacherous man, + Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye + Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say + I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me. + Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand + Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, + I am sorry I must never trust thee more, + But count the world a stranger for thy sake. + The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst! + 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! + PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me. + Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow + Be a sufficient ransom for offence, + I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer + As e'er I did commit. + VALENTINE. Then I am paid; + And once again I do receive thee honest. + Who by repentance is not satisfied + Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas'd; + By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. + And, that my love may appear plain and free, + All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. + JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons] + PROTEUS. Look to the boy. + VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! + What's the matter? Look up; speak. + JULIA. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam + Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. + PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy? + JULIA. Here 'tis; this is it. + PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. + JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook; + This is the ring you sent to Silvia. + PROTEUS. But how cam'st thou by this ring? + At my depart I gave this unto Julia. + JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me; + And Julia herself have brought it hither. + PROTEUS. How! Julia! + JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, + And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. + How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! + O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! + Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me + Such an immodest raiment- if shame live + In a disguise of love. + It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, + Women to change their shapes than men their minds. + PROTEUS. Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man + But constant, he were perfect! That one error + Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th' sins: + Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. + What is in Silvia's face but I may spy + More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? + VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either. + Let me be blest to make this happy close; + 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. + PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. + JULIA. And I mine. + + Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO + + OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize! + VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke. + Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, + Banished Valentine. + DUKE. Sir Valentine! + THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. + VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death; + Come not within the measure of my wrath; + Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, + Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands + Take but possession of her with a touch- + I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. + THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; + I hold him but a fool that will endanger + His body for a girl that loves him not. + I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. + DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou + To make such means for her as thou hast done + And leave her on such slight conditions. + Now, by the honour of my ancestry, + I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, + And think thee worthy of an empress' love. + Know then, I here forget all former griefs, + Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, + Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, + To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, + Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd; + Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. + VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy. + I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, + To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. + DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. + VALENTINE. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, + Are men endu'd with worthy qualities; + Forgive them what they have committed here, + And let them be recall'd from their exile: + They are reformed, civil, full of good, + And fit for great employment, worthy lord. + DUKE. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee; + Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. + Come, let us go; we will include all jars + With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. + VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold + With our discourse to make your Grace to smile. + What think you of this page, my lord? + DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. + VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy. + DUKE. What mean you by that saying? + VALENTINE. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, + That you will wonder what hath fortuned. + Come, Proteus, 'tis your penance but to hear + The story of your loves discovered. + That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; + One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1611 + +THE WINTER'S TALE + +by William Shakespeare + + + +Dramatis Personae + + LEONTES, King of Sicilia + MAMILLIUS, his son, the young Prince of Sicilia + CAMILLO, lord of Sicilia + ANTIGONUS, " " " + CLEOMENES, " " " + DION, " " " + POLIXENES, King of Bohemia + FLORIZEL, his son, Prince of Bohemia + ARCHIDAMUS, a lord of Bohemia + OLD SHEPHERD, reputed father of Perdita + CLOWN, his son + AUTOLYCUS, a rogue + A MARINER + A GAOLER + TIME, as Chorus + + HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes + PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione + PAULINA, wife to Antigonus + EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen + MOPSA, shepherdess + DORCAS, " + + Other Lords, Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, Servants, Shepherds, + Shepherdesses + + SCENE: + Sicilia and Bohemia + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES + +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 overkind to Bohemia. They were + train'd 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 seem'd to be together, + though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it + were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their + loves! + ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or + matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young + Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that + ever came into my note. + CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a + gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old + hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire + yet their life to see him a man. + ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die? + CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire + to live. + ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on + crutches till he had one. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES + +Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS + + POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been + The shepherd's note since we have left our throne + Without a burden. Time as long again + Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks; + And yet we should for perpetuity + Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher, + Yet standing in rich place, I multiply + With one 'We thank you' many thousands 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 sev'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' th' world, + So soon as yours could win me. So it should now, + Were there necessity in your request, although + 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs + Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder + Were in your love a whip to me; my stay + To you a charge and trouble. To save both, + Farewell, our brother. + LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you. + HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until + You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, + Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure + All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction + The by-gone day 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. + [To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll + adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia + You take my lord, I'll give him my commission + To let him there a month behind the gest + Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes, + I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind + What lady she her lord.- You'll stay? + POLIXENES. No, madam. + HERMIONE. Nay, but you will? + POLIXENES. I may not, verily. + HERMIONE. Verily! + You put me off with limber vows; but I, + Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths, + Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, + You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is + As potent as a lord's. Will go yet? + Force me to keep you as a prisoner, + Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees + When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? + My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,' + One of them you shall be. + POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam: + To be your prisoner should import offending; + Which is for me less easy to commit + Than you to punish. + HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then, + But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you + Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys. + You were pretty lordings then! + POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen, + Two lads that thought there was no more behind + But such a day to-morrow as to-day, + And to be boy eternal. + HERMIONE. Was not my lord + The verier wag o' th' two? + POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun + And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd + Was innocence for innocence; we knew not + The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd + That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, + And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd + With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven + Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd + Hereditary ours. + HERMIONE. By this we gather + You have tripp'd since. + POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady, + Temptations have since then been born to 's, for + In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; + Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes + Of my young playfellow. + HERMIONE. Grace to boot! + Of this make no conclusion, lest you say + Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on; + Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer, + If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us + You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not + With any but with us. + LEONTES. Is he won yet? + HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord. + LEONTES. At my request he would not. + Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st + To better purpose. + HERMIONE. Never? + LEONTES. Never but once. + HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before? + I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's + As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless + Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. + Our praises are our wages; you may ride's + With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere + With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal: + My last good deed was to entreat his stay; + What was my first? It has an elder sister, + Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace! + But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When? + Nay, let me have't; I long. + LEONTES. Why, that was when + Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, + Ere I could make thee open thy white hand + And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter + 'I am yours for ever.' + HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed. + Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice: + The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; + Th' other for some while a friend. + [Giving her hand to POLIXENES] + LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot! + To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. + I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances, + But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment + May a free face put on; derive a liberty + From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, + And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant; + But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, + As now they are, and making practis'd smiles + As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere + The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment + My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius, + Art thou my boy? + MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord. + LEONTES. I' fecks! + Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose? + They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain, + We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain. + And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, + Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling + Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf, + Art thou my calf? + MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord. + LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, + To be full like me; yet they say we are + Almost as like as eggs. Women say so, + That will say anything. But were they false + As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false + As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes + No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true + To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, + Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain! + Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be? + Affection! thy intention stabs the centre. + Thou dost make possible things not so held, + Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?- + With what's unreal thou coactive art, + And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent + Thou 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 hard'ning of my brows. + POLIXENES. What means Sicilia? + HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled. + POLIXENES. How, my lord! + What cheer? How is't with you, best brother? + HERMIONE. You look + As if you held a brow of much distraction. + Are you mov'd, my lord? + LEONTES. No, in good earnest. + How sometimes nature will betray its folly, + Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime + To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines + Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil + Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, + In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd, + Lest it should bite its master and so prove, + As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. + How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, + This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, + Will you take eggs for money? + MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight. + LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother, + Are you so fond of your young prince as we + Do seem to be of ours? + POLIXENES. If at home, sir, + He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter; + Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; + My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. + He makes a July's day short as December, + And with his varying childness cures in me + Thoughts that would thick my blood. + LEONTES. So stands this squire + Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, + And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, + How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome; + Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap; + Next to thyself and my young rover, he's + Apparent to my heart. + HERMIONE. If you would seek us, + We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there? + LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found, + Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now, + Though you perceive me not how I give line. + Go to, go to! + How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! + And arms her with the boldness of a wife + To her allowing husband! + + Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS + + Gone already! + Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! + Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I + Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue + Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour + Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, + Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; + And many a man there is, even at this present, + Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm + That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, + And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by + Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't, + Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, + As mine, against their will. Should all despair + That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind + Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none; + It is a bawdy planet, that will strike + Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, 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; whisp'ring, rounding, + 'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone + When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo, + That he did stay? + CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty. + LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent; + But so it is, it is not. Was this taken + By any understanding pate but thine? + For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in + More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't, + But of the finer natures, by some severals + Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes + Perchance are to this business purblind? Say. + CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand + Bohemia stays here longer. + LEONTES. Ha? + CAMILLO. Stays here longer. + LEONTES. Ay, but why? + CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties + Of our most gracious mistress. + LEONTES. Satisfy + Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy! + Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, + With all the nearest things to my heart, as well + My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou + Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed + Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been + Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd + In that which seems so. + CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord! + LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or, + If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, + Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining + From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted + A servant grafted in my serious trust, + And therein negligent; or else a fool + That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, + And tak'st it all for jest. + CAMILLO. My gracious lord, + I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: + In every one of these no man is free + But that his negligence, his folly, fear, + Among the infinite doings of the world, + Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, + If ever I were wilfull-negligent, + It was my folly; if industriously + I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, + Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful + To do a thing where I the issue doubted, + Whereof the execution did cry out + Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear + Which oft 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 laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible + Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot? + Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift; + Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes + Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, + That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing? + Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; + The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; + My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, + If this be nothing. + CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd + Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; + For 'tis most dangerous. + LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true. + CAMILLO. No, no, my lord. + LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie. + I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; + Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, + Or else a hovering temporizer that + Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, + Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver + Infected as her life, she would not live + The running of one glass. + CAMILLO. Who does her? + LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging + About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I + Had servants true about me that bare eyes + To see alike mine honour as their profits, + Their own particular thrifts, they would do that + Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, + His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form + Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see, + Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, + How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup + To give mine enemy a lasting wink; + Which draught to me were cordial. + CAMILLO. Sir, my lord, + I could do this; and that with no rash potion, + But with a ling'ring dram that should not work + Maliciously like poison. But I cannot + Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, + So sovereignly being honourable. + I have lov'd thee- + LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot! + Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, + To appoint myself in this vexation; sully + The purity and whiteness of my sheets- + Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted + Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps; + Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son- + Who I do think is mine, and love as mine- + Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this? + Could man so blench? + CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir. + I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; + Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness + Will take again your queen as yours at first, + Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing + The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms + Known and allied to yours. + LEONTES. Thou dost advise me + Even so as I mine own course have set down. + I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. + CAMILLO. My lord, + Go then; and with a countenance as clear + As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia + And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; + If from me he have wholesome beverage, + Account me not your servant. + LEONTES. This is all: + Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; + Do't not, thou split'st thine own. + CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord. + LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit + CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me, + What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner + Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't + Is the obedience to a master; one + Who, in rebellion with himself, will have + All that are his so too. To do this deed, + Promotion follows. If I could find example + Of thousands that had struck anointed kings + And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since + Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, + Let villainy itself forswear't. I must + Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain + To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now! + Here comes Bohemia. + + Enter POLIXENES + + POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks + My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? + Good day, Camillo. + CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir! + POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court? + CAMILLO. None rare, my lord. + POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance + As he had lost some province, and a region + Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him + With customary compliment, when he, + Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling + A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; + So leaves me to consider what is breeding + That changes thus his manners. + CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord. + POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not + Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts; + For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, + And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, + Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror + Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be + A party in this alteration, finding + Myself thus alter'd with't. + CAMILLO. There is a sickness + Which puts some of us in distemper; but + I cannot name the disease; and it is caught + Of you that yet are well. + POLIXENES. How! caught of me? + Make me not sighted like the basilisk; + I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better + By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo- + As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto + Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns + Our gentry than our parents' noble names, + In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you, + If you know aught which does behove my knowledge + Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not + In ignorant concealment. + CAMILLO. I may not answer. + POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? + I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo? + I conjure thee, by all the parts of man + Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least + Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare + What incidency thou dost guess of harm + Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; + Which way to be prevented, if to be; + If not, how best to bear it. + CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you; + Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him + That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel, + Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as + I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me + Cry lost, and so goodnight. + POLIXENES. On, good Camillo. + CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you. + POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo? + CAMILLO. By the King. + POLIXENES. For what? + CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, + As he had seen 't or been an instrument + To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen + Forbiddenly. + POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn + To an infected jelly, and my name + Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best! + Turn then my freshest reputation to + A savour that may strike the dullest nostril + Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, + Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection + That e'er was heard or read! + CAMILLO. Swear his thought over + By each particular star in heaven and + By all their influences, you may as well + Forbid the sea for to obey the moon + As or by oath remove or counsel shake + The fabric of his folly, whose foundation + Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue + The standing of his body. + POLIXENES. How should this grow? + CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to + Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. + If therefore you dare trust my honesty, + That lies enclosed in this trunk which you + Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. + Your followers I will whisper to the business; + And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, + Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put + My fortunes to your service, which are here + By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain, + For, by the honour of my parents, I + Have utt'red 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 this 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES + +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't this? + MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now, + What colour are your eyebrows? + FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord. + MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose + That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. + FIRST LADY. Hark ye: + The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall + Present our services to a fine new prince + One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us, + If we would have you. + SECOND LADY. She is spread of late + Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her! + HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now + I am for you again. Pray you sit by us, + And tell's a tale. + MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be? + HERMIONE. As merry as you will. + MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one + Of sprites and goblins. + HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir. + Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best + To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it. + MAMILLIUS. There was a man- + HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on. + MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly; + Yond crickets shall not hear it. + HERMIONE. Come on then, + And give't me in mine ear. + + Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS + + LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him? + FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never + Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them + Even to their ships. + LEONTES. How blest am I + In my just censure, in my true opinion! + Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd + In being so blest! There may be in the cup + A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, + And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge + Is not infected; but if one present + Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known + How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, + With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. + Camillo was his help in this, his pander. + There is a plot against my life, my crown; + All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain + Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him; + He has discover'd my design, and I + Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick + For them to play at will. How came the posterns + So easily open? + FIRST LORD. By his great authority; + Which often hath no less prevail'd than so + On your command. + LEONTES. I know't too well. + Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him; + Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you + Have too much blood in him. + HERMIONE. What is this? Sport? + LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; + Away with him; and let her sport herself + [MAMILLIUS is led out] + With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes + Has made thee swell thus. + HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not, + And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, + Howe'er you lean to th' nayward. + LEONTES. You, my lords, + Look on her, mark her well; be but about + To say 'She is a goodly lady' and + The justice of your hearts will thereto ad + 'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.' + Praise her but for this her without-door form, + Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight + The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands + That calumny doth use- O, I am out!- + That mercy does, for calumny will sear + Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's, + When you have said she's goodly, come between, + Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known, + From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, + She's an adultress. + HERMIONE. Should a villain say so, + The most replenish'd villain in the world, + He were as much more villain: you, my lord, + Do but mistake. + LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady, + Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing! + Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, + Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, + Should a like language use to all degrees + And mannerly distinguishment leave out + Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said + She's an adultress; I have said with whom. + More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is + A federary with her, and one that knows + What she should shame to know herself + But with her most vile principal- that she's + A bed-swerver, even as bad as those + That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy + To this their late escape. + HERMIONE. No, by my life, + Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, + When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that + You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, + You scarce can right me throughly then to say + You did mistake. + LEONTES. No; if I mistake + In those foundations which I build upon, + The centre is not big enough to bear + A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison. + He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty + But that he speaks. + HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns. + I must be patient till the heavens look + With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, + I am not prone to weeping, as our sex + Commonly are- the want of which vain dew + Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have + That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns + Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, + With thoughts so qualified as your charities + Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so + The King's will be perform'd! + LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard? + HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness + My women may be with me, for you see + My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; + There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress + Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears + As I come out: this action I now go on + Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord. + I never wish'd to see you sorry; now + I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. + LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence! + Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and 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 t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless + I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean + In this which you accuse her. + ANTIGONUS. If it prove + She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where + I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; + Than when I feel and see her no 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 abus'd, and by some putter-on + That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain! + I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd- + I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven; + The second and the third, nine and some five; + If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour, + I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see + To bring false generations. They are co-heirs; + And I had rather glib myself than they + Should not produce fair issue. + LEONTES. Cease; no more. + You smell this business with a sense as cold + As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't + As you feel doing thus; and see withal + The instruments that feel. + ANTIGONUS. If it be so, + We need no grave to bury honesty; + There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten + Of the whole dungy earth. + LEONTES. What! Lack I credit? + FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, + Upon this ground; and more it would content me + To have her honour true than your suspicion, + Be blam'd for't how you might. + LEONTES. Why, what need we + Commune with you of this, but rather follow + Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative + Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness + Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified + Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not + Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves + We need no more of your advice. The matter, + The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all + Properly ours. + ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege, + You had only in your silent 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 th' deed- doth push on this proceeding. + Yet, for a greater confirmation- + For, in an act of this importance, 'twere + Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post + To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, + Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know + Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle + They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had, + Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? + FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord. + LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more + Than what I know, yet shall the oracle + Give rest to th' minds of others such as he + Whose ignorant credulity will not + Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good + From our free person she should be confin'd, + Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence + Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; + We are to speak in public; for this business + Will raise us all. + ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, + If the good truth were known. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Sicilia. 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 who much I honour. + PAULINA. Pray you, then, + Conduct me to the Queen. + GAOLER. I may not, madam; + To the contrary I have express commandment. + PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from + Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, + To see her women- any of them? Emilia? + GAOLER. So please you, madam, + To put apart these your attendants, + Shall bring Emilia forth. + PAULINA. I pray now, call her. + Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS + GAOLER. And, madam, + I must be present at your conference. + PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER + Here's such ado to make no stain a stain + As passes colouring. + + Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA + + Dear gentlewoman, + How fares our gracious lady? + EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn + May hold together. On her frights and griefs, + Which never tender lady hath borne greater, + She is, something before her time, deliver'd. + PAULINA. A boy? + EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe, + Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives + Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, + I am as innocent as you.' + PAULINA. I dare be sworn. + These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them! + He must be told on't, and he shall. The office + Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me; + If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, + And never to my red-look'd anger be + The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, + Commend my best obedience to the Queen; + If she dares trust me with her little babe, + I'll show't the King, and undertake to be + Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know + How he may soften at the sight o' th' child: + The silence often of pure innocence + Persuades when speaking fails. + EMILIA. Most worthy madam, + Your honour and your goodness is so evident + That your free undertaking cannot miss + A thriving issue; there is no lady living + So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship + To visit the next room, I'll presently + Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer + Who but 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 enfranchis'd- not a party to + The anger of the King, nor guilty of, + If any be, the trespass of the Queen. + GAOLER. I do believe it. + PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I + Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES + +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' th' cause, + She, th' adultress; for the harlot king + Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank + And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she + I can hook to me- say that she were gone, + Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest + Might come to me again. Who's there? + FIRST SERVANT. My lord? + LEONTES. How does the boy? + FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night; + 'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. + LEONTES. To see his nobleness! + Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, + He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, + Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, + Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, + And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go, + See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of him! + The very thought of my revenges that way + Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty, + And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be, + Until a time may serve; for present vengeance, + Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes + Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow. + They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor + Shall she, within my pow'r. + + 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 to-night; 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 charg'd thee that she should not come about me; + I knew she would. + ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord, + On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, + She should not visit you. + LEONTES. What, canst not rule her? + PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this, + Unless he take the course that you have done- + Commit me for committing honour- trust it, + He shall not rule me. + ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear! + When she will take the rein, I let her run; + But she'll not stumble. + PAULINA. Good my liege, I come- + And I beseech you hear me, who professes + Myself your loyal servant, your physician, + Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares + Less appear so, in comforting your evils, + Than such as most seem yours- I say I come + From your good Queen. + LEONTES. Good Queen! + PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen; + And would by combat make her good, so were I + A man, the worst about you. + LEONTES. Force her hence. + PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes + First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off; + But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen, + For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; + Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. + [Laying down the child] + LEONTES. Out! + A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door! + A most intelligencing bawd! + PAULINA. Not so. + I am as ignorant in that as you + In so entitling me; and no less honest + Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, + As this world goes, to pass for honest. + LEONTES. Traitors! + Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. + [To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted + By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; + Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. + PAULINA. For ever + Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou + Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness + Which he has put upon't! + LEONTES. He dreads his wife. + PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt + You'd call your children yours. + LEONTES. A nest of traitors! + ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light. + PAULINA. Nor I; nor any + But one that's here; and that's himself; for he + The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's, + His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, + Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not- + For, as the case now stands, it is a curse + He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove + The root of his opinion, which is rotten + As ever oak or stone was sound. + LEONTES. A callat + Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, + And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; + It is the issue of Polixenes. + Hence with it, and together with the dam + Commit them to the fire. + PAULINA. It is yours. + And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge, + So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, + Although the print be little, the whole matter + And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip, + The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, + The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; + The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger. + And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it + So like to him that got it, if thou hast + The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours + No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, + Her children not her husband's! + LEONTES. A gross hag! + And, 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-hing'd fancy- something savours + Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, + Yea, scandalous to the world. + LEONTES. On your allegiance, + Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, + Where were her life? She durst not call me so, + If she did know me one. Away with her! + PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. + Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her + A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? + You that are thus so tender o'er his follies + Will never do him good, not one of you. + So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit + LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. + My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast + A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, + And see it instantly consum'd with fire; + Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. + Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, + And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, + With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, + And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; + The bastard brains with these my proper hands + Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; + For thou set'st on thy wife. + ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir. + These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, + Can clear me in't. + LORDS. We can. My royal liege, + He is not guilty of her coming hither. + LEONTES. You're liars all. + FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit. + We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech + So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg, + As recompense of our dear services + Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, + Which being so horrible, so bloody, must + Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. + LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows. + Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel + And call me father? Better burn it now + Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. + It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you hither. + You that have been so tenderly officious + With Lady Margery, your midwife there, + To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard, + So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure + To save this brat's life? + ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord, + That my ability may undergo, + And nobleness impose. At least, thus much: + I'll pawn the little blood which I have left + To save the innocent- anything possible. + LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword + Thou wilt perform my bidding. + ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord. + LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail + Of any point in't shall not only be + Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, + Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, + As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry + This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it + To some remote and desert place, quite out + Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, + Without more mercy, to it own protection + And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune + It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, + On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, + That thou commend it strangely to some place + Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. + ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death + Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. + Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens + To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, + Casting their savageness aside, have done + Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous + In more than this deed does require! And blessing + Against this cruelty fight on thy side, + Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child + LEONTES. No, I'll not rear + Another's issue. + + Enter a SERVANT + + SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts + From those you sent to th' oracle are come + An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, + Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, + Hasting to th' court. + FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed + Hath been beyond account. + LEONTES. Twenty-three days + They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells + The great Apollo suddenly will have + The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; + Summon a session, that we may arraign + Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath + Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have + A just and open trial. While she lives, + My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; + And think upon my bidding. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +Sicilia. On the road to the Capital + +Enter CLEOMENES and DION + + CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, + Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing + The common praise it bears. + DION. I shall report, + For most it caught me, the celestial habits- + Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence + Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! + How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, + It was i' th' off'ring! + CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst + And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, + Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense + That I was nothing. + DION. If th' event o' th' journey + Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- + As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, + The time is worth the use on't. + CLEOMENES. Great Apollo + Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, + So forcing faults upon Hermione, + I little like. + DION. The violent carriage of it + Will clear or end the business. When the oracle- + Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up- + Shall the contents discover, something rare + Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses. + And gracious be the issue! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Sicilia. 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 belov'd. Let us be clear'd + Of being tyrannous, since we so openly + Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, + Even to the guilt or the purgation. + Produce the prisoner. + OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen + Appear in person here in court. + + Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES + + Silence! + 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 true subject, didst counsel and aid them, + for their better safety, to fly away by night.' + HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that + Which contradicts my accusation, and + The testimony on my part no other + But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me + To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity + Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it, + Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine + Behold our human actions, as they do, + I doubt not then but innocence shall make + False accusation blush, and tyranny + Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know- + Who least will seem to do so- my past life + Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, + As I am now unhappy; which is more + Than history can pattern, though devis'd + And play'd to take spectators; for behold me- + A fellow of the royal bed, which owe + A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, + The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing + To prate and talk for life and honour fore + Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it + As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour, + 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, + And only that I stand for. I appeal + To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes + Came to your court, how I was in your grace, + How merited to be so; since he came, + With what encounter so uncurrent I + Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond + The bound of honour, or in act or will + That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts + Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin + Cry fie upon my grave! + LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet + That any of these bolder vices wanted + Less impudence to gainsay what they did + Than to perform it first. + HERMIONE. That's true enough; + Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. + LEONTES. You will not own it. + HERMIONE. More than mistress of + Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not + At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, + With whom I am accus'd, I do confess + I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd; + With such a kind of love as might become + A lady like me; with a love even such, + So and no other, as yourself commanded; + Which not to have done, I think had been in me + Both disobedience and ingratitude + To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, + Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely, + That it was yours. Now for conspiracy: + I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd + For me to try how; all I know of it + Is that Camillo was an honest man; + And why he left your court, the gods themselves, + Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. + LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know + What you have underta'en to do in's absence. + HERMIONE. Sir, + You speak a language that I understand not. + My life stands in the level of your dreams, + Which I'll lay down. + LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams. + You had a bastard by Polixenes, + And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame- + Those of your fact are so- so past all truth; + Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as + Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, + No father owning it- which is indeed + More criminal in thee than it- so thou + Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage + Look for no less than death. + HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats. + The bug which you would fright me with I seek. + To me can life be no commodity. + The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, + I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, + But know not how it went; my second joy + And first fruits of my body, from his presence + I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort, + Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast- + The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth- + Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post + Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred + The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs + To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried + Here to this place, i' th' open air, before + I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, + Tell me what blessings I have here alive + That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. + But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life, + I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour + Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd + Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else + But what your jealousies awake, I tell you + 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, + I do refer me to the oracle: + Apollo be my judge! + FIRST LORD. This your request + Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth, + And in Apollo's name, his oracle. + Exeunt certain OFFICERS + HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father; + O that he were alive, and here beholding + His daughter's trial! that he did but see + The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes + Of pity, not revenge! + + 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 + This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd + Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then + You have not dar'd to break the holy seal + Nor read the secrets in't. + CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear. + LEONTES. Break up the seals and read. + OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; + Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent + babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if + that which is lost be not found.' + LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo! + HERMIONE. Praised! + LEONTES. Hast thou read truth? + OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so + As it is here set down. + LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle. + The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood. + + Enter a SERVANT + + 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'ercharg'd; she will recover. + I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion. + Beseech you tenderly apply to her + Some remedies for life. + Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE + Apollo, pardon + My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle. + I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, + New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo- + Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy. + For, being transported by my jealousies + To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose + Camillo for the minister to poison + My friend Polixenes; which had been done + But that the good mind of Camillo tardied + My swift command, though I with death and with + Reward did threaten and encourage him, + Not doing it and being done. He, most humane + And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest + Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, + Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard + Of all incertainties himself commended, + No richer than his honour. How he glisters + Thorough my rust! And how his piety + Does my deeds make the blacker! + + 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 pow'rs forbid! + PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath + Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring + Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, + Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you + As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! + Do not repent these things, for they are heavier + Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee + To nothing but despair. A thousand knees + Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, + Upon a barren mountain, and still winter + In storm perpetual, could not move the gods + To look that way thou wert. + LEONTES. Go on, go on. + Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd + All tongues to talk their bitt'rest. + FIRST LORD. Say no more; + Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault + I' th' boldness of your speech. + PAULINA. I am sorry for't. + All faults I make, when I shall come to know them. + I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much + The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd + To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help + Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction + At my petition; I beseech you, rather + Let me be punish'd that have minded you + Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, + Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. + The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again! + I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; + I'll not remember you of my own lord, + Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, + And I'll say nothing. + LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well + When most the truth; which I receive much better + Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me + To the dead bodies of my queen and son. + One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall + The causes of their death appear, unto + Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit + The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there + Shall be my recreation. So long as nature + Will bear up with this exercise, so long + I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me + To these sorrows. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Bohemia. The sea-coast + +Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER + + ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon + The deserts of Bohemia? + MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear + We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly + And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, + The heavens with that we have in hand are angry + And frown upon 's. + ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; + Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before + I call upon thee. + MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not + Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather; + Besides, this place is famous for the creatures + Of prey that keep upon't. + ANTIGONUS. Go thou away; + I'll follow instantly. + MARINER. I am glad at heart + To be so rid o' th' business. Exit + ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe. + I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' 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.' so, with shrieks, + She melted into air. Affrighted much, + I did in time collect myself, and thought + This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys; + Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, + I will be squar'd by this. I do believe + Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that + Apollo would, this being indeed the issue + Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, + Either for life or death, upon the earth + Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! + [Laying down the child] + There lie, and there thy character; there these + [Laying down a bundle] + Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, + And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch, + That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd + To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, + But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I + To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! + The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have + A lullaby too rough; I never saw + The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage + clamour! + Well may I get aboard! This is the chase; + I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear + + Enter an old SHEPHERD + + SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and + twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is + nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging + the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would + any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt + this weather? They have scar'd 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 sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't + be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] 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 halloo'd + but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa! + + Enter CLOWN + + CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! + SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when + thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? + CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am + not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the + firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. + SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? + CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it + takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most + piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to + see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon + swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a + hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore + out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his + name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the ship- + to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor + souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman + roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea + or weather. + SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? + CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the + men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the + gentleman; he's at it now. + SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man! + CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her; + there your charity would have lack'd footing. + SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. + Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things + new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for + a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. + So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. + This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy? + CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are + forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! + SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with'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 th' sight of him. + CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th' ground. + SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. + Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +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 pow'r + 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 receiv'd. I witness to + The times that brought them in; so shall I do + To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale + The glistering of this present, as my tale + Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, + I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing + As you had slept between. Leontes leaving- + Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving + That he shuts up himself- imagine me, + Gentle spectators, that I now may be + In fair Bohemia; and remember well + I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel + I now name to you; and with speed so pace + To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace + Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues + I list not prophesy; but let Time's news + Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, + And what to her adheres, which follows after, + Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow, + If ever you have spent time worse ere now; + If never, yet that Time himself doth say + He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit + + + + +SCENE II. +Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES + +Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO + + POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis + a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. + CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have + for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones + there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; + to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to + think so, which is another spur to my departure. + POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy + services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own + goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want + thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can + sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or + take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I + have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more + thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the + heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, + speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance + of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my + brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are + even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the + Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue + not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have + approved their virtues. + CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his + happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly + noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent + to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. + POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, + so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his + removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is + seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, + that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his + neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. + CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of + most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be + thought to begin from such a cottage. + POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the + angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the + place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some + question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not + uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my + present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of + Sicilia. + CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. + POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage + +Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing + + 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-lirra 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 serv'd 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 nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under + Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With + die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the + silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; + beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I + sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! + + Enter CLOWN + + CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound + and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? + AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. + CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to + buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five + pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with + rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she + lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the + shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they + are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, + and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour + the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; + nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four + pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. + AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! + CLOWN. I' th' name of me! + AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, + death, death! + CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on + thee, rather than have these off. + AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend 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 robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en + from me, and these detestable things put upon me. + CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? + AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. + CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left + with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot + service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy + hand. [Helping him up] + AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! + CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! + AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder + blade is out. + CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? + AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. + You ha' done me a charitable office. + CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. + AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a + kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was + going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no + money, I pray you; that kills my heart. + CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd 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 whipt out of the court. + CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt 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 compass'd 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 + look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. + AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false + of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. + CLOWN. How do you now? + AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. + I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my + kinsman's. + CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? + AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd 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 unroll'd, + and my name put in the book of virtue! + [Sings] + Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + And merrily hent the stile-a; + A merry heart goes all the day, + Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +Bohemia. 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' th' land, you have obscur'd + With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, + Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts + In every mess have folly, and the feeders + Digest it with a custom, I should blush + To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, + To show myself a glass. + FLORIZEL. I bless the time + When my good falcon made her flight across + Thy father's ground. + PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! + To me the difference forges dread; your greatness + Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble + To think your father, by some accident, + Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! + How would he look to see his work, so noble, + Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how + Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold + The sternness of his presence? + FLORIZEL. Apprehend + Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, + Humbling their deities to love, have taken + The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter + Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune + A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, + Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, + As I seem now. Their transformations + Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, + Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires + Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts + Burn hotter than my faith. + PERDITA. O, but, sir, + Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis + Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. + One of these two must be necessities, + Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, + Or I my life. + FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, + With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not + The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, + Or not my father's; for I cannot be + Mine own, nor anything to any, if + I be not thine. To this I am most constant, + Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; + Strangle such thoughts as these with 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, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; + CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS + + SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon + This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; + Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; + Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here + At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; + On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire + With labour, and the thing she took to quench it + She would to each one sip. You are retired, + As if you were a feasted one, and not + The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid + These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is + A way to make us better friends, more known. + Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself + That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, + And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, + As your good flock shall prosper. + PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. + It is my father's will I should take on me + The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] + You're welcome, sir. + Give me those flow'rs 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 flow'rs of winter. + PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, + Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth + Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season + Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, + Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind + Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not + To get slips of them. + POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, + Do you neglect them? + PERDITA. For I have heard it said + There is an art which in their piedness shares + With great creating nature. + POLIXENES. Say there be; + Yet nature is made better by no mean + But nature makes that mean; so over that art + Which you say adds to nature, is an art + That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry + A gentler scion to the wildest stock, + And make conceive a bark of baser kind + By bud of nobler race. This is an art + Which does mend nature- change it rather; but + The art itself is nature. + PERDITA. So it is. + POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, + And do not call them bastards. + PERDITA. I'll not put + The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; + No more than were I painted I would wish + This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore + Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: + Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; + The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, + And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs + Of middle summer, and I think they are given + To men of middle age. Y'are 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 flow'rs o' th' spring that might + Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, + That wear upon your virgin branches yet + Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, + From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall + From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, + That come before the swallow dares, and take + The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim + But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes + Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, + That die unmarried ere they can behold + Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady + Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and + The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, + The flow'r-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 flow'rs. + Methinks I play as I have seen them do + In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine + Does change my disposition. + FLORIZEL. What you do + Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, + I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, + I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; + Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, + To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you + A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do + Nothing but that; move still, still so, + And own no other function. Each your doing, + So singular in each particular, + Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, + That all your acts are queens. + PERDITA. O Doricles, + Your praises are too large. But that your youth, + And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, + Do plainly give you out an 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 gaz'd the moon + Upon the water as he'll stand and read, + As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, + I think there is not half a kiss to choose + Who loves another best. + POLIXENES. She dances featly. + SHEPHERD. So she does 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 a SERVANT + + SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you + would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe + could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll + tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's + ears grew to his tunes. + CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a + ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set + down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. + SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner + can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest + love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with + such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump + her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, + mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the + maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, + slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' + POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. + CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. + Has he any unbraided wares? + SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, + more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though + they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, + lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you + would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the + sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. + CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. + PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. + Exit SERVANT + CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd + think, sister. + PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. + + Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing + + Lawn as white as driven snow; + Cypress black as e'er was crow; + Gloves as sweet as damask roses; + Masks for faces and for noses; + Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, + Perfume for a lady's chamber; + Golden quoifs and stomachers, + For my lads to give their dears; + Pins and poking-sticks of steel- + What maids lack from head to heel. + Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; + Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. + Come, buy. + + CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no + money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the + bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. + MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too + late now. + DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. + MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd 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 whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and + not a word more. + MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair + of sweet gloves. + CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd 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 a-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 burden, and how she + long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. + MOPSA. Is it true, think you? + AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. + DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! + AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, + and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I + carry lies abroad? + MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. + CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see 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 fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom + above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of + maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold + fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd 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. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; + 'tis in three parts. + DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. + AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. + Have at it with you. + + SONG + + AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go + Where it fits not you to know. + DORCAS. Whither? + MOPSA. O, whither? + DORCAS. Whither? + MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well + Thou to me thy secrets tell. + DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither + MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. + DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. + AUTOLYCUS. Neither. + DORCAS. What, neither? + AUTOLYCUS. Neither. + DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. + MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. + Then whither goest? Say, whither? + + CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and + the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, + bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. + Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. + Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA + AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. + Exit AUTOLYCUS, 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 fin'st, fin'st wear-a? + Come to the pedlar; + Money's a meddler + That doth utter all men's ware-a. + + Re-enter SERVANT + + SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three + neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men + of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which + the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not + in't; but they themselves are o' th' 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 danc'd + before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve + foot and a half by th' squier. + SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let + them come in; but quickly now. + SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit + + Here a dance of twelve SATYRS + + POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] 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, whom, it should seem, + Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, + As soft as dove's down and as white as it, + Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted + By th' northern blasts twice o'er. + POLIXENES. What follows this? + How prettily the young swain seems to wash + The hand was fair before! I have put you out. + But to your protestation; let me hear + What you profess. + FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. + POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? + FLORIZEL. And he, and more + Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: + That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, + Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth + That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge + More than was ever man's, I would not prize them + Without her love; for her employ them all; + Commend them and condemn them to her service + Or to their own perdition. + POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. + CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. + SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, + Say you the like to him? + PERDITA. I cannot speak + So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. + By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out + The purity of his. + SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! + And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: + I give my daughter to him, and will make + Her portion equal his. + FLORIZEL. O, that must be + I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, + I shall have more than you can dream of yet; + Enough then for your wonder. But come on, + Contract us fore these witnesses. + SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; + And, daughter, yours. + POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; + Have you a father? + FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? + POLIXENES. Knows he of this? + FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. + POLIXENES. Methinks a father + Is at the nuptial of his son a guest + That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, + Is not your father grown incapable + Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid + With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, + Know man from man, dispute his own estate? + Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing + But what he did being childish? + FLORIZEL. No, good sir; + He has his health, and ampler strength indeed + Than most have of his age. + POLIXENES. By my white beard, + You offer him, if this be so, a wrong + Something unfilial. Reason my son + Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason + The father- all whose joy is nothing else + But fair posterity- should hold some counsel + In such a business. + FLORIZEL. I yield all this; + But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, + Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint + My father of this business. + POLIXENES. Let him know't. + FLORIZEL. He shall not. + POLIXENES. Prithee let him. + FLORIZEL. No, he must not. + SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve + At knowing of thy choice. + FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. + Mark our contract. + POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, + Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base + To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, + That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, + I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but + Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece + Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know + The royal fool thou cop'st with- + SHEPHERD. O, my heart! + POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made + More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, + If I may ever know thou dost but sigh + That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never + I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; + Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, + Farre 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 self-same sun that shines upon his court + Hides not his visage from our cottage, but + Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? + I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, + Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- + Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, + But milk my ewes and weep. + CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! + Speak ere thou diest. + SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, + Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] 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. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, + That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure + To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! + If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd + To die when I desire. Exit + FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? + I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, + But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: + More straining on for plucking back; not following + My leash unwillingly. + CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, + You know your father's temper. At this time + He will allow no speech- which I do guess + You do not purpose to him- and as hardly + Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; + Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, + Come not before him. + FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. + I think Camillo? + CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. + PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! + How often said my dignity would last + But till 'twere known! + FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by + The violation of my faith; and then + Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together + And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. + From my succession wipe me, father; I + Am heir to my affection. + CAMILLO. Be advis'd. + FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason + Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; + If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, + Do bid it welcome. + CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. + FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: + I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, + Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may + Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or + The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides + In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath + To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, + As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, + When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not + To see him any more- cast your good counsels + Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune + Tug for the time to come. This you may know, + And so deliver: I am put to sea + With her who here I cannot hold on shore. + And most opportune to her need I have + A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd + For this design. What course I mean to hold + Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor + Concern me the reporting. + CAMILLO. O my lord, + I would your spirit were easier for advice. + Or stronger for your need. + FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] + [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. + CAMILLO. He's irremovable, + Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if + His going I could frame to serve my turn, + Save him from danger, do him love and honour, + Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia + And that unhappy king, my master, whom + I so much thirst to see. + FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, + I am so fraught with curious business that + I leave out ceremony. + CAMILLO. Sir, I think + You have heard of my poor services i' th' love + That I have borne your father? + FLORIZEL. Very nobly + Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music + To speak your deeds; not little of his care + To have them recompens'd as thought on. + CAMILLO. Well, my lord, + If you may please to think I love the King, + And through him what's nearest to him, which is + Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. + If your more ponderous and settled project + May suffer alteration, on mine honour, + I'll point you where you shall have such receiving + As shall become your Highness; where you may + Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, + There's no disjunction to be made but by, + As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; + And with my best endeavours in your absence + Your discontenting father strive to qualify, + And bring him up to liking. + FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, + May this, almost a miracle, be done? + That I may call thee something more than man, + And after that trust to thee. + CAMILLO. Have you thought on + A place whereto you'll go? + FLORIZEL. Not any yet; + But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty + To what we wildly do, so we profess + Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies + Of every wind that blows. + CAMILLO. Then list to me. + This follows, if you will not change your purpose + But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, + And there present yourself and your fair princess- + For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. + She shall be habited as it becomes + The partner of your bed. Methinks I see + Leontes opening his free arms and weeping + His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' + As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands + Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him + 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one + He chides to hell, and bids the other grow + Faster than thought or time. + FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, + What colour for my visitation shall I + Hold up before him? + CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father + To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, + The manner of your bearing towards him, with + What you as from your father shall deliver, + Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; + The which shall point you forth at every sitting + What you must say, that he shall not perceive + But that you have your father's bosom there + And speak his very heart. + FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. + There is some sap in this. + CAMILLO. A course more promising + Than a wild dedication of yourselves + To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain + To miseries enough; no hope to help you, + But as you shake off one to take another; + Nothing so certain as your anchors, who + Do their best office if they can but stay you + Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know + Prosperity's the very bond of love, + Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together + Affliction alters. + PERDITA. One of these is true: + I think affliction may subdue the cheek, + But not take in the mind. + CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? + There shall not at your father's house these seven years + Be born another such. + FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, + She is as forward of her breeding as + She is i' th' rear o' 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 rememb'red. 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 pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a + codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd 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 pick'd and + cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come + in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and + scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in + the whole army. + + CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward + + CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there + So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. + FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? + CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. + PERDITA. Happy be you! + All that you speak shows fair. + CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? + We'll make an instrument of this; omit + Nothing may give us aid. + AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. + CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? + Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. + AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. + CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. + Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; + therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a + necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though + the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's + some boot. [Giving money] + AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well + enough. + CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd + already. + AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, 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. [They converse apart] + CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King + Of this escape, and whither they are bound; + Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail + To force him after; in whose company + I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight + I have a woman's longing. + FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! + Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' 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 + th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth + thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot + is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive + at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is + about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his + clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to + acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more + knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my + profession. + + 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 punish'd 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 th' palace, an it like your worship. + AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of + that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, + of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be + known- discover. + CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. + AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it + becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the + lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing + steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. + CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not + taken yourself with the manner. + SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? + AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou + not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in + it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour + from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st + thou, for that I insinuate, that 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 the 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' th' fardel? Wherefore that + box? + SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which + none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this + hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. + AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. + SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? + AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new + ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st + capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of + grief. + SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have + married a shepherd's daughter. + AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the + curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the + back of man, the heart of monster. + CLOWN. Think you so, sir? + AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and + vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though + remov'd 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 ston'd; 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 flay'd 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 recover'd again + with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, + and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set + against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon + him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But + what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be + smil'd 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 consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, + tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; + and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here + is man shall do it. + CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him + gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led + by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the + outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd + 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 flay'd 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 + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES + +Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS + + CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd + A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make + Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down + More penitence than done trespass. At the last, + Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; + With them forgive yourself. + LEONTES. Whilst I remember + Her and her virtues, I cannot forget + My blemishes in them, and so still think of + The wrong I did myself; which was so much + That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and + Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man + Bred his hopes out of. + PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. + If, one by one, you wedded all the world, + Or from the all that are took something good + To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd + Would be unparallel'd. + LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! + She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me + Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter + Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, + Say so but seldom. + CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. + You might have spoken a thousand things that would + Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd + Your kindness better. + PAULINA. You are one of those + Would have him wed again. + DION. If you would not so, + You pity not the state, nor the remembrance + Of his most sovereign name; consider little + What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, + May drop upon his kingdom and devour + Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy + Than to rejoice the former queen is well? + What holier than, for royalty's repair, + For present comfort, and for future good, + To bless the bed of majesty again + With a sweet fellow to't? + PAULINA. There is none worthy, + Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods + Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; + For has not the divine Apollo said, + Is't not the tenour of his oracle, + That King Leontes shall not have an heir + Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, + Is all as monstrous to our human reason + As my Antigonus to break his grave + And come again to me; who, on my life, + Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel + My lord should to the heavens be contrary, + Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; + The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander + Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor + Was like to be the best. + LEONTES. Good Paulina, + Who hast the memory of Hermione, + I know, in honour, O that ever I + Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, + I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, + Have taken treasure from her lips- + PAULINA. And left them + More rich for what they yielded. + LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. + No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, + And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit + Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, + Where we offend her 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'd bid you mark + Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't + You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears + Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd + Should be 'Remember mine.' + LEONTES. Stars, stars, + And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; + I'll have no wife, Paulina. + PAULINA. Will you swear + Never to marry but by my free leave? + LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be 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 fram'd, but forc'd + 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. Exeunt + Still, 'tis strange + He thus should steal upon us. + PAULINA. Had our prince, + Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd + Well with this lord; there was not full a month + Between their births. + LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st + He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, + When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches + Will bring me to consider that which may + Unfurnish me of reason. + + Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and + ATTENDANTS + + They are come. + Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; + For she did print your royal father off, + Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, + Your father's image is so hit in you + His very air, that I should call you brother, + As I did him, and speak of something wildly + By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! + And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! + I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth + Might thus have stood begetting wonder as + You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- + All mine own folly- the society, + Amity too, of your brave father, whom, + Though bearing misery, I desire my life + Once more to look on him. + FLORIZEL. By his command + Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him + Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, + Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, + Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd + His wish'd ability, he had himself + The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his + Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, + He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres + And those that bear them living. + LEONTES. O my brother- + Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir + Afresh within me; and these thy offices, + So rarely kind, are as interpreters + Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, + As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too + Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, + At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, + To greet a man not worth her pains, much less + Th' adventure of her person? + FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, + She came from Libya. + LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, + That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? + FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter + His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, + A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, + To execute the charge my father gave me + For visiting your Highness. My best train + I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; + Who for Bohemia bend, to signify + Not only my success in Libya, sir, + But my arrival and my wife's in safety + Here where we are. + LEONTES. The blessed gods + Purge all infection from our air whilst you + Do climate here! You have a holy father, + A graceful gentleman, against whose person, + So sacred as it is, I have done sin, + For which the heavens, taking angry note, + Have left me issueless; and your father's 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 hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, + Of this fair couple- meets he on the way + The father of this seeming lady and + Her brother, having both their country quitted + With this young prince. + FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; + Whose honour and whose honesty till now + Endur'd all weathers. + LORD. Lay't so to his charge; + He's with the King your father. + LEONTES. Who? Camillo? + LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now + Has these poor men in question. Never saw I + Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; + Forswear themselves as often as they speak. + Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them + With divers deaths in death. + PERDITA. O my poor father! + The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have + Our contract celebrated. + LEONTES. You are married? + FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; + The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. + The odds for high and low's alike. + LEONTES. My lord, + Is this the daughter of a king? + FLORIZEL. She is, + When once she is my wife. + LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, + Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, + Most sorry, you have broken from his liking + Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry + Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, + That you might well enjoy her. + FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. + Though Fortune, visible an enemy, + Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot + Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, + Remember since you ow'd no more to time + Than I do now. With thought of such affections, + Step forth mine advocate; at your request + My father will grant precious things as trifles. + LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, + Which he counts but a trifle. + PAULINA. Sir, my liege, + Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month + Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes + Than what you look on now. + LEONTES. I thought of her + Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition + Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. + Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, + I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand + I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, + And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES + +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 seem'd 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 look'd as they had heard of + a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder + appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but + seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in + the extremity of the one it must needs be. + + Enter another GENTLEMAN + + Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: + 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 another GENTLEMAN + + Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. + How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like + an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the + King found his heir? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by + circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is + such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her + jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with + it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the + creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness + which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- + proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did + you see the meeting of the two kings? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, + cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown + another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take + leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up + of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such + distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. + Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found + daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy + mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces + his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping + her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a + weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of + such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and + undoes description to do it. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried + hence the child? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to + rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was + torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who + has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but + a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd 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 declin'd for the loss of her + husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. 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 angl'd 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 confess'd and lamented by the + King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign + of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- + bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most + marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all + the world could have seen'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 perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio + Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into + his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is + her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say + one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with + all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend + to sup. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in + hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since + the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we + thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of + access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our + absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. + Exeunt GENTLEMEN + AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would + preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son + aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I + know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's + daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much + sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather + continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one + to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not + have relish'd among my other discredits. + + Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN + + Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already + appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. + SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past 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 call'd me brother; and + then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, + my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. + And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that + ever we shed. + SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. + CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous + estate as we are. + AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I + have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report + to the Prince my master. + SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are + gentlemen. + CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? + AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. + CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as + honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. + SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. + CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins + say it: I'll swear it. + SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? + CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in + the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a + tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I + know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be + drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall + fellow of thy hands. + AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. + CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder + how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, + trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are + going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy + good masters. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Sicilia. 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 vouchsaf'd, + With your crown'd brother and these your contracted + Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, + It is a surplus of your grace, which never + My life may last to answer. + LEONTES. O Paulina, + We honour you with trouble; but we came + To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery + Have we pass'd through, not without much content + In many singularities; but we saw not + That which my daughter came to look upon, + The statue of her mother. + PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, + So her dead likeness, I do well believe, + Excels whatever yet you look'd upon + Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it + Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare + To see the life as lively mock'd as ever + Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. + [PAULINA 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 liv'd now. + LEONTES. As now she might have done, + So much to my good comfort as it is + Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, + Even with such life of majesty- warm life, + As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! + I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me + For being more stone than it? O royal piece, + There's magic in thy majesty, which has + My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and + From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, + Standing like stone with thee! + PERDITA. And give me leave, + And do not say 'tis superstition that + I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, + Dear queen, that ended when I but began, + Give me that hand of yours to kiss. + PAULINA. O, patience! + The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's + Not dry. + CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, + Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, + So many summers dry. Scarce any joy + Did ever so long live; no sorrow + But kill'd itself much sooner. + POLIXENES. Dear my brother, + Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r + To take off so much grief from you as he + Will piece up in himself. + PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, + If I had thought the sight of my poor image + Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- + I'd not have show'd it. + LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. + PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy + May think anon it moves. + LEONTES. Let be, let be. + Would I were dead, but that methinks already- + What was he that did make it? See, my lord, + Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins + Did verily bear blood? + POLIXENES. Masterly done! + The very life seems warm upon her lip. + LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, + As we are mock'd with art. + PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. + My lord's almost so far transported that + He'll think anon it lives. + LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, + Make me to think so twenty years together! + No settled senses of the world can match + The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. + PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but + I could afflict you 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 requir'd + You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; + Or those that think it is unlawful business + I am about, let them depart. + LEONTES. Proceed. + No foot shall stir. + PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] + 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; + Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; + I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. + Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him + Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. + [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] + Start not; her actions shall be holy as + You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her + Until you see her die again; for then + You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. + When she was young you woo'd her; now in age + Is she become the suitor? + LEONTES. O, she's warm! + If this be magic, let it be an art + Lawful as eating. + POLIXENES. She embraces him. + CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. + If she pertain to life, let her speak too. + POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, + Or how stol'n from the dead. + PAULINA. That she is living, + Were it but told you, should be hooted at + Like an old tale; but it appears she lives + Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. + Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, + And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; + Our Perdita is found. + HERMIONE. You gods, look down, + And from your sacred vials pour your graces + Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, + Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found + Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, + Knowing by Paulina that the oracle + Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd + Myself to see the issue. + PAULINA. There's time enough for that, + Lest they desire upon this push to trouble + Your joys with like relation. Go together, + You precious winners all; your exultation + Partake to 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 your son-in-law, + And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, + Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, + Lead us from hence where we may leisurely + Each one demand and answer to his part + Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first + We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1609 + +A LOVER'S COMPLAINT + +by William Shakespeare + + + + From off a hill whose concave womb reworded + A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale, + My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded, + And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale, + Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, + Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain, + 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 carcase of a beauty spent and done. + Time had not scythed all that youth begun, + Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage + Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age. + + Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, + Which on it had conceited characters, + Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine + That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears, + And often reading what contents it bears; + As often shrieking undistinguished woe, + In clamours of all size, both high and low. + + Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride, + As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend; + Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied + To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend + Their view right on; anon their gazes lend + To every place at once, and nowhere fixed, + The mind and sight distractedly commixed. + + Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, + Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride; + For some, untucked, 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 monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall + Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. + + Of folded schedules had she many a one, + Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood; + Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone, + Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; + Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood, + With sleided silk feat and affectedly + Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy. + + These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, + And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear; + Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies, + What unapproved witness dost thou bear! + Ink would have seemed more black and damned here! + This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, + Big discontents 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 judgement I am old: + Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power. + I might as yet have been a spreading flower, + Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied + Love to myself, and to no love beside. + + 'But woe is me! too early I attended + A youthful suit- it was to gain my grace- + O, one by nature's outwards so commended + That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face. + Love lacked 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-bragged the web it seemed to wear: + Yet showed 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, unruly 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 th' well-doing steed. + + 'But quickly on this side the verdict went: + His real habitude gave life and grace + To appertainings and to ornament, + Accomplished in himself, not in his case, + All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, + Came for additions; yet their purposed trim + Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him. + + 'So on the tip of his subduing tongue + All kind of arguments and question deep, + All replication prompt, and reason strong, + For his advantage still did wake and sleep. + To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, + He had the dialect and different skill, + Catching all passions in his craft of will, + + 'That he did in the general bosom reign + Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted, + To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain + In personal duty, following where he haunted. + Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted, + And dialogued for him what he would say, + Asked 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 assigned; + And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them + Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. + + 'So many have, that never touched 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 remained the foil + Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. + + 'But ah, who ever shunned 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 wills more keen. + + 'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood + That we must curb it upon others' proof, + To be forbod the sweets that seems so good + For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. + O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! + The one a palate hath that needs will taste, + Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last. + + 'For further I could say this man's untrue, + And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; + Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew; + Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; + Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; + Thought characters and words merely but art, + And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. + + 'And long upon these terms I held my city, + Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid, + Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, + And be not of my holy vows afraid. + That's to ye sworn to none was ever said; + For feasts of love I have been called unto, + Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo. + + '"All my offences that abroad you see + Are errors of the blood, none of the mind; + Love made them not; with acture they may be, + Where neither party is nor true nor kind. + They sought their shame that so their shame did find; + And so much less of shame in me remains + By how much of me their reproach contains. + + '"Among the many that mine eyes have seen, + Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, + Or my affection put to th' smallest teen, + Or any of my leisures ever charmed. + Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed; + Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, + And reigned 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 encrimsoned mood- + Effects of terror and dear modesty, + Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly. + + '"And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, + With twisted metal amorously empleached, + I have receiv'd from many a several fair, + Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched, + With the annexions of fair gems enriched, + And deep-brained 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 em'rald, 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 blazoned, 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, + Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise; + What me your minister for you obeys + Works under you; and to your audit comes + Their distract parcels in combined sums. + + '"Lo, this device was sent me from a nun, + Or sister sanctified, of holiest note, + Which late her noble suit in court did shun, + Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; + For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, + But kept cold distance, and did thence remove + To spend her living in eternal love. + + '"But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave + The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives, + 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 pow'r to charm a sacred nun, + Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace, + Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun, + All vows and consecrations giving place, + O most potential love, vow, bond, nor space, + In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, + For thou art all, and all things else are thine. + + '"When thou impressest, what are precepts worth + Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, + How coldly those impediments stand forth, + Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame! + Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame. + And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears, + The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears. + + '"Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, + Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine, + And supplicant their sighs to your extend, + To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine, + Lending soft audience to my sweet design, + And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, + That shall prefer and undertake my troth." + + 'This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount, + Whose sights till then were levelled on my face; + Each cheek a river running from a fount + With brinish current downward flowed apace. + O, how the channel to the stream gave grace! + Who 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 daffed, + Shook off my sober guards and civil fears; + Appear to him as he to me appears, + All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore: + His poisoned 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, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim. + Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; + When he most burned in heart-wished luxury, + He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity. + + 'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace + The naked and concealed fiend he covered, + That th' unexperient gave the tempter place, + Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered. + Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered? + 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 glowed, + O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, + O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed, + O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed, + Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed, + And new pervert a reconciled maid.' + +THE END + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE +WITH PERMISSION. 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